Dear Amber and Grace,
Thank you for your letter. I feel as though I have been away for a lifetime instead of just two months. The staff here is much less lively than you lot.
You asked many questions, so I shall address them in order.
The only news I have presently is that the whole family is doing well, though understandably still grieving. They are all in mourning over the Lord's mother, but Lady Welch has been very level-headed and a great help in getting all of the affairs in order, including the property.
The new valet has completely settled in now, though with everything going on—and the whole other staff to do the most pressing work—Adah, him, and I mostly just play cards in the servants' hall. He insists on playing by some old family rules he swears are "standard," though neither of us has ever heard of them. Adah suspects he's making them up as he goes.
And no, there are not any handsome men here (your words, not mine), and no, I have not taken a fancy to anyone. Most of the other servants ignore us anyway—too worried about whether they're staying on or not to pay us any attention. Some days it feels as though the entire house is holding its breath, waiting to see who's kept and who's let go.
We miss you all terribly, and we frequently talk about how rotten our luck was—to have to leave right after Christmas. Although we all agree that returning to spring at the house will be wonderful.
Anything will be better than here. I swear I've never seen this much snow in my entire life. And it seems heavier than the snow there—wet and bone-chilling. Makes me miss Mrs. Kozlov's tea blends something terrible. And the locals say it doesn't melt until April!
I'm just glad we'll be gone by then, enjoying the sun, rain, and sweet spring flowers.
As for the spring fair idea, it does seem rather fun, and I will support the group's plea to Mr. Stephens and Mrs. Hobbs to let us go. Although you should be more careful this time—remember the skating day?
It's good to hear that you are all doing well. Though it is unnecessary to give me such a detailed account of exactly what Aleksi has been doing this whole time. You know, I can never tell if you're teasing or if you're genuinely taking notes on his whereabouts like a little spy. Either way, unnecessary.
To answer your last question, the business here is almost complete, and we hope to return in the next few weeks, probably the first week of March.
Give our love to the others, and have Mrs. Kozlov save some of those cookies for us.
Warmly,
Laura Charles
P.S. Adah sent a letter for Aleksi along with this one. Please pass it on to him. And don't even think about peeking at it, because it is all in Slovakranian anyway.
Dear Aleksi,
Your Limonski is doing well, although we are all bored with things here. We are so far from anything, and there is no one to talk to—least of all for me.
She's mostly in good spirits, but at night she gets that quiet look—like she's thinking herself into circles. I think she's still sorting things out. I figured you would want to know.
Laura would never admit it, but she checks the post every day. Claims she's just "getting fresh air," as if it isn't freezing outside. I half expect her to fight me for your letters, when the precious few you have deigned to write arrive.
And don't act innocent. You know what you did. Or didn't do. Or did and then decided not to talk about it. I know you strategically avoided her in your letters. You two were practically running off into the sunset on Christmas. And don't think I've forgotten that you still haven't told me what happened after. Whatever it was or is, you better be ready to talk about it when we get back, because I think your girl might keel over if she keeps worrying like she is now.
You're lucky, though, you know. Most people never have someone look at them the way she looks at you when she thinks no one is watching. Don't waste it.
Now that I've said something nice, I expect triple the return post.
Speaking of your girl—did you know she's a shark at cards? We've been playing with the valet, who's nice enough. He has a funny snort-like laugh and hates to lose at cards, which of course makes it funnier when Laura wins five hands in a row.
We've started betting on our games to liven things up. Of course, none of us have any money to bet, so we bet chores. I owe your girl a week of ironing.
I wish you and Mamka were here (mostly Mamka, to be honest—the food here is terrible). We tried cooking for ourselves last week. Long story short: your girl burned the potatoes, I dropped the roast, and the valet somehow managed to set a dish towel on fire, despite the fact we only told him to cut vegetables.
Also—tell Mamka to make my favourite soup for the night we get back. The one with the noodles and pickled cabbage? If she doesn't, I'm going to strike. Laura says I'm being dramatic, but the food here is really that bad.
Luckily we'll be coming home soon—to all of our reliefs.
I will pretend I don't miss you, but if you don't write back to me, I will tell Laura that story about you and the porcupine—and don't think my threats are hollow. After the last time you "forgot" to send your letter, I told her about the olive-oil incident. You have been warned.
See you soon. Try not to do anything too stupid until I get back—don't want to miss out on free entertainment.
Yours,
Adah
P.S. Why haven't you written to Laura? I bet you're being an idiot.