Louise would be at Osborne for Christmas, as usual. She was, according to Mr. McAllister, who took a great interest in the latest London society gossip, fast becoming the darling of the British public, a very glamorous alternative to the queen. Louise, like Margaret, loved to give presents at Christmas, priding herself on her idiosyncratic choices. Margaret had sent her an album of lithographs which she had cut from magazines, depicting some of New York’s most famous scenes, annotating each. Battery and Castle Garden where Marion and I first set foot on American soil; the view from the upper terrace in Central Park towards the boating pond where I skate in winter; the traffic on Broadway, which you cross at your peril; the Fifth Avenue Hotel where we stayed on our arrival, following in your brother Bertie’s footsteps. She doubted the gift would be acknowledged. Louise had not written to her for a year. When she saw Margaret’s writing on the parcel, would she open it? Would she look through the pages and imagine Margaret walking on the streets, strolling in Central Park? Would Louise pick up her pen on a whim and break her silence? Again, unlikely.

And Donald? Margaret traced a particularly large snowflake’s track from the top of the window to the bottom. Julia had informed her that he had been elected to Parliament in November as the member for Inverness-shire, making good on his intention to settle in Scotland. Would the next step be finding a wife? She wanted him to be happy, yet the notion of him marrying anyone else was painful to contemplate.

The snow was falling heavier now, and the wind was getting up, causing a flurry of flakes to coat the window in white. Margaret pulled the curtains. Look forward, she reminded herself, not back. Tomorrow was her last day with Marion, and she was determined to make it memorable. Then, when she had tearfully waved her off with her best wishes, she would consider her own plans as a new year beckoned. She would, for a start, publish her book of children’s stories as Jane had been urging her to do.

And then—who knew? The big difference from before was that she now found the uncertainty exciting rather than frightening.

Susannah Elmhirst to Lady Margaret

Susannah Elmhirst to Lady Margaret

The Rectory, Lambeth, 15 December 1868

Dear Margaret,