The Monsters of Templeton (28 page)

Your greatest friend, Charlotte Temple

February 9

Charlotte---

Forgive my scribble--I do believe you--I saw the flames in my grate with my own eye. I am glad of your confession--here is mine. Oh, I pray you will not hate me--but I will die if I do not confess this to a kind soul! Here it is--I poisoned my husbands, but only three of them, Paul died naturally, thrown from a horse. Godfrey and Sam, strychnine, Abraham, arsenic. All purchased from Mudge. He hissed, "Big rats, you have there." I was simply tired, of the husbands, of their hands, always wanting, always wanting me, always coming into my room, never leaving me alone. I am a terrible person--I will go to hell. But now that I have told, they are leaving, I feel them drawing away--what relief. They are leaving! Yet I fear I shall harm Ginger, too--I am as worked up as I have always been when I decided to poison before--she is poisoning the town, I should poison her. We will be so peaceful when she is gone, Templeton will grow healthy again.

There. I have done it. Now you know everything, everything. You shall forgive me--I know your secrets, also--and now you know mine. It is as if the burden of the world were lifted from my shoulders, Charlotte. I can breathe, at last!

Cinnamon

Averell Cottage 10 March, 1862

My darling Charlotte---

You have cured me! Thank you for allowing me my confession. I was all in a fever for three weeks after I sent you my note, but over the last week, I have been better. You have not written--you are perhaps busy with the follies of love? I would be careful of the Frenchman, however--I did not have the chance to tell you this, but it is quite likely he has secrets. You have already given yourself to him, and that is regrettable, but I warn you very gravely--do not give your hand. I know this is not a sweet thing to hear in the midst of love, but I thought you should know from a friend of your heart. If you do not believe me, or if you request proof, I can provide it--I simply wish I should not have to.

Please do write to me. The spring breeze is warm across the melting snowdrifts--I do feel so alive, so much more vibrant than I had been in this terribly dark winter.

Your loving, Cinnamon Averell Graves

Averell Cottage 15 March, 1862

Dearest Charlotte---

You alarm me! It has been nearly five weeks since I wrote and you have not responded. I have waited, so anxiously. I have sent you other notes. Do you hate me? I think you do. I am sane now--I sleep now--I have regained my old beauty--even Marie-Claude says so. I am not sure exactly what I wrote, just that I confessed my darkest secrets. Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?

Your friend, Cinnamon Averell Graves

Averell Cottage 20 March, 1862

Charlotte---

Still you do not write? I am afraid of you. Please write.

Yours, Cinnamon

C--Please write. I fear if you don't I will do something rash.

--Cinnamon

Very well. It seems I am reprehensible to you. I cannot believe you know me as well as you do and yet you have chosen to cast me aside. I know you know of what I am capable. Poor, poor Charlotte. This is the last time I will ever have any pity for you.

--Cinnamon

Averell Cottage March 25th, 1862

Mon cher Monsieur Le Quoi---

Or should I say Monsieur Charles de la Vallee? We met, I believe, at a party in October--I have been in heavy mourning for your entire courtship of Mlle. Temple, but I have seen it all. I would say that you should consider leaving your chase of the dear girl and returning to Nantes, where, it appears, you had been a Prefect of Police, sent to jail on allegations of graft? Is this possible? And to take your valet's name--you should be ashamed. My friend who lives in Nantes sends me a poster of you during your--how do you say it--your fuite? The drawing is not flattering, of course. Then again, it is a good likeness of you.

With goodwill, Cinnamon Averell Stokes Starkweather Sturgis Graves

Spotter's Academy, Templeton le 27 mars

Chere Mme. Graves,

Malheureusement, your letter does not frighten me a whit. Quite the inverse, rather. It makes me to a decision I was hoping I would not force to make. I have asked Miss Charlotte Temple to marry me and she has delightfully given her accord. I have come clean with my past, most of it, at least. How do you say it? Made a clean breast? It seems she has also had some rakes in the family. Her very noble grandfather, even, was of strange circumstances, she tells me, with a slave, perhaps. Although perhaps you know this. Though there were tears, quite copious when I told her of my circumstances, I was on hand to kiss them away. One's past is quite lost in such a bright future, is it not? This, we have agreed together. We shall wed in April 20th, at Christ Church, where her family lies dead. I should invite you, but you are in mourning, and one cannot see la belle veuve before it is her time, I hear.

