The Monster of Beaulieu

My dear William,

I am sorry to hear of all your troubles at the Bar, and am even sorrier to hear that you have lost your passion. I had hoped that you would find a lucrative and fulfilling career in law. I advise you against any drastic measures as of yet. You are young, ambitious, and tenacious, and I would hate to see you throw away such advantages on a whim. I know you well; you want one thing after another and do not stop to think things through. Here is my advice to you: take a holiday for a week or two in the country to clear your head. Beaulieu is beautiful this time of year. I am acquainted with the Montagu family and can arrange a place for you to stay, if you so choose. I would enjoy it as well if you would visit me (and, of course, the rest of your family, too) here in Brockenhurst. Do not hesitate to write me if this proposal interests you. I eagerly await your reply.

Your affectionate cousin,

E.S.

Dear Ernest,

I thank you for your suggestion, but I must give it some resistance. Consider this for a moment: What am I supposed to do in the country? Visit small shops and look at sheep? I had left the country for a more fulfilling life, and now you advise me to go back. Ah, I see your strategy now! You want to bore me so badly that I prefer to pour over stacks of old cases and law books than to vegetate under a tree somewhere. Very well, give me a week in Beaulieu and I will return to London a much changed man.

Usually, I would take a second paragraph to tell you about the current happenings of my life, but I have nothing to say that I haven’t already said before. Emery continues to annoy me and Barlow still delights in stifling me. Circumstances often have me to take on cases that I find undesirable. My friends still manage to make things bearable, but only so much. All the same, nothing changed. I cannot say how much longer I will be able to put up with this tedious livelihood.

Your very bored cousin,

W.S.

Dear William,

You are an idiot. I mean this with a great deal of affection. You seem to have missed the point of this proposed holiday entirely. I do not mean to bore you; I mean to give you the space to think deliberately about your life and the choices presented to you. Frankly, I hope you will realise that a lull in your career does not mean the death of it. I remember how passionately you pursued the Bar, and I know well the sense of justice that lies in you still. I will arrange things with the Montagu family immediately. I do hope to see you soon.

Your mother has got a cold but thankfully it is mild. We expect her to recover within a week. Jude must have given it to her from his bout last week. I fully expect not to get sick, as I am never sick. I am very sorry to hear that things have not improved for you.

Yours,

E.S.

Dear William,

I must inform you that there has been a recent murder in Beaulieu. The victim, a young man by the name of John Clarke, around your age I believe, was found in the river with bruises on his neck. According to the coroner’s report, he had been strangled and thrown into the river but a day or two before he was found. The blame has been placed on a bogeyman creature that has been a feature of local folklore these past few years. They call it the Monster of Beaulieu. According to one person or another, it appears to be a large, gangly, patchwork monster or a skeleton thing of some sort. A local shepherd, Thomas Wright, I believe, claimed he saw the monster near the river on the day of the incident. The matter went to the magistrate, and he and the court, ruled the monster guilty of the murder of Mr. Clarke. A reward has been put on the creature’s head: 60 pounds sterling for the corpse. I am convinced justice is a farce. It seems all of Hampshire is convinced this creature exists.

You know I do not believe in monsters, but I believe in men who act like monsters, so I advise you not to come to Beaulieu just yet but wait until I can ascertain that you will be safe; and if you choose to ignore my caution, as oft you do, please be careful with yourself and don’t be a fool, as oft you are.

Yours,

E.S.

Dear Ernest,

You forget that I am a Londoner now and thus no stranger to murders. The city is much different from the country. There is a new atrocity happening every day, it seems. True, there are no strange creatures committing crimes here (unless you find the more heinous offenders to be strange creatures, and I know there is no shortage of people to say so), but I find this monster of yours more fascinating than frightful. You are lucky to live in a place where folk creatures run wild, for city life seems to scare them away. Here, no one believes in anything anymore, which is frightfully dull. I appreciate your concern for my safety, but I beg that you not take offense as I wholly ignore your advice. At this point, I suspect your ears have turned red from frustration, and you probably have a few choice words for me, but you cannot give them to me in a letter, as by the time you receive this I am already on my way to Beaulieu. I pray you not to be too angry, for I have a very good reason for going. I wish to try my hand at solving the murder. Perhaps this will breathe new life into my dying interest in mine occupation. Again, please do not be angry with me. I fear you may trade writing a letter for making a visit in order to deliver your choice words to me, and I shall be in an uncomfortable closeness to the hand with which you used to box my ear.

Your favourite and most innocent cousin,

W.S.