Dearest Betty,
We are back on the open sea. I had hoped that traveling would lift my spirits, but I seem to be under the same malaise that overtook me on the Mauretania. The whole business with Gavigan has put me off. Lord Covington insisted on showing me how to shoot a gun before we left, which I dutifully informed him I already knew how. It seems my lack of action that night is cause for concern among my companions. I am unconcerned by it, as what else would they have me do? Shoot people? Has it really come to that? I, for one, am hoping that this sorry business with Gavigan is over and therefore there will be no need for such business in future.
Louis is also being very trying. I'm not sure he means it, but he keeps rhapsodizing on about when he and Searle were younger. They were on a Mediterranean cruise when they were younger and our current cruise reminds him of his brother. No doubt he is missing his brother too, but sometimes the references to him seem almost cruel. I realise its been years, but Searle was truly the love of my life. I miss him every day. It is difficult enough that Louis has such a similar profile, and thankfully their personalities are different enough. But it does not make living with his absence easy.
I must admit that I was already thinking about Searle quite a bit. The last major travel I did was to retrieve his body, and before that, our honeymoon. The Mediterranean is once again beautiful to see, but this is not the same. Then, it was such a happy time, and we had our whole life set out before us. We spoke of our plans, of our dream of children, and I prayed to God for our continued happiness.
It is with bitter eyes that I see the blue waters now. By now we should have had children, should have a family. How is it God's plan that I am here, alone?
I have attempted to be sociable, but my heart is not in it. I know there will be excitement when we reach the various ports on this trip, but I do not know that I am up to it. I retired from the others early today and am once again ensconcing myself in books. Different books from the disturbing ones I read on the Mauretania though, I assure you.
Indeed, as we are spending time in port during the days and are only truly free on board as we sail to the next port, I couldn't continue my reading solely during the day even if I wanted to. Fortunately, I don't believe that will be necessary. I have yet to have disturbing dreams reading these books. The Dark Sects was full of terrible ideas and imagery, but the Livre D'Ivon which I had started in New York has been much more suited to my study.
In ways, I wonder if I would have made a good sociologist. That is what they call people who study societies isn't it? These folk tales and obvious oral histories are fascinating, and no doubt have their place in history and people's minds, but I wonder if those who read into such things aren't a tad too trusting?
Take for example, the discussion we had today as we sunned ourselves in Barcelona. I was enjoying the sunshine and didn't particularly wish to ruin a perfectly lovely day with the theories put forward in these books, when Doctor Webber and Lord Covington began to discuss, in depth, some of the things that they have been reading. Forgiving them for the obvious crassness of speaking of such matters in good company, I do hope we were not taken for fools by those who could understand us.
The gentlemen proposed that potentially some of what we read in these books is more than simply fiction. A preposterous notion, for sure. I wonder if the odd shapes in the shadows we saw at Gavigan's unnerved the good doctor more than he let on, as he actually went so far as to suggest that he is concerned that these things may be real!
I am concerned for him. He was injured during that night, and perhaps finding his own blood spilled frightened him, but his background as a soldier would make me think that unlikely. I hardly know what to think. Hopefully it is just a phase brought on by too much reading, too much time to think, and the heightened pressures of fear.
I am retiring now to my reading. Unlike my compatriots, I know what is real and what is fiction. Perhaps I shouldn't have lent Violet the Dark Sects of Africa for the journey? She is smart enough I doubt she will be taken in by the fanciful and no doubt with her past she will find it less shocking than I. It will keep her entertained at the very least.
Goodnight,
Rose
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