As I value my freedom at least as many as I do the money, there is a piece of me that regrets this step I find so necessary now. But there is consolement. Miss Temple is pretty enough, and her great money will allow me to do anything I wish. Do you not agree?

With great respect and good wishes, Charles "de la Vallee" Le Quoi

Averell Cottage, Templeton March 29th

Monsieur "Le Quoi"-I do find your name so appropriate, you know--The What. Precisely!

Perhaps your future wife would be interested in hearing that you frequent--three to four nights a week--a certain house of ill-repute in Templeton. She would assuredly call off your marriage, and you would be left with nothing in the world, including your little fiancee and all her money. You probably would no longer be deemed fit to maintain your current position at Spotter's Academy once the news got out. What a shame that would be.

Your friend, Cinnamon Averell Graves

Spotter's Academy, Templeton le 1 avril

Mme. Graves,

Forgive me, this is the day in France which we call le poisson d'avril, and people make jokes upon one another. I believe this, your threat, is such a joke? It is sad you are to have no proof. The most delicious mouths can be stuffed with money, and never would tell a thing. As well, I doubt my dear fiancee would believe you, as apparently you are no friends much longer. You once were, but now she will not speak of you. Why such coldness, I wonder, when before she could only speak warmly of you? I have not succeeded in understanding. But I shall. I must wonder why you are eager to so pursue me? Is it perhaps that you fear for your "friend's" happiness? Or is it perhaps that you do not wish her any such happiness? I wonder. Of course, I am here for to assist you. Perhaps one offer will be made such that piques my little interest, still.

Your servant, C. Le Quoi

April Fifth. [rough draft, unblotted]

Madam Ginger; forgive this anonymous note. A person you know wishes you ill. I have prayed for many nights upon this matter. In the end, I knew that though you are fallen, and will be judged for your sins, it is my Christian duty to warn you. Please leave a note, if you wish to respond, under the stone under the statue of Chingachgook and his dog by the Susquehanna.

One Who Does Not Wish You Ill

April sisth.

One Who Does Not Wish Me Ill But Not Well Neither; I don't need no warning from you, whoever you are, your a woman, thats for sure. Backhanded slut. Nobody in my life never wished me more than harm. I can take care myself. You think your Christian. Pray for your own sole, youl burn in hell.

"Madam Ginger" as you say

Averell Cottage April 16, 1862

It has taken me weeks, but I have spoken to my attorney and I can give you $20,000, legal tender, all my father left when he died. If you come to my house at 8:00 pm on the night of April 17th, I will provide you with a fast horse and the money in a strongbox. You shall sign an agreement that states you cannot return to Templeton, and will stay away forever. If you agree, you will send me a letter today.

--C.A.G.

Spotter's Academy The 17th, April

Ah! Enfin, you speak my language, Madame Graves. $20,000, not a fraction of the fortune of Miss Temple, but I won't have to spend thirty years to listen to her babble, either. Alors, I agree. I shall see you tonight. You have lifted quite a burden from my shoulders, Madame.

--Le Quoi

Averell Cottage, Templeton The eighteenth of April [rough draft]

Dear "Papa Gin Stone,"

Well, my dear, here we are at last. Today I have sent away one of your best customers, Monsieur Le Quoi, and in recompense, I am sending you my servant, Marie-Claude. She is perhaps crying--I have dismissed her for good, and she feeds her family on the wages I pay her. Perhaps you will have a use for her. She is a good worker, and would be diligent even in a place such as yours. If you want her for other purposes, I suppose she's pretty enough. I'd recommend $50 a month--the poor fool will think that a fortune. Also, take these nutcakes I am sending you. I was in one of my frenzies this morning, and baked too many for the Ladies' Auxiliary. Perhaps we can become friends, Ginger. I am lonely.

