Correspondence
My dearest Tom;
I am writing to you from the coziest little apartment I have ever seen! It is situated in a less wealthy part of London, but even so, I am very happy...aside from the fact that you are not here with me! Oh, Tom, I miss you so! But I have a wonderful feeling that this trip to Europe is going to enliven my stories to the end of my days. Just here in London, in this very house, I have found literary delights. The first day I came, I slowly crept up the enchanting, creaky old staircase and took a peek into the old attic. It looks just as all of the old attics do in stories - littered with rusty trunks and old cracked mirrors, boxes with old locks, chests of drawers...everything the heart could desire. Well, I began exploring right away. You know my imagination; I was expecting to find journals, letters, old wedding dresses and sewing boxes. Well, how surprised I was when I found that for once, my imagination had not out-done reality! The very drawer I opened first contained a multitude of yellowed, crackling pages. Right on the top there lay a slim packet of folded papers tied with white lace. I found that they were carbon paper copies of two letters, written by a woman who lived in this apartment years ago. The story in these letters is so amazing that I was holding my breath while I was reading them. After I finished them, I thought of you; I just know you will love them. So, as a little gift, I'm sending you a copy of these letters. There are a few things that I didn't understand; how did the family lose their inheritance? Who claimed it? But most of the story is remarkably clear and understandable.
Well, my dear one, I must go! Please write to me soon, and let me know how you liked the letters. I miss you, and I can't wait until I get home!
Love, Waycross, London
Janet 986 Smallbridge Street
Letter 1#:
Dear Judge Calasby;
Please, sir, I beg of you; do not think me forward in writing this. You know my family; and you know our pride would not allow us to write to you unless we felt it absolutely necessary. After the unfortunate and most unexpected emptying of our pocketbooks last month, I can see how a respectable, wealthy man such as you would wish to avoid all contact with us, especially considering the circumstances in which we lost our fortune. Know, then, that I expect, nor hope for, a renewal of our previous close acquaintance.
Surely you know already the subject on which I am writing to you. My brother is now residing in the local jail - this shame is all that I can think about at this moment. I fear that you only have a part of the story, so I wish to explain to you in full how my dear but foolish brother is by no means responsible for the murder of the banker, or the robbery. I am an eyewitness to the events which I recount here. I will be most happy to be a witness at my brother's trial, if that is necessary.
As of late, my dear brother John has been getting himself into trouble with the law, as you very well know, due to your fortunate interference in the Smith girl affair. You will not be surprised, then, when I inform you that we are in a bit of a scrape because of John's latest mischief.
Two weeks ago, my brother came home with a broken, bleeding face and no ready story to account for it. I and my parents questioned him again and again...we asked if he was dallying with the Smith girl again, even after the fight with her fiance and his two-day stay in jail. He replied with vehemence that it was no girl who had caused this particular fight, but that it was none of our business. So, we cleaned him up as best we could and tried to forget it. I, however, could not accomplish that with the ease that my parents could. I racked my brains day after day, trying to think where he could have gotten into a fight. I only thought it could have something to do with our sudden bankruptcy. There are many rumors circulating that John had gambled away our fortune; you know it was nothing of the kind. John had nothing whatsoever to do with my father's cruel older brother returning suddenly to life and claiming all of the inheritance. That was simply a misfortune. A note to reassure you; we are living in some rather comfortable apartments in a life of relative ease. We do not suffer, anymore than a family of some wealth and importance reduced to complete poverty would be.
To continue; finally, my curiosity became too much. I resolved to question John until he told me what was happening, no matter the cost. However, events changed so I was spared this unhappiness. I was up late one night, writing an entry in my journal, when I heard John stir. His sleeping quarters are quite close to mine, you see. I peeked through the crack in my doorway and saw him draw on his cloak and some heavy boots. I was worried by this strange behavior, and resolved to follow him. He slipped outside and walked along the streets, muffled in his heavy cloak. I followed him quietly, and soon we were out of the territory I knew. My family, only recently moved to this...undesirable part of town...has not grown familiar with our surroundings quite yet.
Suddenly, my brother came to a stop outside an old, abandoned bakery shop. He stepped inside and I stayed outside the doorway, lifting my hood off my head to hear better.
"So, here is John at last! What kept you, man?"
