Personal Letter © 2024
November 16, 1883
Tangiers, Morrocco
Ondine,
This is the third letter this month, I am penning without the faintest hope that you will deign to respond.
It is no secret that I am not your greatest admirer, and as Sommerset's closest friend, I cannot fathom why he is so infatuated with you. Your hold on him goes against everything he stands for and deserves. Maybe that enchanting voice of yours has ensnared him despite his best intentions.
I remember the first time we heard you sing. He was in awe of the range of emotions you were able to bring to your audience at Covent Garden. A year later your spell is still strong.
In my previous missives, I asked that you respond to his inquiries about your well-being. Suspicion of your infidelity, like a maggot, gnawed incessantly at him, robbing him of his focus on our mission. As he became distracted and despondent I took it upon myself to coax you to answer his letters.
You cannot imagine, madam, the frustration I feel, and I am desperate enough to ask you again to reach out to him. The situation is dire, indeed.
As you are aware, for the last two months, we have been charting the unexplored terrains deep inside Morocco’s territory. Last Wednesday, Sommerset, ever intrepid and impatient, ventured ahead, instructing us, to remain at camp. The day was implacably hot, and we did not argue preferring to stay at our base in the relative coolness of our tents.
Without warning, the harsh cries of bandits shattered the tranquility of the afternoon. I bolted from my cot and horrified saw them emerge from the shadows of the rocky outcrops. Their faces obscured by turbans did not hide their malicious intent. This motley crew, armed with scimitars that glinted ominously in the sunlight, spotted the solitary Sommerset and rushed toward him.
My friend, caught off guard, had little time to react. He reached for his pistol, but a bandit lunged at him, knocking him off balance. A fierce struggle ensued, with Sommerset using his cartography tools as makeshift weapons, his fists landing solid punches. Yet, the numbers were against him, and a scimitar struck his right shoulder as he fell from his horse.
Too far to intervene, we stood paralyzed witnessing the horrific event until Sommerset’s protective valet sprang into action. As one man, we mounted our steeds and flew to our leader’s defense. Alas, the distance was great.
I am ashamed to say that I thought all was lost but his feline loyal companion, sensing her master’s danger, launched herself at the bandit who had injured her master. Hers claws raked across the man’s face, her teeth sinking into his arm. The bandit cried out in pain, dropping his weapon, and the others hesitated, taken aback by the ferocity of the serval cat.
All I can say for their strange behavior is that these people, steeped in local folklore and superstition, must have believed Carmen to be a desert jinn, a powerful spirit of the wilderness.
As we came closer, their eyes widen in fear their courage faltering. In the ensuing chaos, Sommerset crawled to safety, his shoulder bleeding heavily. The thieves, realizing they were no match for the supposed magical apparition and our sudden approach, retreated, leaving their victims alone.
By the time we reached my dear friend, he had lost a considerable amount of blood and was unconscious. I will not conceal from you that his injury was grievous. The blow nearly severed his arm.
He has since developed a dangerous fever, and the medic cannot hide his fear. Fortunately, we have among us Yussuf, an elderly Berber, well-versed in the traditional knowledge and practices of his people.
Yussuf is assisting our English doctor with his deep understanding of local flora and their medicinal properties to treat wounds and infections. Earlier today, Dr. Francis agreed to let Yussuf tattoo Sommerset with Henna to promote healing and provide protection for the new scar.
For centuries, his people have been using this plant not only for decorative purposes but also because it possesses antifungal and antibacterial benefits. Berber tattoos, with their geometric patterns and symbols, are also believed to ward off evil spirits. I pray daily that it must be so for my friend’s survival.
Sommerset is now resting, but in his delirium, he calls for you, reproaching you for your silence. Despite the pain and uncertainty about what the future holds regarding the use of his arm, his thoughts are full of you. If you want to punish him for the harsh words you exchanged before his departure, then you are succeeding.
However, I suspect that you have found another to replace him during his absence. If so, have the decency to tell him because your lack of news wounds him more than any physical injury he endures. For the love you once had for him I entreat you to do the right thing.
It is a cruel blow, leaving him questioning your affections. It is clear you delight in the power you hold over him, but I implore you, Ondine, do not leave him in this torment.
Do not forget I know what you are - a heartless performer, a woman determined to succeed and be rich no matter who her lover is. I know you enjoyed Sommerset’s deep pockets and his connections among the aristocracy, but I am also well aware that you are not a faithful creature.
After all, you could have been mine also, isn’t it true? You made it clear that your bedchamber was not off-limit if I desired it.
Please comply with my request, as failing to send a note to your benefactor promptly will result in me disclosing everything. I advise you not to challenge my determination.
As soon as he regains his strength, we will prepare to return to England. Do not evade my pleas, Ondine. Write to him, even if you have to lie, so his mind can be at ease, and he will find the will to improve. With any luck, this injury will end your spell and release him to find another more worthy of his affection.
Until then, I remain,
Sommerset’s friend,
Frederick, Count of Strawsbourgh.
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