Chapter Text
April 21st, 1925
Dear Rebecca,
It doesn’t feel real. You of all people, drowned in a storm, lost at sea. I could hardly believe it when I received Father’s letter. Danny always says you’re such an indomitable force.
Speaking of Danny, she’s not holding up well at all. The poor lady walks through the house like a ghost. She misses you very much. When she first caught me alone after I arrived back from school, she hugged me tightly. I wasn’t sure if she would ever let go. I think a part of her hopes you’ll come back since your body has yet to be found. She refers to you as missing, and she speaks of you in the present tense. As do I, as do all of us, for that matter.
Father seems to believe you’re dead wholeheartedly, on the other hand. He seems even more broken up over it than Danny. He was shaking when he gave me the news. I know he claims to hate you, but looking at him now you wouldn’t be able to tell. Maybe a part of him believes the lie we’ve been living all these years. Either that or he genuinely loves you enough to forgive you now that you’re gone. I’m not sure which would be more surprising. He’s always been stubborn, and it’s rare for him to forgive someone he’s made up his mind to hate. Presumably hate? Am I making any sense? You’d probably be frustrated if you were actually reading this.
Aunt Bea, Uncle Giles, and Roger came here as soon as they heard the news. This is the first time they’ve visited informally since you and Father fell out with them. I still remember that day. What was going on between you and Uncle Giles anyway? Surely not an affair like with Jack since he’s queer. Roger thought it was ridiculous when I brought it up to him. But that’s neither here nor there. The point is, they’ve moved on and they mourn your death too.
As for me, I hardly know what to feel. I shouldn’t say this, especially to you of all people, but I’m relieved that you’re gone. I don’t like that I feel that way, it’s wrong to feel relief at the death of your own mother, but it’s true. I feel free, like nothing can touch me ever again. Maybe your invincibility has rubbed off on me.
That was a joke, by the way. If I were in earnest, it’s a foolish idea. No one is invincible, not even the most expert of sailors, and especially not someone like me. Besides, you always said I shouldn’t think too highly of myself.
All that being said, I do hope they find your body. Even you should be able to rest in peace.
Sincerely,
Lydia de Winter
P.S: I hope you won’t be offended by my referring to you by name in this letter. I’ve been doing so out loud since I was 12 and you and Father have never corrected me, but who knows if your opinion has changed.
June 23rd, 1925
Dear Rebecca,
I know you only want to hear from me when I have something important to say, and I’m sure my letters from the last two months have been nothing but dull to you, but I’ve found an odd rhythm in them and I don’t want to give that up. Is that selfish of me? Do you want me to stop? Let me know next time you come around.
Now to get to the point. I do have something important to say this time. They found the body of a drowned woman 20 miles up the channel. Father is certain that it’s you, and he just arrived back from Edgecomb to confirm it with the coroner. He really hasn’t been himself. We haven’t spoken much since you died, but sometimes I hear him pacing and crying in his room at night.
I wonder if he speaks to you like I do. I wonder if you appear to him as well. Do you taunt him like you taunt me? Do you comfort him? I can’t imagine you doing that. You never were one to give comfort. In any case, I hope you treat him better as a ghost than you treat me. Maybe I’m naive for doing so. You hated him. You were just as stubborn as him.
Forgive me, I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead. Would you have spoken ill of me if the roles were reversed? Maybe not to the public, but to Danny or Father or Jack?
That was a rhetorical question. This isn’t about me.
Your funeral is next week. I don’t know if I’m ready to pretend in front of all of Cornwall. Perhaps your friends from London will be there too. I don’t believe even Father would turn them away.
Sincerely,
Lydia de Winter
July 1st, 1925
Dear Rebecca,
We buried you today.
Father opted for a closed casket and a service only for family. Jack was upset about it. He wanted to see you one last time. He let Father know it too. They argued for a while. Father told Jack he didn’t want him there in the first place. Jack laughed in his face and insisted he had a right to be there as your favorite cousin. Or rather, more than just a cousin. Yes, I noticed the way the two of you looked at each other. How you held each other a little too close and your kisses lasted longer than kisses between family should. Does Danny know about that? I know Father does. Why else would he say what he did?
Anyway, Jack turned to me to back him up, and I said that I agreed that he had a right to be there. That only made things worse because Father told Jack that he was banned from ever setting foot on Manderley property again and demanded he leave immediately. He was so close to losing his temper. Thankfully Aunt Bea managed to calm him down.
Personally, I was glad the casket was closed. I know you never liked when I cried, you always got so angry, but I cried today. It hit me all at once that you’re really gone for good. I wish things had been different between us. I wish we could’ve been a normal mother and daughter. If I had just tried to be better, to style my hair the way you liked it, make the sound of my voice less irritating to you, wear clothes that didn’t make me look sickly, not spend hours upon hours practicing the piano; maybe you could have loved me more.