A voice sounded inside the shop, harsh and grating. "I will be brief. We need another man for an upcoming job on the bank-"
My brother cut him off angrily. "Why did you ask me here if it was only to repeat the same request as last time? I told you before, I can have nothing to do with this! I may be a cad and a scoundrel sometimes, but I wouldn't disgrace my already ruined family name by something as criminal as you suggest!"
My own brother's voice sounded strained and harsh, as if it cost him an effort to get these words out. Another man spoke, his voice light and oily.
"But John, my friend, we need another man. You remember what happened to you the last time you refused? Well, you know then that we wouldn't hesitate to repeat that same experience. We know you don't want that, John...and how would you explain yet another freshly broken nose to the family?"
My brother did not speak for a long time, and I feared that he was about to give in, and agree to take part in some nefarious plan. I should not have troubled myself, however, for soon there came the sound of John's voice, relentless and hard.
"No. I knew I should never have taken up with you fellows in the first place, but I hardly expected it would come to this. Stealing and perhaps a murder? I'll have no part in it. I know better than you how much my family needs money, but that's my problem. You lads will have to find another partner, that's all."
I breathed a sigh of relief at this heroic speech, but my nerves were soon set upon edge once again when I heard a muffled thump and a grunt from John. They, the brutes, were holding true to their word and giving him a royal drubbing. There was nothing I could do, so I simply waited outside until I might be of some use.
Finally, the men tired and left John, lying on the decrepit floor and breathing in raspy gasps. As soon as the last man had come out of the doorway and disappeared into the night, I rushed inside. I cried over him as I saw his battered face. His swiftly swelling eye came open a bit and he tried to be angry when he saw me there.
"Cecily...I'm not even going to ask...what you're doing here."
I smiled at him. "John, can you walk? I'm so proud of you!"
I helped him to his feet and he leaned on me. We made our way slowly back down the dark streets, talking. Of course, he was grumpy with me, as was to be expected, but he soon got over it. He was actually relieved to have another person he could trust to know about his predicament. I begged him, as we walked, to tell me more of these brutish fellows. He told me quickly, as if ashamed of his part in the whole thing.
"Well, they were simply some men who seemed nice enough and offered me work when we first moved here. I, being the naive, previously-wealthy simpleton, accepted. I wanted to surprise you all with my first paycheck, so I didn't tell you about them. Then I discovered that they were only desperate for another man to help them in an upcoming bank robbery they were attempting. I, of course, refused, and you know the rest."
I looked at him in puzzlement.
"But why, then, did you go back tonight?"
John looked at me mournfully.
"Have you ever thought about the fact that I'm an idiot? They told me that they had a different job for me, this time; helping unload the boats coming in from the little fishing isles. I, fool that I am, believed them again and went. Of course, they simply wished to renew their previous requests."
I thought that my brother had, indeed, been rather an idiot, but I was happy that he had stood up for the family principles in the end.
"Never mind, John...just don't go to them ever again and we will soon forget that it happened. It is over." Or so I thought.
Surely you have guessed, however, that it was far from over. I found that out the very next morning. My mother, you understand, is a very crotchety old lady very used to getting her way. She had been doing some sewing and embroidery for some ladies, and received her payment that morning. She, suffering from rheumatism, could not go to the bank herself. So, she asked John and I to go. When she asked, we exchanged mutual glances of despair. John took me aside and whispered, "Cecily, no! We can't...not today, of all days! They were planning -" but then mother cut us off.
"Go on, then, children! Daylight waits for no man!"
John turned, making a desperate attempt to change her mind.
"Mother, please, another day? I am really very occupied, I planned to...to go search for a job today! And Cecily is occupied as well...and today is not a good day at the bank."
At each protest, however, mother's will grew even more firm, and she would have nothing but to get us to the bank that very instant. Finally John and I gave up in despair. We reluctantly pulled on our cloaks and hoods.
"Come, children, no delay! Here's my money, be careful, now!" my mother snapped at us, waving her folded bills impatiently.
John and I got to the bank, and as luck - or fate - would have it, it was at that moment John's odious compatriots chose to make their appearance. They stormed in, guns in hands, black masks covering their faces.
"Down on the floor!" they shouted in gruff, badly disguised voices. John ducked his head, trying to keep them from recognizing him. At first, I thought he had succeeded. Ignoring him completely, the brutes rushed forward and grabbed handfuls of cash from the frightened banker. The poor man, God rest his soul, was motionless, frozen, but suddenly he seemed to find his courage, and as the robbers were turning to leave, stuffing their money in their bags, the old banker reached into his pocket and pulled out a small handgun.
