Several of the ideas in my (appropriately-named) ‘Notebook of Prompts’ refer to exchanges of correspondence. and recently went ‘old-school’, swapping letters and generously reminding us of the pleasure both of sending and receiving. I have been intent on writing something unlimited by a specified word count; a question popped into my thoughts about how polite society might have exchanged notes back in the day.
Sea View
Worthing
27 May 1929
Mr Miller
It is with much regret that I have cause to write to you so soon after your stay in our boarding house.
At the time of your short convalescence, I was of the opinion that you were a man of admirable qualities. You were polite, tidy, and your timekeeping was excellent. Moreover, your vivid tales of travels were fascinating to me and, perhaps, also to Mr Cuttling. Your future adventures in Paris will no doubt bring forth fresh storytelling. But not everything was as it appeared. Perhaps you kept your more salacious side from us. I can only imagine, though I would rather not.
The book you mistakenly left in your room tells the true tale. I am not surprised this filth was clothed in brown paper. Perhaps Mr Lawrence should have considered the handwritten title you chose to append to the cover. ‘Pheasant Plucking for Beginners’ would appear to be at the heart of his ribald tale.
Frankly, I am shocked and appalled that I should have thought so highly of you. Perhaps Americans are more, how shall I put it, ‘liberal’ in their tastes.
I shall ask my husband to burn the offending text and I would be most grateful if you would book yourself into another establishment for your next visit to the coast.
Yours, disappointedly
Mrs Cuttling
Brown’s Hotel
Albemarle Street
2 June 1929
My dear Mrs Cuttling
What a pleasant surprise to receive your letter of 29th May. I have thought of you on several occasions since returning to London after a most invigorating stay on the coast but I had little hope that you might seek a correspondence.
Your firm tone thrilled me though I regret that in this case it is misdirected.
The text in question is not mine. I left it behind because it belongs on the shelves in your husband’s study. It was he who passed it to me, for reasons I have yet to discern. In light of the coldness of his behavior towards you, I can only image he seeks his pleasures in the rather clumsy writings of Mr Lawrence. Why he should do that when he could be lavishing attention on his most attractive wife is beyond me.
Perhaps you will excuse this forwardness - I am, after all, an American, as you point out - but he might have done better to pass the book to you.
I should be delighted to hear from you again,
Warmest regards
Henry (Miller)
Sea View
Worthing
5 June 1929
Dear Mr Miller
Well, Sir, it is true then. Americans do, very much, speak their minds. I am relieved that no such openness was expressed when you were in Worthing. The sea air can have a liberating effect on those unused to it.
Reassured by your assertion - but rather alarmed that my husband should be drawn to such texts - I took it upon myself to discreetly return the volume to his study. It may not surprise you, as a man of the world, but my attempt to draw a line under the matter only led to further revelations. As I tidied the books, a slim volume about a young ‘lady’ called Fanny Hill dropped to the floor. It fell open at a seemingly oft-consulted section. Perhaps it was the early Summer sun, but I felt overwhelmed by an unexpected warmth and took to my bed. In my haste to recover my poise, I removed the book. It currently resides under my pillow where it whispers, most indiscreetly, to me as I retire.
I do hope you might forgive me the false assumption I made about your good character. Your attentiveness to me during your stay, particularly on the long evenings when Mr Cuttling was clearly ‘otherwise engaged’, was much appreciated.
I do hope you might be in a position to visit again before you set off for Paris.
Yours, most sincerely
Mrs Cuttling (Maud)
Brown’s Hotel
Albemarle Street
11 June 1929
My dear Maud
Your letter of 5th June stirred a frisson of pleasure.
Whilst I am sorry to learn that the ‘unexpected warmth’ caught you unawares, I feel compelled to report that there is a good deal more that you might discover should you allow your curiosity to lead you along the correct path.
My recollection of our fireside chats reminds me that your match with Mr Cuttling provided reassurance to your family. I recall too, that the practicalities of the arrangement were untroubled by strong feelings of emotion or, how can I put this discreetly, physical obligations.
