Ellie could count on one hand the number of letters she had received personally in her lifetime. One. This one. She read and reread the summons aloud, marvelling at the beauty of the script, the richness of the ink, the pureness of the paper on which it was scrawled. With each attempt, Ellie's voice became stronger as she understood the words. There was of course no question of not attending. The poor girl scurried into the back office with such vigour that she spooked the cat - oh who cares about him - approval was soon given with a dismissive hand wave and an airey comment that Ellie was not a prisoner in the shop. Could Miss Christine help her RSVP as instructed? RSVP, a fancy French way of saying reply.  Who knew?

A simple response was dictated by Miss Christine, with Ellie carefully and diligently writing out each letter on shop letterhead. Three sheets of paper gave their lives before a passable, unsmudged, response was written.

Quote:Dear Miss Ennington,

I should be delighted to come and see you this Sunday and at the time requested.

Yours sincerely,

Elenor Russell

The appointed day came and with duties to family, employer, and the Lord Almighty dispatched, Ellie appeared at the gate house in her dark brown, high collared, "Sunday best" dress. She'd scrubbed herself pink come bath time this week, cleaned hair plated neatly at her back.  This meeting had driven her to distraction the entire week, hermind turning like the cogs of a grain mill on what she should wear, what she should say, or not. Now at the moment of action, anticipation burned like acid in the centre of her chest and her pits felt clammy.  As the letter had indicated, a servant soon stomped into view in wellies

"I'm Ellie - I mean Miss Russell - Come to see Miss Ennington. She knows I'll be 'ere. She sent a letter."