My Dearest Fiona,

I find ancient cultures fascinating. I would not want to go back in time and live permanently. I love my family and would not change it for anything. Please let me keep my water closet instead of digging a hole for bodily functions.

I have completed my sleuthing on you and your mother. But your mother's information leads to a dead end and I have no information on your father. Is your mother originally from Scotland?

You mention John's Adhesive love: please share your view or feelings about such matters. I will not reveal my opinion for the simple reason I do not wish to use our friendship to influence your views.

What fascinates you about the human body? Ideal organ? Least favorite?

I have sort of uniform, we all have our own uniforms. I wear trousers and simple shirt with a vest and a thick hooded cape to keep me warm. I wear what I can to keep to the shadows and be flexible. I keep my face covered, like a mask, pseudonymity is vital in our line of work. When I am out at night, I do get scared and nervous. Being afraid and nervous heightens our senses and we become sensitive to our surrounding.

We receive our cases from Scotland yard, private companies and a few private clients. Some mysteries take hours, other days – nevertheless there is always research, record keeping and a great deal of planning. Detective work takes special skills and much patience. My London detective skills are coming along. Your letters are helping me fine-tune my patience.

We keep records and write reports for all our cases. I will gladly tell stories of our past cases, but understand only the severe and horrible cases come across my mother's desk. Which means they are usually murderers or thieves. Sometimes a soft case involves missing folks, espionage or embezzlement; which always comes from a private client. These clients expect absolute privacy. I am sure you understand. You are going into medicine and patient privacy is vital to your authority.

Here is a case from before I was born:

A landlady from South Brixton has an unusual lodger who never shows her face. She saw it once accidentally and it was hideously mutilated. This woman, formerly silent, has recently taken to cursing in the night, shouting "Murder, murder!" and "You cruel beast! You monster!"

The landlady brought this case to our attention as her tenant, Mrs. Rinder, will not involve the clergy or the police. She is told to mention 'Abbas Parva,' which my mother remembers instantly.

It was the most tragic case in which a circus lion somehow got loose and savaged two people, one of whom was killed and the other badly disfigured. The latter is apparently this Mrs. Rinder. The former was her husband, Mr. Rinder.

My mother felt that the lions attack case was a little "off", even the local police were a bit disturbed at the time by some seeming inconsistencies in the accounts. You see the lion was part of an act which Mr. and Mrs. Rinder performed right in its cage and they were the ones who fed it. Why had it suddenly turned on its feeders? Why had it not tried to escape? Who was that man that several people heard screaming when supposedly Mr. Rinder had already been killed?

Upon arriving at Brixton, my family were shown into Mrs. Rinder's room, which she seldom left. She was wearing her veil. Her purpose, it seems, has to make a clean breast of the matter before she dies.

Mr. Rinder was a terrible husband, cruel and violent in the extreme, even to the circus animals, but he didn't care, even though he wound up in the dock for it several times. He was rich and the fines meant nothing.

Mrs. Rinder had an extramarital lover, the circus strongman, Leonardo. They conceived a plan to get rid of the hateful and mean Mr. Rinder. Leonardo made a club with five nails in it, whose wounds might be taken for a lion's. Then, one night in Berkshire, when the circus had camped for the night, Leonardo smashed Mr. Rinder's head in with the club. His wife released the lion to make it seem that it had broken free and done the deed. However, the lion turned and pounced on Mrs. Rinder, chewing her face up badly. Leonardo began screaming and ran away. He could have helped his lover, but he was a coward.

She could not bring herself to implicate Leonardo in her husband's murder at the inquest and confessed to my mother because she believes that she will soon die. Ever since that night, she has lived alone and wore a veil.

My mother only had advice to offer. Realizing that Mrs. Rinder was contemplating suicide, she reminded her that her life was worth something as an example of patient suffering in an impatient world. She responded by lifting her veil and she had a face full of scars.

Nevertheless, two days later, my family received a bottle of prussic acid, from Mrs. Rinder. She was going to use it, but apparently thought better of it.

I am not offended that you believe in evolution. That is a belief we both share.

I am glad you have free time. I hope, soon, you will allow me to join you and we can read together. I would like to discuss any book we both have read. I value your insight. Although, the outdoors are getting too cold. I love your letters, but I am curious to know if this connection transcends outside our correspondence.

Your family friend, who brings books and taught you cricket, does he still meet with you? I would love to hear one of his stories.

In a few moments, I will be learning how to make custard pies. My mother will be giving me instructions. Apparently I eat too many and if I want to have custard pies in the future I must make them myself. I will let you know the result of my attempt. Are you handy in the kitchen?

Your Friend

Alaya

P.S. Now that women are allowed to attend Cambridge lectures I was thinking about making the trip in the future. "The Times" and "The Daily Mail" will have advanced schedule. Please let me know if you see any of interest as I will do the same.