I suspect that the words slipping into your consciousness are awakening a side of you sadly neglected by the ‘arrangement’ underpinning the stability of your circumstance. It may be that you will be drawn to find a private response to this ‘awakening’. Should that be the case, you may find the short story I have enclosed with this letter to be of some comfort.
It would be my pleasure to hear from you soon,
Warmest regards
Henry
Sea View
Worthing
14 June 1929
My goodness, Mr Miller … where to begin. I am … well, I know not … I mean to say … unsettled, yes, that is it. I am unsettled.
Perhaps you sensed the curiosity in me that drew me to other volumes in my husband’s study. You must have known that I would slowly unfold the paper on which you painted such explicit pictures … even as I write this my hand shakes a little and my breath shortens.
I know I would not be able to engage you in idle chat should you return to the coast knowing that you have words like this simmering inside you. I write this as I linger in my bed, your tale - hidden under my pillows - encouraging me to tarry a little longer. I should pour myself a strong cup of tea, perhaps.
Yours, unsettled
Maud
Brown’s Hotel
Albemarle Street
19 June 1929
Dearest Maud
We should talk about this, I feel, before I travel to Paris.
They serve the most excellent Russian Earl Grey tea here at Brown’s. It truly is a balm for unsettled nerves.
I have taken the liberty of enclosing a return ticket from Worthing. Your husband will undoubtedly encourage you to spend time with a ‘friend’ in London. You perhaps have a ‘Lucy’ or ‘ Charlotte’ from your schooldays who you simply must catch up with over tea and cakes.
In the meantime, I shall write something diverting for your return journey, a temptation to ‘linger’.
I very much look forward to seeing you,
Warmly
Henry
Sea View
Worthing
27 June 1929
Dearest Henry
My heart is racing - again - as I recall our ‘afternoon tea’. Your room was very well appointed and the view really rather splendid. I was a little surprised that you had ordered tea and French fancies to be laid there rather than the hotel lounge but in light of the dizziness I felt, I see that you were being attentive to every eventuality. Your medical knowledge was most helpful. Loosening my clothing really did relieve the anxiety, as you gently assured me it might. The gift of your words was very ‘affecting’. My goodness, you have opened my eyes. The unexpected pleasure of reading them aloud for you - and the excitement you displayed - lives vividly in my thoughts as I have retired early after supper these past few days. Will you come to Worthing soon or should I arrange to visit ‘Celeste’, my old friend, in London?
Do write soon.
Your Maud
Sea View
Worthing
14 July 1929
Dear Henry … I did not hear from you as I hoped. Are you unwell? I have so much to share with you. I have read every evening and ‘explored’ as you encouraged me so to do. It would be a great pleasure to take afternoon tea with you again. There are, no doubt, other ‘French fancies’ you might persuade me to taste. I can pay for my own ticket on this occasion, just name the day.
Excitedly,
Maud
Sea View
Worthing
3 August 1929
You are a scoundrel,Mr Miller. My last letter was returned by Mrs Brown with a short note explaining that you left for France - in somewhat of a hurry - shortly after you were visited by a husband whose idea of ‘writing lessons’ for his wife was a long way removed from your own. The imagination you awakened in me had no difficulty in summoning a sense of the ‘learning’ on offer. I have little doubt you are now choosing from a selection of French ‘fancies’, untroubled by the disruptions you left behind. Everything they say about Americans is true. You have no shame, I am certain. You will care little that a travelling encyclopaedia salesman from the North of England, a character who would not have been out of place in Lawrence’s work, heard disturbances from my room caused by your words. His remedy for my unsettled condition would fill several pages of the sort of novel my husband seems to relish. I may write the words myself.
Yours disappointedly,
Mrs Cuttling
This is absolutely delightful, Barrie. I loved the period language, and especially this line, "I felt overwhelmed by an unexpected warmth and took to my bed." So clever to have written it as an exchange of letters. ( I myself am hoping to embark shortly on an exchange of letters - a collaboration with a fellow substack writer.) Beautiful!
This reminded me of The Henry Roots Letters. Have you ever read them? They're hilarious.