Letter Fourteen: A new medicine.

My Flame,

Greetings from the infirmary! It appears my foot has become infected and I have been placed under strict doctor’s care. I hope you did not get too belligerent from the imported liquors—my brother tends to drink heavily and irresponsibly. On medical news, it appears leeches cannot suck out everything although they make one quite giddy when placed upon the taint. The doctor has been giving me an experimental medicine—it causes me to have the most vivid and damp dreams.
Why just the other night I dreamt that I was back in your loving arms. We were in Patterson's field where we first consummated our love. It was twilight. We lay on a blanket, your back was arched and the morning dew settled on your muff.
Upon climax you burst into flame and rose to the heavens; all the while the grasses grew at hellish speed and a baby's cry sounded as the earth split open and in I fell. I awoke on the floor, covered in…well.
I can only hope I get through this. Send Seymour, that talented little rascal my love. I hope to dream of you yet again.

Your moist, clammy warrior,
Bentley

Letter Thirteen: What's under Seymour's bed?

My Love,

            I have just received your letter on my way out to the Barrister’s ball. Your brother has agreed to escort me this evening in your absence—such a sweetheart. Dearest I am wholly sure that you and I would have been the sweetest young lovers if we had crossed paths early on. I would have stunned you with my impressive patchwork, keen ear for cello and liquor tolerance. Oh, Ambrosia found a drawing of a nude woman under little Seymour’s mattress when she was tending the beds today. I spoke to Seymour and he apologized for illustrating such indecency (although it was rather skillfully done and strikingly resembled Loretta.) I am glad that he is pursuing his talents but I do wish he would take more interest in croquet and hunting. Well darling, I must go—Benjamin acquired some France imported Absinthe to commence the evening with! Play as rough on the field as you do in our bed.

P.S. I've included the indecent drawing your son illustrated. It's very well done, don't you think?

Your giddy darling,

Muffy

Letter Twelve: A young swordsman in the basement.

Darling,

            I have fantasized about your upbringing many a time. I too was a little lad in British boarding school; we would steal swords from our headmaster and play knights in the basement. I do believe that if our tiny hearts had crossed each other’s path at that point in time, we would be inseparable little ones. I, tying bows in your dewy curls while you mend my sword's sheath…the two of us passing swigs of stealthily smuggled gin. Back then we would have never fathomed the intimate life we lead today, or rather, months ago when I was still in your arms. My wooden leg is doing well. The leeches have grown plump. I still fight like an ox. Well dearest, back to the trenches I go. I will be dreaming of your warm baths and sweet hole.

Your sword-slinging champion,

Bentley

Letter Eleven: The beligerent days of my youth.

My Love,

            It is quite alright that your mind wanders in your ill state.  I do hope they bring you back to me soon! It has been a month since Magdalena has left and I do miss her terribly—I had not drunk that much since I was a little girl in boarding school. I remember it fondly; bows clutching our curls together, feathers floating from a rough pillow fight, stealing romance novels from the dean, and of course Sister Marguerite’s secret stash of gin. Ah, those are the days of my youth I pine for. Now here I am, 20 years of age and nearing the end of my life. But at least I have my darling children, and you, my sweet quick footed prince. Someday soon you’ll be back in my pale arms and sweet hole.‘Til then I’ll simply have to take warm baths and dream of you.

Your pale princess,

Muffy

Letter Ten: Ah yes, that foul scented sister of yours.

Darling,

            I am so thrilled to hear that you found a wet nurse. Ah little Seymour, growing into a man while I am at war. And your sister Magdalena is in town, what great news. The last time I saw her she was barely clothed by the river where all the lads and I were fishing…a free spirited lady she is. That was before she met that trout brewer in Ireland. He was a strong sore of a man. She met him traveling, did she not? Yes, she would ride horses and trains in next to nothing at all; she played fiddle and would write stories on parchment. Yes and her scent is rather foul. Like burnt wood, mossy fir trees and spices—it sticks to ones skin if too close. Ah but yes, erm that terrible foul mind of hers is wretched. Promise me that you will not let her gypsy ways influence you—she is a sore. Beauty. I mean sore. Darling I fear that I am slightly delusional from the amputee medication. Forgive my wandering mind. Take care of little Seymour for me.

Dream of shaking hands with my genital, pardon, general,

Bentley

Letter Nine: Wet nurse found!

My Love,

            I found us a wet nurse! Her name is Loretta Thornhound and she is in good health. We had her moved in yesterday and little Seymour has grown quite a liking to her. I caught him smelling her drawers when he thought no one was looking—he takes after his father. Speaking of scents, my foul smelling sister came to visit last week. Not only was she reeking of her usual bodily odors, but also of stale whiskey and pipe tobacco this time. She also has the foulest mind this side of the confederacy. She kept telling me about how she was going to break a man’s legs to get him to stay with her. She also got me drunk last eve with the whiskey she brews herself—apparently a man she slept with in Ireland taught her. I know, it is unconventional for a woman to be brewing her own whiskey but I cannot help but be mesmerized by the free spirit she is. Naturally I have tried to convince her to find some old money to betroth but she simply will not have it. Well darling, I hope the wooden foot has proved sturdy. 

P.S. I've included a portrait of Loretta and Penny. Isn't little Penny simply darling?

Ponder about my bosom as you fight,

Muffy