A Letter from Yesterday

"Are we all done? For the last time I am bid two hundred and fifty pounds. Going once! Going twice!" The auctioneer brought his gavel down smartly at the rostrum.
"Sold to the gentleman in the front row. Your bidding number please, sir"
David self-consciously held up his card. The auctioneer quickly noted his number before commencing the next lot.
'O dear that's done it now,' thought David, 'I only hope she likes it.' Described in the catalog as, a writing bureau in walnut, circa 1860, in the style of George Hepplewhite, possibly by a local maker.

"A nice little writing bureau would be so useful to keep all my letters and correspondence up together." A hint from his wife Victoria for a Birthday present if ever there was one.
"Letters to all and sundry Victoria, Why on earth don't you use E mail or Fax, surely the latest techniques of our age can take the place of all this longhand." David loved to tease her about her passion for letter writing.
"In this day and age using the means of communication that were common place in the days of the Roman Empire." All this talk of technology was water off a duck’s back to Victoria.

"I enjoy writing, there is something original about a hand written letter David. When you receive a letter in longhand you know it is written from the heart not the product of some heartless, soulless, electronic gizmo."
In the face of this logic, David knew better than to continue.
Over the moon with her birthday present Victoria soon had it polished to the umpteenth degree. In fine condition obviously it had been the pride and joy of several previous owners their loving care reflected in the deep wax shine. The writing flap lowered down onto the two little slides pulled out at the front. The inside inlaid with a deep red leather; signs of wear in the base revealing the access to the secret compartment where correspondence could be stored. Two thicker partitions, the full height of the shelves, were also secret drawers, which with the release of small hidden catches could be withdrawn in the manner of books from a bookcase.

Planning whether to put the envelopes in this pigeonhole or the writing paper in that, perhaps she could keep her fountain pen in this compartment and the ink in that one. What to keep in the secret draws she just could not think. She had opened and closed them about a dozen times already.
With the secret draws pulled out and placed to one side Victoria thought she would give the inside a final dust. Reaching the duster into the secret compartment below the writing surface it snagged on something, running her fingers along under the pigeon holes she found a small projection, trying to prise it off she was surprised to find it slid sideways quite easily. She heard a faint click inside and the centre pigeonhole shelves moved ever so slightly. It was now possible to withdraw this section like a small draw.

"Quick! Look at this David! There is another secret draw... and... David there is an envelope in here, with a Queen Victoria postage stamp." Excited by her find she carefully opened the envelope, withdrawing several sheets of paper neatly folded in two.
"What beautiful fine hand writing," said Victoria looking at the sender's address, "It’s from this town but I do not recognize the name of the House or the Street."
Dated 23rd June 1863. The letter read: -
'My Dearest Victoria,'

"What a coincidence," she remarked "To someone with my name." and continued reading
'This is the first letter to be written on my new writing bureau. I am so excited by my Hubert's Birthday gift; I feel I could really burst, it is from a design by Mr. Hepplewhite and he has had it built especially for me by Mr. Albert, who is considered by most to be the finest cabinetmaker in the whole of the county. Mr Albert has used the wood of a Walnut Tree that he has had drying in his store shed, he tells me, for seven years and it is now well seasoned. When he related to me how he came by the tree I could not believe the wings of coincidence could possibly stretch so far.

It is the tree that stood in the garden of the house where my Aunt Emma lived when we were children, in the autumn we enjoyed the fresh fallen nuts, and Mother would scold us for darkening our fingers with the stain. This story is even more complicated Victoria; it was below this very tree Hubert proposed to me. How could anyone have such a fine Birthday gift... the letter continued...'
"She's right, you know David, and this bureau is the finest Birthday present any one could possibly have." Leaning over his chair she gave him a passionate kiss. "Thank you for such a lovely Birthday present darling."

"I'm so pleased that you like it. I know now what you mean by a letter written from the heart."
"It's marvelous when you think of it," said Victoria,
"How a letter can span the years, I feel it was written to me and I would love to be able to reply." Holding her head coquettishly to one side, her finger on her chin, with a smile that would have been the envy of Mona Lisa. She added,
"I wonder if it would get there if I sent it, E mail, or Fax?"
..ooooo..