Averell Cottage, Templeton April 18th, 1862

Charlotte---

You scorn me--you judge me--fine. Perhaps you missed your French friend today, have you not? He told me you were visiting with the minister this afternoon, for your wedding in two days. Alas, the Frenchman didn't appear. And when you sent to the Academy to see what was the matter, he was gone. And greasy old Dr. Spotter so embarrassed: all of the Frenchman's things gone, snuck away, that rat, didn't he? Oh, you poor thing. I have had my claws in him, of course. No--he is alive--simply riding to Albany, where he will catch a post-chaise to Boston, there to start a life anew. He left you the note I have enclosed.

Charlotte, mon chou, I could no longer dissemble. In the end, I loved more my freedom than I did you. If it is a consolement, I did love you a good bit, at some point, in some way. I wish you happiness. Charles.

You see, darling? He did love you a good bit. It is quite all right. And it is best, anyway, that he has fled this den of thieves, the nest of vipers, the horrid little town that is Templeton. The Sodom, the Gomorrah! Oh, isn't it? I have done you a favor, you see.

Your friend, Cinnamon

Averell Cottage, Templeton November the twentieth, 1862

Dear Miss Temple---

I daresay you remember me, though you have not written in so very long--since April, has it been? I heard today that you were to return to Templeton, and were bringing your "nephew" with you. I do hope you have been well at your sister Daisy's in Manhattan--such a pity about her death so shortly after her dear husband's. Especially with her baby that was born a month after she was laid in the ground! It must have been terribly painful to the poor corpse. A miracle, truly. Don't worry--nobody here knows the true date of her death, only I, for I have been corresponding with your sister, Marguerite, and she let it slip. I won't tell anyone your secret.

My, we do have so many secrets between us, don't we? For instance, nearly the whole of Templeton burning on that fateful night in April. Do you remember? Of course you do. The blazing bells, the four fire brigades, the bucket brigades of all of the Academicians and the regiments in town--and still, almost all of Second Street, devoured! All the way from the Eagle Hotel to the greengrocer's and past Schneider's Bakery! That whole stretch, burned up, all of the little buildings there from the very days of your own grandfather's first founding of the town! It even took with it the lovely little Leatherstocking Hotel, of all strange places. Can you imagine--they pulled the skeletons of four unknown women and one boy from there--nobody has confessed to knowing any of them, save the huge woman, who had apparently bought the place from the little Yorker bachelor brothers. It does make you wonder why they didn't have the presence of mind to escape. Why they couldn't rouse themselves to run out of the building--one does wonder.

The town is rebuilding nicely, though there have been many shamed faces in town since the great fire, you know. It was horrible. Old Mother Gooding died in the apartment above the harness shop where she'd lived for so many years. And, of course, so did that poor idiot son of Dirk Peck, the lawyer, that filthy boy who touched himself at the sight of a woman. They say he was in the very outbuilding where the fire started--some blame it all on him--that is a piece of news you may be glad to know.

Speaking of Dirk Peck, I have been comforting the poor, hideously wealthy lawyer quite a bit. A handsome man, I must say--he has secretly asked for my hand, and I have secretly said yes, though we will wed when I am fully out of mourning. I like him. Perhaps I will keep him.

You did hear of your fiance's capture in Boston didn't you? Shameful, really--he was trying to sneak onto a boat headed for Martinique, and the French Lieutenant who caught him recognized him from the scandal in Nantes--they say he was the son of Monsieur de la Vallee, and took his valet's name of Le Quoi. An ironic end for such a man.

One last thing. I believe I have a packet of letters you might want. You do have a packet of letters I want. Could we, perhaps, engineer an exchange? We shall perhaps talk about this when you have returned to our fair town. I am eager to kiss the cheeks of your nephew. I do suppose he is bald at this young age, is he not? I do, however, hope he grows your abundant red-brown hair.