Dear Flavia,I adore you. I am enthralled by you. I wish I was more like you when I was your age. But I wasn't. If I had the penchant for poison way back then I would've been committed to a mental hospital, no, scratch that, probably worse. That or exorcised. They would've called me "witch" or "bruha," not to my face but in whispered conversations when I pass by a throng of people.
With just a handful of weeks after discovering a dead body in your garden here you are again, witnessing a murder! And yet, unlike other people's horrid reaction, your continuous fascination with death is truly noteworthy! So, like an adoring pup, I followed you around, even if I am way older than your precocious eleven years!
And what a revelation yet again! At times I forget that you are indeed young. That you are as fascinated with poisons as with tricks of a puppeteer! If only Inspector Hewitt could hire you on the spot, to help him solve the murder of that horrid Rupert Porson! Seriously, he has your grudging respect.
Oh, Flavia, I can see Bishop Lacey in my mind's eye! I wander its meandering roads with Gladys as well. But I fear for you for every dead body you find! In your first foray in our midst you almost died! This time, while you weren't placed in the exact same predicament, I also feared for your safety! Despite that, I laud your powers of deduction! Sherlock Holmes himself would be proud to have you as a companion (though I doubt if he has that much patience with girls your age - then again, he might make an exception - as you're an exceptional girl!)
I also find comfort in your poisons. If I have a laboratory for a bedroom I'd probably tinker with flasks of dangerous substances as well.
Oh and how you are so enamored of Antigone!
Thank goodness for introducing me to another relative. Your aunt Felicity is quite a handful, surely, but the things she said about you and Harriet were quite priceless!
I think I must end here as I'm embarrassing myself! Just know that you kept my heart racing and my mind whirling with hundreds of scenarios while you try to solve not just the puppeteer's death ahead of the authorities, but also that of a supposed suicide of a young, sweet boy lovingly remembered in your parish.
I cannot wait for your next adventure. In fact, I'm in the middle of it now! Oh you crazy girl! And I mean that lovingly.
Your adoring fan,
Lightheaded
PS
Dogger is growing on me. He is such a good sidekick, even if he doesn't know it yet.
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The Weed that Strings the Hangman's Bag by Alan Bradley is part of my pool for Readers Imbibing Peril Challenge.
