Dear readers, rebels, & illiterate
Cousin Eugenie, the English know-it-all confidante whose wisdom is
unmatched and whose advice is sought after by those who care enough to
seek the very best. Many of you know me as Cousin Cora's
marriage consultant but I am much more than that. I am an upper-class British
patriot. A prim and proper, priggish pragmatist who, though residing in that bastion of
rabble-rousing mongrels called Boston, remains a loyal subject of the crown.
I have agreed
to grace your pathetic little outhouse of a colony with words of advice
and tips for problem solving those pesky little conundrums that often
arise when one foolishly tries to hack their way through the
wilderness. Since I'm to be Mohicanland's trouble shooting coup de
grace, we'd do well to have an understanding straight away.
I am refined and civilized
beyond your grasp and am repulsed at the sight of your
crude, dirty huts. My birth, social status, and intelligence are far superior to yours.
The majority of you colonials should be
locked away or shipped to the West Indies as you've all got a great deal
to learn on knowing one's place. I am always right, you are always
potential. These are basic facts
that have not escaped my sensibilities nor shall they escape yours.
Though I enjoy
charity work and social experimentation, humility has its limits. Try
not to push them and we'll get along famously.
Enough about us, let's talk about me! It was I who advised the girls
to take a country holiday and visit the colonel. Boston had stifled them to
dreadful boredom so I felt a change of scenery and nice adventure would do them
well. Now, between us, it was no
accident the major was assigned to the colonies at that very time. I know
people. Of course, the major had hoped to persuade Cora to stop procrastinating
and agree to the marriage proposal while on this outing. I told her before she
left Boston to accept his gracious affections but she was still behaving like a
spoiled brat when she departed. Whining and whining about love! I asked her,
'What's love got to do with it?' He has money, connections, manners, a bright
future ... What more could she possibly want? Has she heeded my advice? Ooooh
noooo! Cora thinks she has a right to more. She's a mulatto, for George's sake!
She's damn lucky the major will escort her quietly through the wilderness let
alone wed her in public. I do say, that brat has much to learn. The day they
left Boston she was throwing a royal fit because the seamstress didn't add
enough 'push up' to her push-up corset. As if this was the solution? Well, I
told her. 'Cora,' I said, 'honey, you can't push what's not push-able any more
than you can draw water from a stone. You need padding.' She seems to imagine
living in Boston has stirred her blood but I think she's got an aneurysm.
Alice is another story. She's always worried
me with her excessive anxiety and insomnia. I can't tell you how many times I've
had to listen to her squeaky complaining, "I shan't sleep tonight!"
I've been tempted to smother her with a trade blanket on more occasions than you
can imagine. At least they're both off on their silly little adventure. Time for
a little peace and quiet for me.
I'll be checking in with you pitiful
miscreants within the fortnight. Meanwhile, remember to drink your tea after
seven minutes and change the bedding once in a while. That's the way of it!
A work in progress ... to be
continued at our Cousin's discretion!