From Margaret Playford to Caroline Playford, 18th of August, 1859 (Letter unsent).


Dear Caroline,

This letter is addressed to you but I may never send it for you to read. I don’t keep a journal as I always share with others my thoughts, feelings, and opinions but what was discussed between myself and Anne is so intensely personal I think it should not be for any other ears or eyes. Yet, will I write to record my thoughts to make sense of the misery and love we share.
We are still sequestered away in the West Wing of Sedgewood. Propriety still demands that George and I sleep separately so Anne and I are sharing the furthest and most secluded room in the manor. George is a room away, closer to the center of Sedgewood, where he can watch the hall to make sure none of the “sailors” pass by and enter our chamber.
Anne is still distraught, even after sleep, from the recent words of her father that struck her so deeply. I often make light of Anne’s melancholic predilections but after being present when the beast spoke his vile words, I have nothing but sympathy for the poor girl, and fear I would fair not much better under the circumstances.
To add to this is the unrequited nature of her infatuation with George, which, amusing at first, has developed the most pitiable tone when seen in the yearning and pathetic spasms of anguish exhibited by this creature much mistreated by God; when she lies upon the bed, her hand clutching the sheets in turmoiled fists, I wonder which pain is greatest in her heart: the complete destruction of her father’s love for her, or the love that never was with George.
For a time I said nothing beyond the barest platitudes to try and ease her pains; too great were they to seek to sooth with words. I merely held her when she sobbed and brought to her comforts which could help her body ease into a semblance of peace which could then be made ally in the effort toward recovering her troubled mind.
When this peace had started to come, and her attacks of despair had become rare, I softly broached, from the edges, the subjects of her distress: “I want you to know how proud of you I am, Annie. You try so hard to be good, to help your father, and recover some of that light that once shone through the windows of this place. Your task is entirely thankless and yet you have persisted for so long. Do not think Christ would not be proud of you as well. I know of no other person who holds themselves to such a high standard as you do, even when such scrutiny is not needed. Only the best of people do this, and you are such a person, Annie. My dear girl! It breaks my heart to see you struggle and yet I am in awe of your spirit, which wishes, always, for something better; for a better world for yourself and those around you. If only such a world as you envision could be made! And yet, your vision is too grand for a world that does not deserve it, or you. Yet, you know that such striving is not always about the success of what we try but the fact that we do try. Whenever we try to be good - to do good - the heavens hear our voice and the angels look down with love and grace. You may think the heavens have abandoned you, sweet girl, but I know they look kindly on you and see you as their champion. You are certainly angelic to me; your suffering proves this, for the best suffer hardest, and such a purgatory on Earth guarantees a seat at God’s side. Do not doubt the quality of your soul, Annie. Do not think that the grief addled voice of your father is that of God. It’s true your father blames you for going to live with your aunt those many years ago and, as with all who suffer illness of the mind, they latch on to the oldest and most painful memories and cannot move beyond them; therefore he cannot accept that you have returned and acts as if you are still away, just as whatever Richard does to prove his worth will not succeed in usurping the memories of disappointment that your father has with your brother, however unjustified they were to begin with. He is too old to change and yet the severity of his harshness reveals your importance to him. Listen to me, Annie. Why would he say such harsh things if they were not an expression of his pain? And pain is only present when something once good and true has been damaged; he knows this and strikes out all the harder because of what you do mean to him, buried deep within his heart. Take heed of what I’m saying, Annie, please. The world needs you, I need you, and above all your father needs you. He may never express it but heaven knows what love hides within people’s hearts and I swear to you, there is love for you in his, as sure as there is in mine.”
That said I kissed her brow and sat patiently at her side waiting to see if she would make reply, although not expected. I wished simply to be there for her.
She lay stationary for a time, then slowly turned over and stared at me with hollow, glistening eyes. There was appreciation in them mingled with the pain as she held her gaze with mine for a few seconds, before looking away toward the nearest wall. We stayed this way for what seemed an hour, but was likely only a minute or two, before she spoke, her voice croaking from disuse.
“There’s... something else, as well,” she said with a flick of her eyes at me before returning to their place on the wall.
I said gently, “You’re in love with George, aren’t you?”
At these words she squeezed her eyes shut and her whole body seemed to wince in shame, her fists clutching again at the sheets, and fresh tears started to slip through the tight seal she had tried to create.
“I’m sorry, Maggie, I'm so sorry,” she managed to say.
“My dear,” I began, “we cannot control who we fall in love with and its easy to see why you would, with the two of you being similar in many ways, but you must see that his love for you is not romantic in nature. I do not say this to cause you pain, Annie, but George and I are in each others confidence completely, meaning our hearts belong to each other; he and I both know this, which is why I can speak to you of this without any ill feeling toward you for feelings you cannot control, as they are of no threat to the love that George and I share.”
