Dear Mr. White;
Sir, if I didn’t know better, I might believe that you were avoiding me out of the sheer inability to deal with the banes of your dreadful personality. That, of course, is a purely foolish concept. You were barely able to put up with yourself when we met and time has not sweetened your appeal to anyone else, myself included. Therefore, I am forced admit with the utmost honesty that it severely pains me to say that I have indeed moved from morbidly curious about your current state to a more annoying level of concern. Do believe me when I say that I should hope this does not spoil our understanding of our entanglements when it comes to business. Rest assured that I still find your company rather taxing and would genuinely prefer to spend my time in the presence of Mr. Conway’s corpse than yourself. That said, should I find out that you have indeed joined Mr. Conway in such a state, I shall be rather disappointed in your for not having read these letters that I have worked so hard to craft with the most civil language I could muster. I would also be rather put out that you’d left me with quite a lot of dirt to wipe my hands of and no escape route save the one that you might have taken yourself. I don’t suppose that perhaps you were bored to death of this place, no? If it has managed to bring your to your earthly demise, I should hope that you are having a jolly laugh in hell at my expense as it has offered me no such solace.
Should you still find yourself among the living, I suppose that I should do the sensible thing and offer an apology for the tone of this letter. However, my friendly foe, I will leave you lacking this time as it has come to my attention that there is something far worse afoot going on in the background of this backwoods nightmare that we inhabit.
One of the darling ladies under your employ, one Miss Mary Curally, has turned up dead, her head having met its match against a large blunt object. Or so I was told and you’ll forgive me for having skipped the details for you. I was told enough that I need not see it to know it was true. What was also true, my poor missing fellow, was that she was found in a rather peculiar place. One that has a rather daunting reputation for the kind of lady that it employs and the clientele that it tends to attract. Now, no one would link her back to our operations but it does seem curious to me that Old Mary, as she was reportedly known to go by, was so keen to be so secretive about her living conditions. It led me to wonder about what else she might have been hiding and, as tends to happen, curiosity got the better of me. Seems our Old Mary was something of a gossip, blind as she might have been. She was quite keen to listen to whatever tidbits of information that might have happened her way and for what it’s worth, I’m grateful that you had the sense to keep her confined to the laundry room. As it stands, for what I can find, she hadn’t quite figured out who she was working for but her mouth had been wagging long before her death and she had managed to spill a few things that might be difficult to clean up after if they are left. Then again, they might have already been of some damage if that blind old bat has been the cause of your disappearance. If that is the case, though you cannot read it, I should hope that you will do me the favor of bludgeoning the wretched woman again now that she’s arrived in your current location.
And speaking of irritating elements that remain out of my grasp for the moment, it seems as though there is a lot more stirring amid the other side of town, specifically in the direction of the museum. There has been some improvement in Lady Kent’s condition, specifically that she is able to speak and that she has remained awake for longer periods of time. While I assume that Master Kent will be quite put out that he will not be able to legitimately look for a new wife for some time now, there are even more bitter rumblings coming from that family. You’ll notice that I have not apologized for bringing them up but you’ll just have to forgive that as these matters verge on becoming a problem. That chilling name I made reference to in my last letter has surfaced more heavily in recent days and has come to my attention that while it is not quite who I thought they might be speaking of, there is talk of some form of responsibility on that person’s part. It may or may not mean that they have some designs on retribution as the concepts are within the same family of thought. Something for you to consider, assuming you’re still alive. If you are, I do very much hope that you have been vacantly staring out at the world at large and making room for some of these dilemmas that have managed to ruin what would have been an otherwise lovely discovery that you had finally passed on and I was forever rid of you.
To compound what I feel is a pressing sort of bad luck aimed at myself, it seems as though there is a lead now on the whereabouts of Brother Edward. Rather, what is left of poor Brother Edward. The strangest things seem to be occurring about town these days. Why, one morning, I found myself enjoying my tea over the paper only to discover that there was something of a dog attack somewhere near the south woods. Might have passed by my attention entirely if not for the mention of a particular tattoo. A serpent wrapped around a blade with a word written in a language the article writer did not speak. A familiar symbol to men of a certain trade. Ones that have had to do their share of traveling. I need not remind you that the museum lies amid the south woods and it is highly suspicious that the body of a man baring that mark might turn up in the middle of a territory that was currently overrun by old money tyrants bent on revenge. The name they toss about leads me to concern and I cannot stand idle on this fact. Given their nature, I would be shocked to find that they might have discovered you but damned if they aren’t trying. They don’t know yet but they could soon and our operations would be the last of our concerns soon. Assuming you’ve any concerns left in that miserable husk of yours.
Damn you, answer me! This vile place need not be both our tombs and should your silence be brought about by your death, I shall have to accept that but I utterly doubt that I am that lucky and that you are that fragile. Surface, my favorite enemy and we will find our way through these wicked waters. I am awaiting your reply and do try to make it swift.