A Very Morose Pirate
Dear Darcy,
I write to you today perched upon an old cabbage crate, wrapped in an ancient quilt, eating sour green apples, and contemplating an event which recently unfolded this afternoon.
But, in order to understand my vexation at today's occurrence, you must first be informed of the enormous changes Longbourne has undergone in your absence.
A week ago my cousin, Amelia Lawrence, arrived by carriage to spend an undesignated amount time at Longbourne. I thought I should like her at first, for she was very pleasant and kind to Father and Mama, though, as I began to realize, that was more of an act than a genuine virtue. This I discovered when I had to assist her up to my room, where, as soon as Mama was out of earshot, she instantly lashed into a tirade of her 'rules of conduct'. This was proclaimed hastily as she thumbed through the volume of Shakespeare on the nightstand, the blue china bowl in which Maid Marion rested, the collection of beetles in a jar on the fireplace mantle, the bird-nest on the windowsill, and the battered desk with the manuscript of my Blondebeard stories. I was very vexed.
I informed her then-in a very calm and patient manner-that the room was mine, Maid Marion, the beetles, and the bird-nest were not a danger to her health, and that she would not be able to have my entire closet space, as I required at least half for my private collection of books.
On the whole, I was very dignified and reasonable, extending a fair peace treaty- which she ought to have accepted. But Amelia was not prepared to be diplomatic.
That is the exact reason that she took up her case with Mama, who informed me dramatically that Maid Marion, the beetles, the bird-nest, and all other of my 'odious' personal possessions were to be either removed or replaced with Amelia's French lace ribbons, bell-embellished shoes, and gilded mirror with its frou-frou stool and elegant silk curtains.
Papa was helpless in the situation, and my room was eventually turned into an elegant nightmare. Thus I proclaimed my obvious disdain for Amelia's methods, packed up Maid Marion and her blue china bowl, rescued the bird-nest from the rest of the garbage, and gathered up my entire collection of literary works only to move to the upstairs garret, where at least I would be guaranteed some of my sanity.
Amelia was apparently satisfied.
That evening at dinner she informed me that she would require me to fix her hair every morning at eight-o'clock sharp. I informed her that she would be required to fix her own hair or risk being thrown into the icy waters of the brook. Then, as was becoming quite customary, she took up her complaint with Mama, who sentenced me to the terrifying task of Amelia's hair-arranging as well as a week's allotment of embroidery.
My patient was, even at that early point, beginning to wear thin.
The next morning it rained, so I confined myself to the study with Papa to work on my Blondebeard manuscript. It was coming along quite nicely until Amelia discovered my location and bombarded in to request my presence in the act of playing dolls.
I informed her that I did not play dolls, Jane would be a ready companion, and, if she was not satisfied with such, to play dolls by herself.
This did not go over well with Amelia, and, with a swish of pink satin and lace, she was off in search of Mama's justice. Father, once again, looked helpless in the onslaught of such feminine reprimand, and I was forced, for the next three-quarters of an hour, to play dolls with someone I despised.
At lunch I had to cut her meat for her, that afternoon I had to assist her in trying on dresses, and, later that evening, I had to read her the stories of a simple-headed princess with golden hair and no mind of her own.
That evening I was so fatigued and disgusted by what I had accomplished that day that I forgot to say good-night to Betsy and to read to Sophy and the other children.
I began to plot complete and total revenge.
The next morning I was up before sunrise. Donning my clogs, I rushed out into the glorious open air to relieve my mind. I walked around the village and had breakfast with Tom the baker before visiting the bookstore and returning the volume I had borrowed. At length, I returned home, my spirits considerably raised after a detour to Bertha's cottage.
Amelia was, naturally, searching to torment me.
She inquired where I had been, and I made up the first silly little excuse that came to mind. Then I excused myself to the garret before she could think up some errand or chore she required, secretly plotting revenge. It was then that I had a brilliant idea.
As soon as I reached the garret, I threw open the trunk of make-believe clothing from nearly centuries ago, plowing through the moth-eaten costumes of old until at last I came upon a seventeenth-century man's outfit that was much to large but completely perfect for my scheme. I thrust it and some other necessary objects into a bag before slipping out the back stairwell undetected by Amelia.
I then rushed to Lucas Lodge to enlist Charlotte in aid, and we rounded up Clara, John, and Elton. By Browning Pond I instructed them in our act and it was there that we donned the costumes and perfected the details.
When I returned to Longbourne, disguised as a swashbuckling pirate of old, I discovered Amelia out in the front yard, carefully raising her dress to avoid mud puddles and calling my name at a decibel below that of screaming.
I then called her name in my regular voice, instructing her that I was down by the glen, and, that if she hurried, she would find the most glorious playhouse of cedar and paint that had ever been fit for tea parties and dolls. As she did not possess a keen sense of suspicion, Amelia daintily followed the beaten path to the glen where my groupe sat waiting.
I took the backpaths and arrived there minutes before her, crouching low in the thistle brush to await her arrival. In the oak trees hung Elton and John, while a wary Charlotte and Clara laid low beneath the mulberry.
Not five minutes later did Amelia arrive, clad in her usual silken attire, with bows draped elegantly through her hair. She searched long and hard for the beautiful playhouse but found none. And, as she stood there rather helplessly, searching for a nonexistent playhouse, we all leaped from our positions and surrounded her, our pirate costumes disguising our identities.
She screamed loudly, though, as we were so distant from any near people, it really did not matter. We laughed at her fear, berated her in boorish, foreign voices, and tied her up, bound from elegant head to elegant toe. And to top the moment of crowning pirate revenge, I requested that she jump into a large mud puddle.
Amelia was only too happy to oblige, and her beautiful silk afternoon dress became stained with mud as she leaped and fell into the puddle.
Oh, how we laughed! I could practically not contain my mirth when we finally unbound her and watched her run screaming towards Longbourne. Charlotte and Clara looked intensely guilty and set off quickly towards the hills, while I relived ever moment of my rather sweet revenge under the sycamore tree with John and Elton.
Hours passed and at last I skipped merrily back through the underbrush, up the back stairwell, and into my room, humming happily with my success. Unfortunately, when I turned the doorknob to the garret, I discovered not a solitary scene with my usual cheerful accommodations, but Mama, hands on her hips, starring angrily at my surprised face.
And there was Amelia beside her, a smirk upon her lips, adorned in a fresh frock covered in bows.
I will leave the rest to your imagination.
Now I am locked in the garret, with only bread and water as means of survival. Papa came to visit me and scold my behavior, but, instead of bereavement, he gave me a hug and told me that I had done the right thing; a very odd means of punishment, or so I thought. As for Mama and Amelia, they are conspiring the means of my other punishments, which I am prepared to face with bravado.
Well, this has been a long letter. I expect an equally thick one in reply. You really must come back soon and visit me, Darcy. Mayhap then we can torment Amelia together. Send your father my regards. I will write him a letter concerning my studies tomorrow. My thanks are profuse for Mistress Price. It was very generous of him to take my education into consideration.
A Very Morose Pirate,
Blondebeard