I, Goronwy Kenrick, receive so much of what you moderns call in your rebarbative parlance ‘fan mail’ that I feel I must reply ; yet, having no spare time (and that in itself is ironic, in view of my experiments with time, ha, ha!) I am taking advantage of another vulgar modern idea – the Round Robin. Humph!
I will discount the absurd prejudices of some of my correspondents , who have accepted, unquestioningly, the lurid and prejudiced account of my activities to be found in the guise of sensationalist literature – ‘That Scoundrel Emile Dubois’ by some insolent and frankly immodest female called Lucinda Elliot (really, we kept the matters of the bedroom shrouded in discreet silence in my day).
Yes, if some female readers are so sadly misguided as to regard that French ruffian Dubois as some sort of heroic figure – I have only to say that it was dire necessity alone which compelled me to usher through my front doors a former cut throat from the gutters of Paris.
A disgusting fellow, I assure you, fond of a vulgar brawl and loutishly blunt, accusing me of practicing blackmail upon him – and unable – Heh Heh – as I have had occasion to remark elsewhere, to keep his hands for long either off the public’s pockets or off their wives, either. His boor of a lackey was even worse – my own milling manservant Arthur Williams being an upright citizen in comparison.
What was I saying, my good people? Ah, yes, fan mail. I have just accidentally read a communication that has put me out of temper – an insolent scrawl referring to me, if you please, as ‘creepy’ and ‘flesh crawling’.
It even goes on to suggest that I am ‘dirty minded’.
I, ever the prize romantic ? I would have the writer of that contemptible missive know, that I only ever loved one woman – my wife!
Yes, that parvenu Heathcliff – created, I believe, circa 1848 – cannot compete with me as a Byronic hero. No, indeed. I not only loved one woman, and mourned her death with passionate devotion, but I have tried to subvert time to achieve reunion. Did that vulgar, porridge eating Yorkshire farmer stretch his imagination so far?
Oh yes, it is true, I remarried – but love was never in question in that match. We both wanted the same thing – reunion with a lost loved one; I knew Madam Ceridwen would be useful in furthering my aims. further, I will admit, I do enjoy watching the effect of the second Mrs Kenrick’s beauty on foolish young males (like Dubois, only a month married, dear me!).
Dubois’ little wife was something of a peach – blonde and curvaceous as she was. I cannot imagine what she saw in the ruffian, apart from as a means of escape from her tedious life as a Dowager’s companion.
I once found myself having arrived quite by accident in her bedroom. Well, not quite by accident – I had heard she had a sore throat that day, and I had just remembered an infallible cure for the same – but that foolish Earl of Ruthin had made her drink some – some – a drink made of – gar – garlic, that most disgusting of herbs. Weak at the knees, I had to retreat, my handsome face haggard with distress.
I make no doubt even that fleeting glimpse of me, my well modelled mouth ready for a kiss, roused a flutter in her tender bosom, though.
Damn me, I am called away. I must needs ask my many admirers to wait until the next post – Ha! Ha! – to satisfy their longing to hear more from me and to sign off as your own
Vampire, Inventor and Mathematical Genius