Danny devoted her entire life to you, and in a way I did too. All I wanted was to be what you wanted me to be, but I always fell short. What did Danny do right that I didn’t? Why do you still hate me even in death?
Forget I said that. That question made you angry when you were alive and it probably makes you angry now. I still remember the day I first asked it. You hit me. I know it was the only time you ever did, one of the few, but it still hurts to this day. I’m torn between apologizing for provoking you and hating you for hurting me.
I won’t do either, not on the day of your funeral.
Sincerely,
Lydia de Winter
August 15th, 1925
Dear Rebecca,
Father and I have hardly said a hundred words to one another since your funeral. Come to think of it, he hardly looks at me, and when he does, he has this wounded look in his eyes as if something is about to attack him. I know it’s because I remind him of you. I love my black hair and round face and full lips, but sometimes I wish I could change my appearance so he wouldn’t look at me like that.
Jack has red hair. Do you think that would suit me? I know it’s the fashion now to have short hair, but I wouldn’t feel like myself that way. Long wavy red hair sounds beautiful, Anne of Green Gables was wrong to hate it so much, but I don’t think it would go well with my brown eyes. If my eyes were blue or green it would blend better. If my skin were just a little less pale it would sell the look. Would you approve? You never liked how pale I am. Thank god I don’t have acne anymore, you never liked that either. I recall you said it made me look like a toad.
Either way, if I had red hair and blue eyes maybe Father wouldn’t act as though I’m you reincarnated. I don’t think he knows what he wants though. I asked to return to school this coming term, but he insisted I stay home as I’m past the age where compulsory education is required and that I ought to use the next few years to prepare for my coming out at home. He wants me here, but at the same time he carries on like I only exist to remind him of unpleasant things.
Perhaps he doesn’t trust me not to get myself into trouble in London or not to have my head turned by some boy or other and begin an affair like you did with Jack and Danny. Speaking of boys, I can’t imagine myself ending up with one. At least none that I currently know. Jack Penrose doesn’t take anything seriously. Sometimes it makes me laugh, but other times he gets on my nerves. Anthony Darewood is nice enough, but he has an empty head and no opinions of his own. He always agrees with everything I say. Not to mention I hear that he insists on growing a beard and I can’t imagine kissing someone with a beard. Don’t even get me started on Chadwick Abernathy. You always said that they’re all fools in Devon, and he is the biggest one of all. He thinks I’ll want to court him once we’re of age just because he’s the heir to a Viscount.
I don’t think I’d want to be a Viscountess, or any noble title for that matter. I’m already tied to Manderley as is. The last thing I want is to become a broodmare for the sake of having sons to carry on a title. At least with Manderley, the sex wouldn’t matter since Father broke the entail. I could just have one like you and Father did.
Oh to be free from the burden of legacy.
Sincerely,
Lydia de Winter
December 30th, 1925
Dear Rebecca,
Today was my 16th birthday. It happened to coincide with a blizzard, so we were snowed in all day. I hope you don’t take offense to this, but I’m glad you did appear today. I thought your absence would be peaceful, but instead it felt hollow. Thankfully the winter weather gives me an excuse to wear long sleeves, so nobody saw the scratch marks on my arms. I doubt that habit of mine will go away anytime soon. It helps me to not feel so numb. It fills the void you left whenever I do something wrong. Still, it’s better than feeling scared or worthless or depressed.
I don’t miss you, but at the same time I do.
Danny insisted on pinning my hair up today. She says now that I’m old enough, I should take advantage. I prefer wearing my hair down, but it made me feel older, which was surreal. She kissed my hair once she was finished, and she stared at my reflection in the mirror for a while. I know she was reminded of you because she called me Rebecca. Thankfully she realized her mistake. She gave me a gift too, that sapphire brooch you always used to wear. She said it was time I had it. I put it on for her, and she looked like she wanted to cry.
Mrs. Rutherford prepared all my favorites. I thought the lobster at dinner was especially delicious. She even made a little German chocolate cake. I remember when Father first introduced me to it on my 6th birthday during the war. I was so happy that he’d gotten leave around my birthday. He had just missed Christmas, but I didn’t care by the time he arrived. He returned to the war a few days into the new year, but the cake reminded me of him. I’m sure you remember how I requested it for every birthday after that.
I told him that story as well. I had hoped it would make him smile a little, but he didn’t seem to care. He didn’t like that I was wearing your brooch either and told me to take it off. Why do you insist on not allowing me to move on, he said to me. He did wish me a happy birthday though, and I thanked him, but that was all we had to say to one another today. I swear, as time goes on, he only becomes more aloof. I would mention it to him, but I’m afraid it would just make him angry.
