The Grange, Weston-sub-Edge

22nd July 1855

My most dear William

You cannot imagine – or perhaps you can? – how very much I miss you and think of you daily.

I dined with your mother and father two days ago and a most dreary company we would have been, had it not been for the late arrival of your sister, who enlivens any table and who cheered us all with tales from her recent visit to your cousins in Ireland. I think it was in Caroline’s mind to bring some small gaiety to her parents, who although they put a brave face on things seem still to be almost ossified by the sad news of Algie. How your sister reminds me of you! The same dear creases about the eyes when she smiles, the same sense that laughter is never far off. So that, even as I was gladdened by her society, nevertheless it made me feel the want of you the more keenly.

Caroline relayed the subject which is the great matter of your cousins, namely the eye-witness story of your Act of Courage at Alma, obtained through Louisa’s husband Brevet-Major Palmer. This must seem very long ago to you, who have seen so much in the months since passed, but your Irish relations were yet much preoccupied with it. All were full of admiration and calling you a Hero and a man of singular bravery! This as you may conceive brought great pride and happiness to your Mama and Papa, their sorrows I think altogether forgotten while we all begged Caroline to tell us again the tale of your derring-do, so that we might rejoice in it anew. There was much talk, both in Ireland and at our own table, of you receiving some decoration from Her Majesty. I pray it may be so – but not as fervently as I pray for the campaign to be soon over. Your continued good health is paramount and I earnestly entreat you to take good care of it.

While staying with my aunt I went to call on your Mrs Lockwood, who resides in a charming little flat-fronted house in the direction of the Pittville Park. A more orderly, clean establishment I have never entered: all was gleaming and sparkling, a pretty fan of paper in the shining grate, the air scented with lavender and beeswax. The widow herself has a perfectly round, somewhat shallow face, like a soup-plate. I fancy I should have found her expression – serenely docile, and yet I thought I spied a hint of reproach tucked just behind it – somewhat irking, had it not been for the sad purpose of my visit. I do not doubt that you will think very ill of me for saying so! But my letters would be dull affairs if I never spoke my mind, would they not? The daughters are quite adorable, spotlessly attired and watchful, the younger with a thumb at all times planted in her mouth, like a good cork in a bottle. I daresay they do have toys or dolls with which to amuse themselves, but their mother had clearly tidied these away for her visitor and I feared that my call was most dull for them, so I did not linger unduly. However, I proposed that Mrs Lockwood join me at my aunt’s for dinner on my next sojourn, as I felt that you would wish it so.