Writing Prompt: I shall write to him at once.

Morning all. Ready for the last prompt of the week, nay the month? Fabulous. Timers set for fifteen minutes please.

No clue where this is going but I think it could be fun.

Friday, August 29^th: I shall write to him at once.

“I shall write to him at once,” Sylvia declared.  She snatched the open letter from my hands and stalked off to her writing desk in the other room.  I looked after her, still holding the envelope.  As scathing as her letter would no doubt be, I doubted it would help.

Harold had been planning this a while.  I knew he wanted all of the land once owned by his family back under his personal control.  He made it his life’s goal.  Somehow I hadn’t thought it would include this property.  It sold so long ago that it was barely remembered as being a part of the original estate. 

‘It sold in the first year the estate was granted,’ I recalled as I set the envelope I still held down on the side table near the door.  It was on top of the other mail and I slipped out the other letters leaving the empty envelop behind.  No doubt when Sylvia finished her scathing letter she would need the address on the envelope so the letter could be sent off. 

‘She also won’t be dealing with the rest of the mail,’ I thought.  I knew Sylvia.  She would write and rewrite the letter making certain each word said precisely what she intended with no room for alternative interpretations.  I sighed and took the letters off to my own room and writing desk. 

If Harold was coming after this house and it’s grounds then he was going to all out in his push for the unification of Waltham lands.  The original Waltham estate was granted to th his ancestor after victory following a decisive battle.  I forgot which ancestor and indeed which battle.  It had never really mattered that much to me.  I only knew it because it was part of the history of the house.  Once granted the lands and title, this property was granted specifically for the research library. 

Thee were long drawn out contracts specifying it’s use and the reasoning behind them.  I frowned and instead of reading through the mail I left it on my desk and went down to the library.  Our charter in all it’s glory was held under glass.  I stood before it and began to read.  For all its flowery prose the conditions were clear.  The property was not loaned.  It was not rented.  It had been gifted.  Should they fail to meet the clauses in their charter, then the land would be given to the king who would then appoint a set of scholars to the house to achieve those goals.  There was no return to the Walthams in that document. 

Harold’s letter claimed otherwise. 

Leaving Sylvia to her scathing letter, I walked through the hall, collecting the envelope so that she would not be able to send it on immediately.  I then went into the kitchen and picked up the telephone.  A few connections and a brief conversation with the operator later and I explained the situation to our solicitor.  He was perturbed by the tone of Harolds letter and began work at once.  Once he looked into the matter I thought it prudent to let others know what was going on in an unofficial capacity just in case the solicitor was not as fat as Harold. 

I called Marcia. 

She was the biggest gossip in the county and her husband routinely dines with members of state.  While important generally speaking, they were also the people Harold would have to convince to voite for many of his acquisitions if he was to move forward.  The conversation with Marcia was less straightforward and I had to pour more emotions into my voice, seeking sympathy.  As I finished, I looked over finding Sylvia holding the letter.  She lifted an eyebrow. 

“I suspect you might have found something better than my letter?” she asked.