I’m sure you would agree. Would you want to see him angry? You always did like to provoke him. I’m sure you’ll tell me the next time you appear.
Sincerely,
Lydia de Winter
April 20th, 1926
Dear Rebecca,
Father left for Monte Carlo this morning. I’ve stayed at Manderley. I’m a little jealous of him. Apart from our duty visit to Grandmama de Winter in January, we haven’t gone anywhere in months. It isn’t that we haven’t been invited anywhere, but Father’s been refusing every invitation. That is, every invitation apart from Frank. I miss my friends. Thankfully we’re at least at home to the Lacys. Roger is at Harrow until July, but we have tea with Aunt Bea and Uncle Giles every once in a while. Danny says it’s a good opportunity for me to practice my hostessing skills for when I come of age in the absence of a mistress.
Don’t worry, I haven’t been using the morning room. That’s your domain. No one does, in fact. Danny, Robert, and the housemaids only go in there to make sure it’s clean and change the flowers. You always loved your orchids, and we’re loath to change things, Danny especially. She still keeps your room exactly as it was when you died, though it’s been a year today. She thinks you’ll come back, but at the same time she knows all too well that you can’t.
That is, unless she sees you too. She sees you in me at least. I don’t like it. She’s been slipping up more often when talking to me and using your name instead of mine. It doesn’t really help her state of mind that she’s been acting as my lady’s maid for the past year now that you’re gone and I no longer have need of a governess. She’s been much more affectionate too, as you know, and normally I would welcome that, but the more time that passes, the more she compares me to you. She wants me to be you.
It seems no matter who I try to be, I end up doing it wrong. Danny doesn’t like it when I try to deviate from you and Father hates that I don’t deviate enough.
It’s one reason he didn’t want me to go to Monte Carlo with him. He said he was leaving Manderley to forget you, not to have you follow him around everywhere he went. I don’t know when he intends to come back. He said he wants to travel the entire continent: Paris, Rome, Berlin, Vienna, Athens, even Istanbul. He could be gone for a month, a few months, maybe even a year. He will come back though. He may not want to ever see Manderley again, but he’s far too devoted to it to truly abandon it.
I don’t blame him. I’ve thought about abandoning this place too, but if I left, I would feel empty. What is it about identity being tied to one’s home?
Sincerely,
Lydia de Winter
May 8th, 1926
Dear Rebecca,
I’ve received a telegram from Father. Apparently he eloped with a woman named Ileana Fernsby. Well, Ileana de Winter now. They met while he was in Monte Carlo. I don’t understand what possessed him to marry a woman he’s only known for two weeks, but it’s too late to advise him not to rush in. Even if they hadn’t eloped, I doubt he would have listened to me.
Still, it isn’t sensible. I don’t see any good coming out of this. Aunt Bea told me not to judge her too harshly before meeting her, but something tells me that Father is making a big mistake. Danny already dislikes her on principle. I think she would dislike anyone who took your place unless that person was me.
I can only hope this woman makes him happy.
Sincerely,
Lydia de Winter
May 15th, 1926
Dear Rebecca,
Father wrote ahead to Danny and Frith about what needs to happen in preparation for his and his new wife’s arrival. The guest rooms in the east wing are being renovated. Father wants them to be the new master suites. They’re moving my room to the east wing too. I’m going to miss waking up to the sound of the sea. I’ll even miss hearing those seagulls that constantly squawk when I’m trying to sleep. Oh well, there are worse things in life. Frank says the east wing has better light, something about how it will symbolize a new beginning.
You know, the more people talk about forgetting the past, the more I seem to remember.
Danny says Ileana doesn’t have a lady’s maid and she was asked to hire someone to take up the position. She chose a girl from Kerrith named Clarice Gloyne. Clarice is the second eldest of 10 siblings. Her elder sister is a teacher in Penzance. The third eldest apparently applied for the position also, but Danny thought she wouldn’t take orders well. It’s just as well though. Clarice is one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met. She has dimples that show when she smiles, and her laugh sounds like the tinkling of bells. The dogs love her too, Jasper especially. When he saw her for the first time, he started barking and begging for pets. Then he curled up at her feet.
Clarice told me that animals can see into a person’s soul. I said that Jasper’s reaction must mean she has a gentle one. It made her blush a little. It was so adorable. I like her already, and I’m sure we’ll be great friends. I’m debating asking Danny if Clarice could be my lady’s maid and she could be Ileana’s. I probably won’t though. Poor Danny would have an awful time directly serving your successor.
Sincerely,
Lydia de Winter