"Don't move," he cried in a frightened, wavery voice. Unfortunately, the men didn't appear too convinced by this threat, and kept going. One of them, however, drew his gun and turned, carelessly shooting the innocent banker through the heart. The other men kept their revolvers pointing at the terrified people on the floors. Then, as they were going out, the man who had shot the banker caught sight of my brother, who was watching the activity, wide-eyed. He turned and, running up to my brother and I, shoved the gun into John's hand. Then he and his fellow thugs ran out as quickly as they could.
You might wonder, then, how was John blamed for this? Well, all I can put it down to is that people who are terrified do not always make complete sense, and most of the time they make no sense at all. There were not many people in the bank, and the ones that were there had cowered and covered their faces in fear when the men first came in. Afterwards, not one would attest that John had not been a part of the gang. One man even had a story about how John had been the leader and he had, out of honor, waited until the rest of his gang was out, but before he could quite escape, the police came and stopped him. This led to some rough treatment on the parts of the cops, in attempting to get information out of John about where the rest of his gang had gone. I tried to get through, to dispel these ridiculous rumors, but no one would listen to a small woman in that rushed, hectic time just after a crime is committed. Of course, the police came quickly at the sound of the shot and found John, standing dumbstruck with a smoking gun in his hand. He was taken immediately to jail and is residing there now. His trial is to be next week.
I do not know if this correspondence will help in the outcome of his trial at all. But I wanted to just try to put in what may be the only good word for John in this whole unfortunate circumstance. You may be averse to helping my family, in our dire straits, but I hope that you are one of those great men who are willing to put aside wealth and family condition and remember old friends, old ties and most of all, a little old-fashioned common sense. I also wish to ask you if I may be a witness for John at the trial. I will tell all that I have told you here, and I only hope that the jury has an open mind.
I am sorry if this terribly long, detailed letter has taken up too much of your valuable time. My family and I are in great distress, and I beg of you - please, please, listen to reason and help my brother to come out of jail without mishap. Do you not think that my family is low enough as it is, without a hanging to sink us lower still? And besides, I'm very partial to the idea of keeping my dear older brother alive for at least several more years.
Please, remember us as your old acquaintances, and not as a disgraced family with no money, no land and no luck.
I hope fervently to remain yours always,
~Cecily Cardew
Waycross, London
986 Smallbridge Street
Letter 2#:
Most kind and gracious Judge Calasby;
Thank you so much for your gracious intervention on the part of my brother! You insist that it was the only logical ruling after the testimony I bore, but that is simply just like your nobility to try and give me the honor for my brother's return to respectability. Despite your protests, I feel sure that you will receive a special blessing in Heaven for the kindness you have shown a destitute family.
As you requested, no one shall ever know of these letters I have written to you. I would by no means wish you, of all people, to get in a stew for helping my family in times of trouble.
I am very sorry indeed after all that you have done for us, to give you any news which would grieve you in any way - but there is no help for it. We gladly accepted your gracious offer to let me be a witness at the case, and, of course, your ruling in favor of John, but as to your last kindness, we cannot accept it. It is not possible. Surely you, one of our family's oldest acquaintances, should know that we could never accept such a gift of charity, kindly meant though it be. We prefer to earn our way back up in the world. My father has found a suitable job as a clerk, and my mother is still doing the odd sewing. I feel confident that dear John will soon find a respectable job. So we, the Cardews, do regret to inform you that we cannot accept your check. I have enclosed it here, for you, with all thanks for your kindness. Although, sir, when you sent it, I am not altogether certain that you were expecting us to accept it, were you?
You know, however, it is not such a great misfortune to be poor. I find it quite a relief to be freed from the inevitable teas, dinners and parties, in which every tongue has a sharp double edge, and ladies disguise daggers in their every lavendar-scented word. I am working temporarily in a laundromat, and all of the women who work there are happy, content, working women with frank, open manner. It is positively refreshing. You should try on poverty for size sometime, sir, meaning no disrespect.
Well, sir, perhaps when the Cardews are once again known as a prosperous, respectable family, we can look forward to the pleasure of seeing you at the formal parties and dinners that are held nearly every week in the 'higher society'. Until then, I remain, most respectfully and gratefully yours,
Cecily Cardew
Waycross, London
986 Smallbridge Street
Anyway, welcome to the forums!
