(OOC: Alastair last posted in On the Shores of Windemere)

Alastair arrived at his boarding-house in good spirits, refreshed from his walk in the country. Several of his fellow boards, bachelors also for the most part, hailed him as he made his way to the leaky garret he rented, and he answered lightly and continued. He stopped momentarily on the third floor to assist his landlady in moving a large vase of flowers into an empty room; she, as was her custom, planted a large kiss on his cheek and asked him when he was going to be married so that she could play with his babies. Not at all offended, for the woman was nearly sixty years and far too old to mean any offence, Alastair kissed her fingers gallantly and replied teasingly, as he always did, that he had yet to meet anyone who could compete with her charm and beauty and thus was likely to remain a bachelor until he could find someone as worthy as her. She laughed and patted his hand, and then gave him a letter that had arrived for him that morning while he was out.

Alastair thanked her and took the missive, heading for his room directly. Once there, he placed his note-book and pen on the desk and collapsed on his bed, which creaked alarmingly under his weight, as it always did, to read the letter. His happy countenance faded as he read:

Margrave-street, Feb. 7.

MY DEAR NEPHEW,
I am called upon by circumstances, and by our relation, to condole with you on the most regrettable loss you have suffered. I must sorrowfully inform you that your father passed from this world on to the next on Jan. 21, after a short period in which his health rapidly declined. I have written you with all haste to ensure that the news reach you from a relative and not in a letter from the sanitorium in which he was cared for, and I hope that, although the news cannot be softened sufficiently, you will take to heart that his brother and sisters were by his side when he was reclaimed to God’s bosom—he did not die alone. His final wish was for you to be happy and he expressed himself very lucidly towards the end; he was adamant that I make it quite clear in my letter that he did not fault you in any way for the lack of your presence at his side during his final hours. He desired that I lay out the circumstances whereby he had arranged matters to be so himself. He had forbidden the sanitorium to write you of his illness, and I, his brother, and his two sisters also; he explained that he wished you to always see him as he had been when he was younger, and not in the much-deteriorated state he later came to be in. He also wished that you would receive the remainder of the sum that was set to pay for his care; this amounts to a total of £1,029 and has already been entered into an account in your name at the London & Westminster Bank Ltd. in London. I know this comes as no good news given the circumstances surrounding it. If either I or your aunts can offer any support in your time of grief, you have but to ask.
Your’s, &c.

KENNETH BRODERICK

Alastair slowly folded the letter, and a silent tear lingered in the corner of his eye. He brushed it away as he placed the missive on the desk, but more came to replace it, and he gave up trying to stem the flow.