May 12, 1789
My Dear Horatio—
I hope this letter finds you in good health. I was happy to
hear from a friend about your successful endeavors in the business sector of
Devonshire, although I would have been overjoyed to hear it straight from your
own hand. No matter! Only just graduated, and already a manager? I always knew
you were a shrewd chap; well done, my friend!
I am recalling the start of our friendship all those years
ago at Exeter, and it has made me recall my true purpose in writing. Dear
fellow, I would like to invite you out to my family’s estate for the Midsummer
Festival. As I recall, you have yet to experience such a momentous occasion
here in the Queen’s Country. I assure you it will be a once-in-a-lifetime
experience, not some stuffy garden processional!
Shortly thereafter, we will be welcoming my cousin Esmirelda
to stay the remainder of the season. If you do not mind reading mention of it,
I am sure the two of you will get along splendidly. I do not introduce her
lightly, Horatio, for she is dear to our family, and a rare and delicate
beauty. We give her the nickname Butterfly, for she is as lively and graceful
as one. There will be an intimate family dinner following the Midsummer
celebration, and you are cordially invited to attend and stay as long as you
wish. Thank you, dear friend, and bon voyage!
Sincerely,
Ignatz Ratzkewatski
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Horatio Whistlestop stood before the small, moldering mirror
in the cramped Devonshire inn where he had spent the night during Midsummer
Days. His fingers fumbled at the elusive Windsor knot that he was attempting to
anchor below his chin, where the edges of his collar met. He glanced again at
the letter wherein his friend Ignatz mentioned Cousin Esmirelda. He mentioned
her again in a later letter—a full description this time—but by then Horatio
had already confirmed the impending visit.
For the twentieth time, the knot slipped. Horatio swore and
stared down at his hands. What was wrong with him today? He’d been tying his
ties every day since the Academy and then the University at Exeter. As an
“exchange student” from America on a specialized scholarship, his family didn’t
have the funds or the time to come with him. He’d had no mother to tie his tie
for him. And now apparently he had lost the ability. Frustrated, he cast his
tie over the bed and adjusted his collar. Maybe, as an American, he could get
by without a tie… Horatio moved to focus on the rest of his appearance. His
slacks and his shoes were in order, his hair was straight—He practiced a
debonair smirk as he imagined meeting the inimitable Butterfly. Copper-colored
hair, ‘Nat had said; morning-glory eyes and elfin features poised upon a full,
coral-colored mouth. “When she has been in the sun,” his friend raved, “there
is the merest smattering of freckles like Nature’s kisses across her cheeks.”
“Good afternoon, Miss Esmirelda,” Horatio practiced, taking
care not to stare too much, nor appear disinterested or embarrassed by such a
ravishing beauty. He decided that decorum would allow him to refer to her by her
Christian name, and give her the option and opportunity to request the nickname
Nat recommended.
Horatio glanced at the penitent tie draped over the end of
the bed. He sighed, and once more drew it around his neck. This time, the
Fortunes smiled upon him, and the Windsor appeared of its own accord.
Satisfied, Horatio adjusted it snug beneath his Adam’s apple and smiled. At
last, he was ready.
[...]
The carriage soon pulled up to the gated entrance to the
Ratzkewaski Estate. Horatio paid him and accepted his luggage. Sighing deeply
and adjusting his composure, he carried the bags down the small footpath that
led alongside the main lane to the house.
A stately butler answered the door when he rang.
“Your name, sir?” the stodgy, lean man inquired.
“Horatio Whistlestop,” Horatio announced. “I’m expected.”
“Indeed you are!” cried a voice, and with a clatter that
echoed through the front hall, Ignatz Ratzkewaski descended to greet his friend
with a wide grin. “Welcome, welcome, ‘Rate! So glad you could make it! How was
the journey?” Nat clasped his friend’s hand and clapped him on the back. His
unruly black curls bounced merrily.
Horatio was sent years back in time at the sound of his old
nickname. He chuckled and involuntarily smoothed his sleek brown hair. “Oh,
comfortable enough—for a public coach,” he answered.
[...]
“Oh-ho! Well, if it’s quiet you’re wanting, we have a room
prepared for you. You may want to rest up and get settled before supper. Would
you like that?”
[...]
Horatio—or Rate, as they knew him—nodded his head at his
friend’s offer. “I think I’ll get settled and moved in.”
Nat nodded. “Wonderful! When you are quite finished—there is
someone you are no doubt most anxious to meet.”
Esmirelda, thought
Horatio. Though he might not term his feelings as “most anxious,” he was indeed
curious, and told Nat so.
Nat chuckled and winked, “Well then, collect yourself as
well as you can, and come out to the garden. She will be there.”
Horatio followed the butler who carried his bags up the long
flight of stairs to the guest suite prepared for his arrival. The clothes he
had worn for traveling were stained and rumpled—hardly fit for the present
company. Horatio chose a fresh outfit for dinner and surveyed his surroundings
for a moment.
The room where he would spend the next few days was hardly
less than kingly, after the drab inn he’d slept in for the last week. The rich
but tastefully moderate furnishings, the wide floors—Horatio indulged in a few
poses before a mirror in which he could survey his entire self, from his shoes
to his head. He crossed over to the tall windows from which he had a clear view
of the gardens behind the house.
Mrs. Ratzkewatski sat at a small table with her daughter
Paulina, enjoying the fine summer day from underneath a canopy. Randolph and
Ludwig—Nat’s brothers—ran about the lawn, batting a ball between them with long
wooden mallets. Nat himself, Horatio soon located near a tall chestnut tree
with a woman Horatio did not recognize. His heart twisted in his chest; could
this be the inimitable Esmirelda? She certainly fit the description in Nat’s
letter—slight build, but graceful and stately, truly fitting for a family such
as the Ratzkewatskis. Horatio watched her movements and mannerisms as she
interacted with Ignatz. He was as animated as ever, but she considerably more
muted and docile. Perhaps she came from the more subdued Ratzkewatski side;
Horatio smiled at the thought. Indeed, he could well warrant an introduction to
this fair maiden.
[...]
“Hullo!” Horatio said as he approached the pair.
Nat looked up with a smile. “Ah! Horatio! You have deigned
to join us!” He left the woman’s side and reached out to greet his friend.
“Well, my friend, as promised—“ he gestured with an extended arm back toward
the tree and the woman that stood under it. “Allow me to present Miss Esmirelda
Huffingtree.”
Horatio quite forgave her the shockingly stuffy surname when
he saw that Nat’s praises did not lie (though the hair was more bronze than
copper). He reached forward and took her hand.
“A pleasure, madam,” he said with a bow.
A bright blush covered her cheeks. Behind him, Ignatz snorted.
“Um, Rate,” he stammered. “That is not Esmirelda; it is her
governess, Bethany Parrish.”
Horatio released Miss Parrish’s hand and whirled on his
friend, who was still pointing at the tree—though up among its branches, he now
saw.
“Then who—“
“That,” said Ignatz
Ratzkewatski with a wide grin, “is Butterfly Huffingtree, daughter of Gertrude
and Fredrick Huffingtree, my mother’s sister and her husband.”
Horatio transferred his gaze to the green canopy above him,
and saw near the top a wide swath of brilliant orange that was certainly hair,
though at first it hid in the foliage. He watched as the pale child underneath
braced her bare feet upon the branches and threw her arms wide, basking in the
sunlight. Opening her “impish, coral mouth”, she bellowed with all the force of
her Uncle Bartolomeus,
“GUID EEEEVENIN’, LUNDINSHIRRRE!!!”
>>>>>>
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