My Dearest Alice

November 12, 1883

My Dearest Alice,

I am writing to you because our dreams are finally to come true. Everything is in place now. I have been growing foxglove in secret in the back corner of the garden where nobody ever goes. It is such a beautiful flower I could barely bring myself to pluck it. But I did. I have dried it in the sun for days, and just this morning I ground it into the finest powder. Richard enjoys for me to make his tea every night before he retires to his quarters, and that is when I shall do it. I have been doting on him for the past week or so, wearing my prettiest dresses, showering him with kisses and affection, and fulfilling his every need. He does not suspect a thing.

We shall be together soon, my love.

Yours,

Nora

November 13, 1883

My Dearest Alice,

It is done. I stirred the powder into his tea until it was well dissolved. To be sure he could detect nothing, I added extra cream and sugar to the mixture. He drank his tea happily, even greedily, then retired to his quarters for the night. Oh Alice, I could not sleep a wink. I lay awake tossing and turning, hoping my plan would work, fearing it would not. I must have drifted off for some time however, for I awoke to the sound of Mary screaming. She had gone to draw the curtains for Richard and found him dead.

I ran into his room to see it with my own eyes, for I do not think I would have believed it otherwise. There he was, lying there in the bed, his skin an ashy blue color. His eyes were open and, Alice, I swear to you they were looking right at me. There was a foam, pink in color, leaking from his mouth. I quickly threw myself on him in what must have appeared a fit of grief and wiped the foam from his mouth with the corner of my night dress.

I told Mary to hurry and phone the doctor, although I knew it was already too late. The doctor arrived shortly after and pronounced Richard dead. He claimed it must have been an attack of some sort, for Richard was rather old after all. Alice, I really do believe I put on a good show of the bereaved widow. I screamed and clutched my breast. I even managed to shed real tears. What the others do not know, however, is they were not tears of sorrow, but instead tears of joy.

I am finally free of that horrid man and our horrid marriage. I am free to be with you, my love. Now I shall play the part of the widow in mourning. A widow so distraught at the sudden passing of her beloved husband that she must leave the house where he died and take solace in the home of her closest friend.

The funeral is to be the day after next, I suppose I should be on my way to you no later than the end of the following week. Oh, my dearest love, how I long for your embrace. Whenever I think of being held in your arms, I cannot help but smile. Of course, I only allow myself that luxury when in the privacy of my own company. I must go and begin the preparations.

Yours,

Nora

November 16, 1883

My Dearest Alice,

It troubles me that you have not replied to any of my correspondence. Have I said something to offend you? Are you having second thoughts? Perhaps your letters have simply been delayed in the post. How I wish you were here with me now.

The funeral was this morning. It was a lovely service, far lovelier than Richard deserved if I may be frank. As you know, Richard was a horrid man and an even worse husband. The moment they lowered his casket into the ground, I was flooded with a peace I have not known for years. My heart is light, though I must pretend that it is not.

I did not sleep last night. I suspect it was from the excitement I feel to be with you so soon, however, there is something else. I cannot quite explain the feeling I have. It is not guilt, that is for certain. But there is a heaviness in my stomach, as if someone has placed a stone there. I cannot shake the image of Richard’s eyes that morning. It was as if he were staring into my soul, as if he knew what I had done.

I believe this feeling shall pass. It will all but fade away the moment I see your beautiful face. I am beginning the arrangements to leave this house and begin my new life with you. Please write soon, my love, for I cannot bear this silence.

Yours,

Nora

November 18, 1883

My Dearest Alice,

Why have you not written? I am beginning to fear the worst. Have you changed your mind? The stone in my stomach only grows heavier the longer I do not hear from you.

I have begun to have visions in the night. Terrible, awful visions of death and dirt and blood. Last night I turned in my bed to find Richard staring at me with those dead, milky eyes. He did not speak, nor even blink. He opened his lips to speak but dirt poured from his mouth as he let out a muffled scream. I flung back the covers and ran from the room.

Mary was awoken by the noise and quickly came to see if I was alright. She looked in my room but found nothing. I must have fallen asleep for a moment and dreamed it. Oh Alice, it was so horrible, I was unable to go back to sleep after that, my nerves were alight the rest of the night.

When the sun finally rose this morning the dread I felt did not dissipate. In fact, whenever I pass a mirror or a window I swear I see Richard in the reflection, glaring at me with those milky eyes. But when I turn to face the reflection I only see my own face staring back at me. I must leave this place Alice.

Yours,

Nora

November 22, 1883

My Dearest Alice,

I fear I am losing my mind. I see Richard everywhere. He follows me about the house all day long. He never says a word, only stares at me. I know it is only my tired mind playing tricks on me, but I cannot sleep, for when I do I dream of the most horrifying things. Last night, I dreamt that my mouth was filling with that awful pink foam that leaked from Richard’s lips. It poured from my mouth, down my night dress, staining it pink. I woke up gasping, only to find Richard sitting in the chair across from my bed. He did not get up, nor did he move. He only sat there, staring.

This afternoon I must have fallen asleep in my reading chair. I awoke to a tickling in my throat. I tried to cough to clear it but it seemed to only grow more stuck. The obstruction began to block my throat so completely that I was struggling to breath. I coughed and coughed and clawed at my throat until eventually I reached into my mouth, deep into my throat, and pulled out the object.

Holding the offending thing in my palm I looked closer. It looked like a slimy, purple slug. But I soon realized it was a flower, the petals weighed down by my saliva. Alice, it was Foxglove. I quickly threw the flower to the floor and stood to leave the room. I was stopped in my tracks, however, when I glanced at the mirror to see Richard in the reflection. And Alice, I could have sworn there was a slight smile on his lips. He was mocking me, laughing at my pain, delighted that I was still trapped here with him after all. I screamed. I shrieked at him to go away and leave me alone. Of course, he just stared.

The queer thing, Alice, is I do not remember ever waking from that dream. I fear that if I were to go to the parlor and look about the floor. I would surely find that little purple slug next to my chair.

I cannot stay in this house any longer. I will simply go mad if I do not leave. I long to be with you, away from this nightmare, away from this world. I have arranged for a carriage to arrive in the morning to bring me to you, for I can wait no more. Oh, my love, we shall be together at last.

Yours,

Nora

November 22, 1883

Dear Mrs. Nora Ashcroft,

I was rather surprised to receive these letters from you as we have only met once or twice. I am not even sure how you know my address. I must say, I was very disturbed by your letters. If what you wrote about your husband is true I’m afraid I have no choice but to contact the authorities.

As for your romantic notions of us, I do not know what inspired these fantasies, but I am a happily married woman. If there is something I did or said to imply otherwise, I do apologize, but Mrs. Ashcroft, I do not love you. I hardly even know you.

It seems to me that you are a very unwell woman. I pray that you get the help you need. Please do not write me again.

Sincerely,

Mrs. Alice Hayworth