I have been most remiss in my duties, of chronicling the comings and goings at the delightful lodgings at Number 5 Chipman Hill. Please accept my sincerest of apologies in this regard. I have, of late, been most preoccupied.
In my last missive, I shared with you that I had been posted next to a large musical instrument unlike any I had ever seen before. It called to mind a clavichord or harpsichord, and yet was quite different. I was fascinated with it.
I have since learned that this instrument is called a piano. There was a guest, a most beautiful young maiden, who exclaimed in delight when she spied it. At first I believed I had inspired such a response, but I was in error. Even so, a knight in shining armour is a gallant sight indeed, and I have, in the past, received my share of admiration. It was an honest mistake.
The young lady immediately sat down at the instrument, her long graceful fingers bringing forth the most beautiful music. It was haunting and passionate, and although I am trapped within this rigid armour, I was profoundly moved. It was in that moment, I believe, that the young maiden captured my heart.
My time here at Chipman Hill has taught me that our guests do not stay forever, no matter how much they might wish. I did my best to still my heart, but I was, I must confess, utterly smitten by the radiant young lady. For two weeks, she would come each evening to the piano. Each day I watched the shadows steal up the hallway, counting the moments until her return. As she played, and sometimes sang -- her voice angelic and sweet -- I longed to reach out to touch her. Mute and motionless, however, I remained.
One tragic morning the inevitable happened; I heard my lady speaking in the front hallway. Her voice carried back to me, her words tearing me asunder. She was leaving, and unknowingly taking my heart with her. The piano lay silent, and my world -- which had recently known such light -- was now dreary. I had oft, in my earlier years, teased the young men at court about lovesickness, only to find myself stricken later in life. I could no longer find joy in the comings and goings of the guests, but could only focus on she who no longer came near. The piano, which had once brought me such joy now served only as a reminder of what was lost forever. I began to pray for release, and to my utmost gratitude it came in the personage of Sir Kenneth.
"We're on the move," he said, moving a chair away from me.
As he had done before, Sir Kenneth picked me up, carrying me away from the piano. It was a painful relief, to be taken down the hall, toward the front door of #5 Chipman Hill. It was not a leaving I could have endured -- or initiated -- alone.
I am grateful for the new beginning, and am looking forward to once more concentrating on being an ambassador to our guests. Again, I humbly beg your forgiveness for my silence of late. I do not anticipate any further difficulty in attending to my correspondence duties, for not only am I free from distractions here, but I have been placed next to an apparatus which Sir Kenneth assures me will enable the swift posting of letters.
Your humble servant,
Sir Sydman Orion Gerburg of Princliff