“But I tried... I tried to...”
“I know, dear, I know, but do you think I cannot see the desperation in your circumstances that would drive you to such an extreme? Do you think I cannot see how you yearn for such a connection as I have; something which all people have a right to wish for? I know you love me, so can only imagine how strong your feelings for George must be for you to forget me entirely. No Annie, don’t cry! I do not hold it against you. I forgive you Annie, for yours was a crime of pure passion, and any punishment this friend would be justified to deliver has already been self-administered ten times over.”
“Oh, you are too good, Maggie. I can’t bear it!’ she cried, yet I could see that her spirit had been buoyed by my forgiveness.
“Well, no one has ever accused me of being too good before!” I thought, taking her hand, as I was quite touched myself, unused to playing such a magnanimous and forgiving role.
“I don’t deserve your love or forgiveness. I am a loathsome wretch!” she said, with customary self-pity, almost obligatory, as if such was required to counter the words I had said, and ultimately re-enforce them when she knew I would continue my efforts to sooth her fractured ego.
This too I forgave as necessary for her healing, saying, “You are nothing of the sort. You are alive, and sometimes the living have to feel every inch of who they are. I may not be able to feel as deeply as you seem capable of, Annie, but it seems to me the most wonderous gift to be blessed with such a infinite heart. You may feel it is a curse at times like this, but one day, I’m sure it will help you create your small heaven on Earth. Perhaps a Sedgewood that is bright with the love of a family of your own. And as for my so-called goodness, what kind of person would I be to not forgive one of God’s own favoured creatures? You are not blessed in circumstance, Annie, but you have been granted the most precious of heaven’s gifts: access to all of what it means to be human.”
“But how can I use such a gift?”
“Not being as blessed as you, I cannot answer that, but I will be always be there when you need help to find your way.”
“Thank you, my dearest friend...” here she choaked up with fresh tears of love and embraced me, which I returned warmly and, for the first time in a long while, I too let tears flow.
I am resolved now that I will not send this letter, but will keep this moment for my own treasuring. Sadly, I fear this is closest and most precious moment Anne and I will have together as every high must soon plateau and fall as, despite all my words of heavens and the angels that sometimes walk upon the Earth, the realities of our situation could no longer be ignored and must bring us down to the hard ground beneath our feet.
“Do you think that one day I may be able to live, normally, happily, as you and George will surely be?” she said.
“I believe it. One day soon I will take you out into the society you so despise and we will find you a man just as worthy of you as my silly George. You’ll see, Annie. It will all work out!”
But here, my words could not bring the same brightness to her face. Perhaps I ventured too far back to normalcy or my last words had too much of a banal ring to them to maintain the poetic fire of her heart. Either way I could not blame myself as maintaining the quality of my rhetoric up until that point had been a herculean effort given the emotional strain we were all under. Or perhaps such a downturn was always destined to happen given the unavoidable nature of her love and its loss.
“How can one simply move on though,” she said and blushed, “this... is so strange for me to talk to you about. I do... love George, but know I must move on. But how? How does one do it?”
Whereas previously I could sooth with confidence I was entering territory unknown to me and was somewhat exhausted from my efforts thus far, so was unable to say more than an account of my history which had nothing to offer her in the way of consolation, “I honestly don't know, Annie. George is my first and only love. You know that for the longest time I resisted such a love but in the end it all just happened naturally. His family, the Graysons, and ours have known each other for the longest time, as you know, and have always conceived of such a plan for the both of us and yet I kept playing coquette for some months and years, not wishing to be sold off at the whim of my family. And yet when I was forced into his company, there was such an honesty and boyish enthusiasm, even naivety, about him, none of the smooth affectations of the other suitors, that I could not help being absorbed into his whimsical charms. I realized at some point I never did love or have eyes for any other man but he. That is to say, I really don’t know how to answer your question Anne as George is the only man to have ever had my heart and I am quite at a loss to consider what I would have to do if he were not a part of my life.”
I could see that Anne was touched by my brief summary of our courtship, but it also generated a despair as she said, “Oh Maggie, to think I had a thought to induce love within him for me when you and he are already as one. You cannot know how I regret it and suffer for it. But I fear I must be rid of myself in order to be rid of this poison - this hateful, unholy love!”
I was taken aback by the violence in which she uttered “poison” and “unholy”, as though she viewed her love as an incurable cancer or herself as demonic host to a malign being, but, as before, I could offer little in the way of consolation. I could only offer assurance that something as wonderous as love can never be considered unholy, despite the pain it causes us, and to tell her to get some more rest as, even as she lamented, her eyelids dropped in fatigue. Still, her words lingered in me long after and I feared that she may take some drastic action in the coming days. Therefore, I have resolved to watch her carefully to be sure no harm comes to her by her own or any hand.

Your tired, bewildered and hopefully vigilant self,
Maggie