The Hound and the Mutt

VI

Oxford, 29 October

Dear Miss Grey,

If I had known it would rain this often in Oxford, I would have remained in Horton. I despise this place. I despise the muddy streets which are never clean, even after a rain. I hate the stone buildings which seem to crowd you in on every street. I hate the assembly rooms and the tea rooms and all the other rooms I have been confined to in this damn place.

Forgive me for such an intense expression, but the weeks have gone long here. Any time I wish to walk, it rains. When I wish to stay home, I am bid to attend my mother to the assembly rooms. It is a damn nuisance!

I have since come to look forward to any visits from Mr. Well-Read and Mr. Well-Fed. Several young gentlemen have called upon me, but these two are the most interesting. I do not often see them together anymore; sometimes Mr. Well-Read is busy with studies, and sometimes Mr. Well-Fed has other matters which take his attention. Mother favors Mr. Well-Read the most out of the pair, but I believe she would prefer I choose anyone else in the city than these two.

When Mr. Well-Read visits me, we pass the time either in conversation or in some sort of amusement. His inclination, as you might imagine, is to stay indoors and read. However, he does enjoy riding about in his gig, and it takes very little to convince him to take me for a drive about the muddy streets.

Mr. Well-Fed's visits are much different. He despises staying inside when the weather is fine and has no interest in reading at all. Much of the time, he will not even come inside at all, but beckon me outside from his own gig, often with a "Hey-day, Miss Murray!" and a great laugh. Mother does not approve of this manner, but I have no care to that. My outings with him always produce some sort of amusement. Mr. Well-Read takes me on safe drives around the block or to the university parks. Mr. Well-Fed, however, has taken me to all sorts of places around the city. Every so often, he gets an idea in his head out of the blue to drive out to Milton Keynes or Bristol for a day trip, and he assures me his gig and horse can easily make the trip no matter how late in the day it is and how far his imagined destination may be. It seems to be bravado, however: once, I agreed to one of his schemes with encouraging enthusiasm. The day was young, the destination not unreasonably far, and I was long ready to leave this stone city for a while. Mr. Well-Fed was quite pleased with my agreeability, but soon talked himself out of the scheme with nary a single syllable from myself. He commented happily on the time and the fair weather, bid me to observe the stoutness of his horse, made comment on a number of other horses in his possession (a topic he has discussed before, and which I have managed to contribute in the past), and then, interrupting his own thoughts, recalled he had to meet a friend about the purchase of a rifle, suggested we leave immediately from that appointment, and then, with a glance to the sky which had not changed, stated he knew it was to rain, and the scheme was decidedly put off.

Now, to address the concern of your last letter, Miss Grey, I will say I have no intention of accepting either gentleman at all. Mr. Well-Read is a kind if naïve sort of young man, the proper sort who would suit one of the other young ladies back home. Oh Hell, he would suit YOU better than myself! Should you run Mr. Weston into the ground, perhaps you might keep a mind to Mr. Well-Read. I can imagine the two of you reading and commenting over the work of whatever favored moral tale you would read to each other over a dull fire. Does that not seem a dream?

Indeed, you have nothing to fear, Miss Grey. I intend to leave this city unmarried.

With the very best intentions,

Matilda Murray