After my Great Aunt Agnes’s death I was gifted a box of her old letters. Among them I have found several to a “Dr. Weiss” with whom she corresponded for many years. In these (mostly incomplete) letters she referenced and shared parts of a novel she had written. The only thing I know about this novel is from the excerpts she sent to Dr. Weiss, I have never found the book in its entirety. In this first one, I have only found the last page of a letter and the excerpts enclosed.
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With much admiration,
Agnus
P.S.
Dr. Weiss, I have enclosed excerpts from my latest novel as you have so graciously requested. It is with a fevered hope that I will not condemn myself by typing the line I am about to type: I know that you served fish at the Oaks dinner because of our exchange in the reception hall when Henry told us his arrestingly dull deep-sea fishing story. I saw how deeply you looked into my eyes when I acknowledged him and replied “I do love a fresh fish”.
(excerpt from Chapter 9 (pages 134–135): The Events Leading to The Escape and Resulting Hunt of Jacob)
“…afterall he has lived under the stairs his whole life. What, do you expect to DEBUT him or something, Mother?!” Algernon coughed a satisfied snicker into his collar, snagging his hangnail in its starched eyelet and then gingerly setting his finger free only for it to then become snared in the stitching of embroidery on his lapel.
Mother continued to stand at the window in silence, her back to Algernon. She counted the dogs in yard. There have always been seven. Three borzoi, three bloodhounds and a yellow eyed pharaoh hound of whom she was terrified. The pharaoh hounds name was “Clocker” and in her fitful sleep she could hear him in the distance barking his own name. “Certainly he knows that is his own name…” she thought and then aloud whispered “…and barks it to haunt me…”.
“Mother?” Algernon’s aggravation was expressing itself throughout his ensemble, his wide cuffs were tightly crumpled against his chest as he crossed his arms as constricting as he could manage, his glossy patent leather shoes catching light from every source in the room as he paced in a tiny path.
“Yes. We will move Jacob from under the stairs” Mother at last spoke as if in secret to the seven dogs in the yard and not at all to Algernon, “there’s room in the cellar since your sister died”. She backed away from the window, kissed her sons pasty forehead and sat again in her tall reading chair to concentrate on her “counting”. She tapped her pitchfork on her knee, cleared her throat and began “1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. №1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7…”
(excerpt from Chapter 4 (page 51): The Disaster at The Darling Parade)
All of the cousins were there. Even Beatrice, the sickly one Mother always shooed him away from at Christmas events. There was something about her pallid skin that made him hungry. Like she was a girl made of raw chicken skin. How he loved raw chicken skin, freshly butchered and pulling away in little pockets from the chicken meat. He loved to watch Therese knife through the birds at the kitchen table, cracking the bones with her shiny chopper, her hands wet with blood, maybe viscera, maybe sweat from her own lovely skin. Algernon thought about how easily Beatrice’s bones would be to crack with that chopper. He could do it. Even though he was only 9, he had practiced having strong hands when Mother wasn’t looking by squeezing walnuts under the table during particularly raucous dinner events when Father was in town. He had already successfully cracked two.
“Children, children, line up, line up now” Daisy was swishing about the room in her new dress. Algernon hated Daisy and hated HATED her new dress. She was so silly when it arrived from the tailor, making such a to-do about her old dresses not fitting her chest any more and how this one compelled her to coo at her reflection in the mirror “why, I believe they had to ADD fabric to the bust!”. Algernon stood in line with the rest of the children waiting to make the “Darling Parade” Mother insisted the children do each year on her birthday. The other children never marched as well or as straight or as tall as Algernon did and he knew it. Not only because Mother told him so but because he practiced behind the stables while his horse was being walked after his lesson. It was much harder to march in the muddy yard of the stables, so this parade would be cake.
Daisy clapped her hands daintily and “In a Mist” started playing from a turntable in Mother’s bedroom. The Darling Parade had begun.
(excerpt from Chapter 21 (page 286): William Found Drowned In The Lillypad Pond)
He counted again. 143 pieces, not 144. It was a spoon that was missing. It was a 12 set service. A teaspoon was missing. In the hall he heard footsteps crossing towards the dining room. Algernon sat silently under the dining room table, his heart raced. He pierced his palm with an oyster fork to try and calm himself. How could he have been so stupid! He knew he should have never invited that ungrateful, crude William to pay with Mothers silver!
He heard Therese humming a little song as she entered the dining room, shuffling her lovely little feet along the rug. Her hosiery sagged around her ankles and from where Algernon hid he could see them so perfectly, as if this was the only image he was ever meant to see. He thought of how it would feel between his fingers, the nylon soft and warm and light, he thought of pulling the nylon away from her ankles and then watching it weakly collapse back into a sag. He imagined pushing his whole head into a leg of nylons like a mask, pushing his tongue out against it, trying to open his eyes against it, trying to gnash his teeth against it. “I won’t miss my opportunity next laundry day” he thought, and lost himself in a memory of watching as Therese hung the laundry and considered how simple it would be to snatch a pair of hose down from the line.
As soon as Therese shuffled back across the hallway Algernon quickly, carefully, perfectly replaced all of the silver pieces into the box and dragged it back to the china cabinet. His anger returned in a hot flush and he could feel his face tensing and tried to imagine making it as pointy and scary as possible. He held this expression in his face and concentrated sharply as he walked to the mirror to see how mean he looked. “William William William” he growled at the reflection of what he considered his most eerie facial expression yet. “William took the teaspoon” he snarled and tried to spit as he spoke. “NO ONE TAKES MOTHER’S SILVER” he shouted and his voice cracked as he shrieked.
From the pantry he heard Therese call for him and he quickly composed himself, straightened his little coat and skipped towards the kitchen.
