Mr dearest Charlotte,
I write to you from my London residence. You may have already received news of my maiden aunt, Jessica. If not, then it is my burden to inform you that she has become intractably wedged inside the only bathtub at Kentings, necessitating my immediate departure, along with all but two of the servants. In my absence she is hoping to establish a fire brigade, who she will call upon to extract her from the vessel that seems otherwise fated to become her sarcophagus.
I must mention at this time the purpose of my communication - a singularly-wretched creature, around whom I have established a charitable foundation that I have dubbed 'The Friends of Greer'; Greer being the family name of the party concerned.
The unfortunate individual possesses the wrinkled, grave-soiled attire and rictus expression of a week old corpse, crowned with a head of hair that would shame a mongrel dog, and a moustache that threatens to unseat this facial adornment as the unassailable and universal signifier of good breeding in men, and in certain mannish women such as Florence Nightingale. He carries about his person a unique stench that those residents in the proximity of the infamous Houndsditch miasma are said to find objectionable.
He has authored a revolting pamphlet which he has titled '
Why no gentlemen of honour may deny the advancement of my roving hands 'neath the skirts and corsetry of his young and unsullied daughter, and why he must wait on ceremony as I deflower her, and afterwards warmly shake my hand while pronouncing me a fine and upstanding fellow and gifting me the sum of £50'.
My first encounter with Greer was a letter of his that was published in the London Times, where-in he complains that Lady Taylor-Swift (of the Norfolk Taylor-Swifts) has responded unfavourably to his romantic overtures by sending him a bag of soil taken from the grave of Karl Marx in Highgate. I believe this to be an unfounded libel; one that is so ridiculous that it is unlikely to be answered.
A small group of us have taken it upon ourselves to establish a supportive framework around Greer that will be both nurturing and practical in nature, as is required. Our aim is to raise him above the squalid mire of his own deficient character, his miserable physique and his lamentable life choices, and establish him in society as a gentleman. If we are successful in this philanthropic venture, then it is my conjecture that no man can be regarded as a lost cause and beneath rehabilitation. It is my eventual hope that our motto - 'be friendful to your fellow man however wretched he may be' - will become part and parcel of the social contract that is the hallmark of any nation that regards itself civilised.
I will send you daily updates regarding our progress as I know that such a thing will delight you.
Yours and yours alone
William
Mr dearest Charlotte
Strike-through those words in my previous letter that relate to the man Greer. Having done so, burn the letter in its entirety, divide the ashes into four equal parts and bury them in isolated locations at least five miles distant from each other.
The unlikeable subject of my previous dispatch has proven himself a most vexing individual, blind to his multitude of flaws even as they loom over him, generous only in the diffusion of his unique odour that, in the space of mere hours, has indelibly colonised my home to the extent that my only option is to set the building ablaze and allow it to burn down past its foundations. He represents a profound nuisance to the fairer sex. Even the ha'penny whores of Stepney, who are reported to launder small articles of linen in their nether parts as they go about their sordid business, refuse to associate with him. A baboon dressed in the style of a Prussian military officer, who was presented to the Royal Court the previous year, on the occasion of the Queen's birthday, plays the harpsichord with demonstrably more finesse than the demented and arrhythmic pounding we have witnessed from Greer, who none-the-less pronounces himself the Mozart of his age.
Indeed, his behaviour is so objectional, that, on more than one occasion, we have been left with no option other than to intervene, to prevent him from being soundly beaten about the coxcomb. That he has survived this long without being bludgeoned into an early grave speaks favourably of the inherent tolerance and goodness of our race.
The aforementioned Friends of Greer, upon realising their grievous error of judgement, have agreed to disband at once and withhold from any further contact with each other for duration of our lives. When we die we are resolved to be buried in unmarked graves.
I am, as I write these words, emerging from a strange hubris, where-in I believed myself capable of righting the wrongs of a man whose existence itself stands as compelling evidence of a flaw in god's plan, so fundamental, that it calls into question whether our creator's intentions can be regarded as benevolent.
It is my intent to travel to Africa at the earliest opportunity, where I will spend the remainder of my days in solitude. In my absence I have asked Captain Mark Saunders to extend to you a proposal of marriage. He has agreed to this arrangement on principle, dependant upon your consent.
Your love, forever removed from your side by my foolish association with the wretch, Greer
William
