Many Weary Month - 3

[jessamygriffith]

[Break in the letter, continued at a later time.]

A prodigious great butterfly just lit upon the slope desk as I was writing, John. I have but a small interest in the milder insects, but I include the following for you, my dear. A papilondae of the New World.

[Illustration 1: Sketch by Lt. S. Holmes, of a what is clearly a Giant Swallowtail (Papilio cresphontes). With a wingspan up 10-16 cm, it is the largest butterfly found in North America.]

~Life size. Black, with yellow markings.~

Strange to see such a large exotic specimen in the bleak wilderness of Upper Canada, is it not? I would colour it properly, but that would mean asking the loan of water colours from a tedious Miss Catherine Reynolds¹, a forward young lady with pretensions to elegance and a desire to marry her way to England. A day of her conversation would never equal a minute of yours, John. Your long-suffering sigh has the eloquence of a Pliny or Ovid in the original as compared to the witless chattering of this near-savage female of so-called polite society.

But you would chide me for these hard sentiments, were you here, and tell me she is not to blame for the lack of society, and point out her soft features and graceful carriage. But I would willingly withstand your gentle censure and worse, to have the pleasure of your company.

You have always naturally come by that which I have always envied - the knack of being comfortable and pleased by the company you find yourself in. Do you recall the night we met, at that party held by Mrs. Harte in Port Mahon? I mean, our ~formal~ meeting. I saw you the evening previous at that card party at Mr. and Mrs. Hanson's house. I will admit to you now - well, confess, actually - that I had no idea what you were doing there. You looked a wretchedly-dressed nobody, wearing a scrubby wig and worse clothing. Obviously a doctor, by your hands and clothing and wig, but curiously down on your luck by all appearances. But you spoke French like a native to that ransomed French captain Lestrade that Mr. Hanson had invited, and so I sat to a hand of whist² to find out more of you.

Really, sir! With my cool mind and grasp of tactics, I am accounted to be devilish good at whist. But you, sir, are a veritable Archfiend! Had that jackass of a Marine, Major Anderson, not drunkenly halted the game, I doubt I would have left the table with the tassels on my Hessians! I began to wonder if you had come to the party to redress some monetary embarrassment by fleecing Naval officers of their prize-money³.

But Anderson accused you of cheating. I expected you to call the dog out. I was quite prepared to stand as your second in spite of the drubbing you had just given my wallet, should your friend Lestrade not come up to scratch. I had been watching you closely, and it was clear to me that you were innocent of the vile insult.⁴

You surprised us all. Not even showing the anger you must have felt, you merely called for a fresh deck. Leaving it in front of you, you invited Anderson to shuffle and cut. Then you asked a stander-by to pull a single card and conceal it from you. At your directions, A~ flipped the cards quickly face-up on the table one by one, spreading them so all could see. The room was utterly silent. You lifted a brow, and said in your soft brogue, 'Seven of diamonds.'

When the missing card was shown to be, indeed, what you stated, all exclaimed aloud. Anderson reddened and might have pressed the matter, had not the more prudent of his friends pulled him away. It was a feat of memory few could have equalled. Counting cards so perfectly at whist put you at great advantage, an advantage you lost forever in games of chance in Port Mahon, for who besides myself could ever hope to approach such skill, much less gamble against it? I could not understand your motives. You took your leave and I followed you out to the door, hoping to speak with you

I saw you deep in conversation with that idiot Anderson. I could not catch what passed between you, but I saw you take hold of his wrist and pull a card that had been concealed within his sleeve - a card I had missed seeing him purloin due to my concentration upon yourself. Your tone of voice was firm, and his expression one of childish dismay and rage at being caught out.

Cheating at cards, indeed. That you chose this private way to expose him without humiliation or a duel proclaimed you, to my mind, a gentleman and a person of uncommon intelligence. I was afire to make your acquaintance. But then an officer stopped to congratulate you on your mnemonic display, and I took the chance to collar Anderson. After I had made a savage injunction of my own to him concerning my willingness to meet him⁵ should he ever play the scrub again, I turned to find you had gone.

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Footnotes

1Miss Reynolds is undoubtedly one of the sisters of Robert Reynolds, who built Bellevue, the house where the package containing this letter was found. Both Catherine and Margaret were as gently-bred as any young lady in the New World could be: both played piano, sketched and did watercolours. Catherine is well-known for her dream-like paintings of a Europe she had never seen, whereas Margaret's were of the local area, the fort and soldiers.

2Whist, a popular card game that often involved wagering. We know it now by its modern name, 'bridge.'

3Prize-money - money gained by capturing enemy ships and selling them and their cargoes.

4Accusing another of cheating at cards was a duelling offence, even at this time period - no gentleman would stand for it.

5Lt. Holmes implied to Anderson that if he tried anything like that again, Holmes would call him out for a meeting - a duel.

(Author's note - Often I would drive or walk by Bellevue House, marveling at its grace and perfect symmetry. Seeing it the last time I visited home, I was dismayed by its condition - it had been bought by a numbered company or consortium that is letting it go to wrack and ruin, presumably so that it may be eventually condemned and torn down. It's a horror that such a historic house should be treated so, and yet little seems to be being done about it. It was a pleasure to include it in this fic, and I hope that eventually it may be bought. I wish Canada had something like a National Trust for such places to help preserve them.)

Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four // Part Five - Appendices