The quest for my father amidst the tempest was but a soothing prelude to the events that followed.  All remain obsessed with that absurdly mundane feline, despite the fact that it appears to have taken root in the estate, going so far as to claim an entire section of the drawing room as some sort of lair, resting as would a sultan of the Orient upon one of father’s comfort pillows.  Now, I find myself hearing words like “witch” bandied about, and I can only imagine what titles would be invoked were a terrier to have appeared.

The Countess is beginning to exhibit behavior that is of questionable sanity even for (forgive me, Josette) the French, insinuating occult powers are held by the Governess Winters, an able-bodied lass who would be easier to see as a simple milk-maid than sorceress.

After yet more of my search, I returned home to find the Countess behaving with far more civility, offering me a healthy quaff of spirits to put the evening to a rest.  Only then did her lunacy escalate, explaining that I would be marrying Josette tomorrow.  Very well!  At least some kind of definitive action.



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