The Black Swan

“Well,” she said. “It’s a mercy you’ve come this morning. You’re Mrs. Fitzgerald ... or are you Miss?”

“I’m Mrs. Fitzgerald.”

“Well then, I was just on sending a message out to you. We don’t deliver. Letters come here to the post office for people in outlying districts and they call in and collect.”

“I heard that from a neighbor... and you have something for me?”

“That would be Mrs. Hellman from Hellman’s Farm. I was going to give it to her but she hasn’t been in this morning.”

“What is it?” I asked urgently.

“Half a minute.” She opened a drawer. “Here is it. Came yesterday. A letter for you.”

“Oh ... thank you.” I glanced at the envelope. It was Belinda’s handwriting. “I ...

I’m so pleased.”

“Come in once or twice a week. We keep the mail for you. Happen you ought to have a number. Box they call it. Box 22. That could be yours. Tell them to send to Box 22, Post Office, Bracken, near Bradford. Got it? Then you come in as often as you like to collect.”

“I am so pleased I called.”

She smiled. I was longing to read Belinda’s letter, but she went on, “You see that one’s sent to Mrs. Fitzgerald, Gray Stone House, Bracken, Bradford. Well, that’s all right because we know who you are. I knew you had come to Gray Stone... but if you remember Box 22 it’s best... though it wouldn’t matter all that much.”

“You’ve been very helpful.”

“How are you getting on at Gray Stone?”

“Very well.”

“That’s the ticket. It’s a bit lonely up there.”

“Well, we don’t expect to be there long. Thank you so much. I am so glad I called in.”

She was reluctant to let me go and I am sure she would have made a greater attempt to detain me if someone else had not come in at that moment. “Oh, Mrs. Copland,” she cried. “There you are ... and how’s that daughter-in-law of yours getting on?”

I did not stay to hear the condition of Mrs. Copland’s daughter-in-law but came out onto the street clutching Belinda’s letter.

Desperately I wanted to read it, but I could not do so there. I mounted my horse and rode out of Bracken. I found a field bordered by a few trees, so I alighted, tethered my horse to a fence and sat down under one of the trees to read.

Dear Lucie,

I am sending this in the hope that it will reach you. I hope I’ve got the address right. You did mention Gray Stone was the name of the house... remember? And I’m sure it was near a place called Bracken. So here goes.

Things are working out very well here. All is going smoothly, and as Henry is not raising any objection and it is a clear case of my being the sinner... we’re hoping all will go well.

We are a bit afraid of the press, but Bobby’s family has influence and they are working hard for us. It is this dear little infant who is making them all so eager... Bobby’s family, I mean. They are all desperately anxious that he shall be born in wedlock. Then of course if we do just miss, it will all be suitably covered up, and Bobby and I will go through the ceremony-very quietly-as soon as it is over. So I am not worrying. I wish you could come here and stay. It would be great fun. It’s really rather pleasant. I quite like being the lady of the manor. None of the people on the estate know that I have no right to the title and we are hoping to keep that little matter dark.

However, it is all rather thrilling... and quite amusing ... or it will be when it is all over.

Why do these people have to take so long?

Well, that’s all about me. What of you? How are you getting on in Gray Stone? It sounds dreary. And how is dear Roland and his sister?