I still possess this strange letter, my summons, the first of the many texts that led me towards the ever-receding figure of Sir Ambrose Plessington, and I reproduce it here, word for word:

28^th June

Pontifex Hall

Crampton Magna

Dorsetshire

My good Sir:

I trust you will forgive the impertinence of a Lady writing to a stranger to make what will seem, I have no doubt, a peculiar request; but circumstances force the expediency upon me. These melancholy affairs are of a pressing nature, but I believe you can play no small part in their resolution. I dare not enumerate further details until I have your more private attentions, and must therefore, with regret, depend entirely on your trust.

My request is for your presence at Pontifex Hall at the earliest possible convenience. To this end a coach driven by Mr. Phineas Greenleaf will be waiting for you beneath the sign of the Three Pigeons in High Holborn, at 8 o'clock in the morning of the 5^th of July. You have nothing to apprehend from this journey, which I promise shall be made worth your while.

Here I must break off, with the assurance that I am, dear Sir, with gratitude,

Your most obliging servant,

Alethea Greatorex

Postscriptum: Let this caution regulate your actions: neither mention to anyone your receipt of this letter, nor disclose to them your destination or purpose.

That was all, nothing more. The strange communication offered no further information, no further inducements. After reading it through once more, my first response was to crumple it into a ball.