The matter is settled

Dear Sir Williard,

As I reread the words I put on preceding pages I am guessing that you, like I, might be wondering about the nature of the relationship between the blue-eyed Miss Hendrix and her portly boss, the jovial Mr. Danielson. Did the curse of this planet erode at the morality of the young women immigrating to this planet as mercilessly as it had struck me, or because of the natural reserve of the female being, was someone like Miss Hendrix spared the worst of these waves of carnal lust? This morning however, I was so pleased by the ease of dealing with the representative from the bank that I did not think to press the point. Instead I paused only long enough to inquire about Mr. Danielson's haberdasher and whether his tailor would be able to find time to see me on such short notice.

So it was, that less than half an hour later I was being efficiently measured by a trio of silent tailors who were waiting for my arrival. Apparently, Sir Williard, as I was cashing the newly written cheque, a serving boy from the bank had been sent ahead to the haberdashery by the very helpful banker. I took almost two hours, and cost almost a fifth of the newly deposited money, but I was outfitted with a half dozen new shirts, three pairs of trousers and most importantly a firm assurance that if I returned in eight hours that a dinner jacket and matching white pants would be ready for my soiree that evening.

In a decidedly good mood, I decided to spend this time in a productive manner and searched out the library. I had hoped, Sir Williard, to do some research on the River Pirates that have been raiding this city and other towns and cities along the river for the past decade or more. I do not know, my Lord, if you have heard of these villainous swashbucklers whose raids result not only in the theft of a substantial portion of the Soma mined on this planet but perhaps even more disturbing is the dastardly manner in which they treat the Colonial women captured in these raids. Those poor souls found hiding in their bed-chambers are dragged from their rooms and assaulted sexually in the most horrific manner. Many of these violated women are returned in rags to their homes, but not all. The clearest example of the tragic consequences of these attacks is the death of Katheryn Alterson whose soul is believed to haunt the Arjun River not far from my new abode, her troubled spirit spotted floating along on the river or peering in through the windows of her former home.

I learned of this supposed haunting from the gentlewomen whom I met with in Dr. Miller's clinic. On more than one occasion these wealthy wives of company officers asked me if I had seen Katheryn's incorporeal apparition. It seems, Sir Williard, that everyone of note in this small town already knows much more about my business than I thought possible. The reason the cottage in which I now reside was so readily available, I learned during these morning teas, is that Katheryn's poor parents were so distraught by her sudden death could no longer live in the house where she was attacked. It took only a little prodding on my part to get these gossipy women to disclose how her badly decomposed body (wearing only a short nightgown) was found for over a month later trapped in a tangle of roots when the waters receded.

Understand, Lord Johnson, that I do not put much weight on this supposed haunting; as is often the case in these reports of the supernatural, none of the witnesses were trained observers. In fact, quite the opposite is true, the sightings were typically made by inebriated or exhausted Hindustani workers during the very early morning hours or late in the night. I am, however, far more interested in learning more about the River Pirates who are not by any accounts phantasmal apparitions, but rather a well documented periodic hazard to those dwelling along the planets rivers. You can well imagine, Sir Williard, as an inhabitant who lives along the banks of this very river I want to do everything in my power to protect myself and my household when these springtime floods arrive.

As you can see, my intentions upon entering the fine library were truly noble, but what occurred in the quiet room in the dark recesses of this otherwise staid institution is a matter that I am deeply ashamed of. Again, my Lord, please understand that the matter which I am about to recount is not one of braggadocious male preening but one which I am most profoundly repentant.

The public library of New Thames is a three story structure with a façade faced with one of the sparkling stonework. It is reminiscent of the great buildings found in Rome or Athens, but without the ravages of many generations of inclement weather on the elegant building. Inside, after passing through a small antechamber lined with coat closets and water closets, the main hall of the building opens like a great atrium lined with shelves. A second floor looks down on the center area where the librarians have their desks and filing decks. I must confess, my Lord that I was as impressed with this sanctuary dedicated to human knowledge as I was with the Edwardian Royal Hotel, or the headquarters of the East Orion Trading Company which were much larger and certainly far more lavish. In fact, as I write this I lament that the beauty and serenity of this temple made what happened within its hollowed halls so much more despicable.

I find Sir Williard that I must pause in this account as it is difficult for me to record the events clearly and factually. As much as I loath the task, I recognize that this a duty that I cannot shirk, but a moment or two to clear my thoughts seems appropriate.