Jul 24, 2026 · 23 min · 6 segments
*November 14th, 1874* *My Dearest Charlotte,* *You have my sincerest regrets for just how long it has been since last I wrote to you. It has taken me quite a while to properly settle into my new…
November 14th, 1874.
My dearest Charlotte, you have my sincerest regrets for just how long it has been since I last wrote to you.
It has taken me quite a while to properly settle into my new home and to make time for correspondences.
I assure you that I will soon share all the particular details that have kept me occupied over the last few months.
But first, to address all the necessary pleasantries that I have been putting off.
Give my regards to your husband.
I hope he is taking good care of you in my absence.
And tell the little ones I send my love, and that if they are on their best behavior, I will send you my gingerbread recipe before Christmas time this year, as I have not been around to make it for them myself.
I think of you every day, my dear, when my work on this old house does not keep my mind otherwise occupied.
My uncle, his departed soul be blessed, was apparently quite prolific in his love of collecting, and he left for me quite the prolific mess to take care of in his absence.
To be honest, this inheritance has in some ways been as much of a chore as it is a boon, though I will not try to grouse too much.
Being out in the countryside with plenty of space to ramble and think certainly suits me better than cramped rooms and city life, and he left me plenty to provide for myself while I get this place into livable shape.
More than enough, even.
Of all the domestic chores, keeping a space neat and tidy is the one that I find most intolerable of all.
However, I do intend to put as much effort as necessary into restoring this house to order and keeping it in such, so that one day, hopefully not too far off, I will be able to host you and your family here as my guests without shame.
This is the hope that sustains me through these dull days, and so I am writing to you now to remind not just you, but myself of it.
The day cannot come soon enough.
I long for your presence here with me, my dearest friend.
Still, not all of my time has been dedicated to cleaning, or I would surely go insane or simply expire before I ever reached my goal.
Such is the disarray that my uncle left behind.' I can only imagine that he himself had a similar predilection towards housekeeping as me, and he had no women in his life to assist with it, related or employed.
I cannot imagine why, given the size of his fortune.
My uncle was a bit of an eccentric, or at least my mother used to say so, and he retired to a solitary life here before I ever had the chance to meet him myself.
If I had to judge by the peculiar arrangement of things here, he liked things to be done in a very certain way, and therefore trusted no one to do it but himself.
Despite the inconvenience, I cannot say I blame him.
Surely this peculiarity is most apparent in the oddity that has taken up most of my spare time, the expansive personal library he cultivated.
November 14th, 1874.
My dearest Charlotte, you have my sincerest regrets for just how long it has been since I last wrote to you.
It has taken me quite a while to properly settle into my new home and to make time for correspondences.
I assure you that I will soon share all the particular details that have kept me occupied over the last few months.
But first, to address all the necessary pleasantries that I have been putting off.
Give my regards to your husband.
I hope he is taking good care of you in my absence.
And tell the little ones I send my love, and that if they are on their best behavior, I will send you my gingerbread recipe before Christmas time this year, as I have not been around to make it for them myself.
I think of you every day, my dear, when my work on this old house does not keep my mind otherwise occupied.
My uncle, his departed soul be blessed, was apparently quite prolific in his love of collecting, and he left for me quite the prolific mess to take care of in his absence.
To be honest, this inheritance has in some ways been as much of a chore as it is a boon, though I will not try to grouse too much.
Being out in the countryside with plenty of space to ramble and think certainly suits me better than cramped rooms and city life, and he left me plenty to provide for myself while I get this place into livable shape.
More than enough, even.
Of all the domestic chores, keeping a space neat and tidy is the one that I find most intolerable of all.
However, I do intend to put as much effort as necessary into restoring this house to order and keeping it in such, so that one day, hopefully not too far off, I will be able to host you and your family here as my guests without shame.
This is the hope that sustains me through these dull days, and so I am writing to you now to remind not just you, but myself of it.
The day cannot come soon enough.
I long for your presence here with me, my dearest friend.
Still, not all of my time has been dedicated to cleaning, or I would surely go insane or simply expire before I ever reached my goal.
Such is the disarray that my uncle left behind.' I can only imagine that he himself had a similar predilection towards housekeeping as me, and he had no women in his life to assist with it, related or employed.
I cannot imagine why, given the size of his fortune.
My uncle was a bit of an eccentric, or at least my mother used to say so, and he retired to a solitary life here before I ever had the chance to meet him myself.
If I had to judge by the peculiar arrangement of things here, he liked things to be done in a very certain way, and therefore trusted no one to do it but himself.
Despite the inconvenience, I cannot say I blame him.
Surely this peculiarity is most apparent in the oddity that has taken up most of my spare time, the expansive personal library he cultivated.
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