21st January 1936
My dear Genevieve,
I suppose you may tire of reading this but oh how I miss you terribly. These six years past have suffered me nought but utter torment, trapped here in dreary Kilchester with only my ghastly sister to talk to. Of course, I need not remind you of her foul moods and tantrums. I must say I cannot wait for the day some poor fellow trots her down the aisle and whisks her away forever. It is an awful thing, to be so separated from my own flesh and blood. But you know I have only ever considered you as my sister, my sweet Genie.
I write today because of the dreadful news out of Sandringham; the King is dead! Father says he had long suspected it but you know how I am and how newspapers bore me to tears and how I could never expect such a terrible thing to occur. I have known but one king in my entire lifetime and shall never become accustomed to Edward as king (though he is handsome and a great deal more pleasing to look at than beardy old George!)
Write me soon, darling Genie, before I am become one with the window sill, desperately awaiting letters from Cambridge. Tell me of a juicy murder – surely M. Marlow has shared plenty with you? I shall endeavour to help him solve one!
Ever your faithful friend,