Castle Avalon
The Lakelands
Westmoreland

10th August

Cara Lottie,

That means "Dearest Lottie" in the language of this kingdom. Isn't that pretty? I am trying to learn to speak a little of it, because it seems so impolite to go to another country and not be able to say at least a few words. It is a strange and rather magical language that feels like something you might hear spoken in a dream.

The local people here are lovely too. The ones at the castle are much the same as in Camden, but at first the villagers and country folk are so silent, with faces looking distant and closed off. Then you speak to them in their own tongue, and they light up as if someone put a candle behind their eyes. They couldn't be nicer or friendlier once they know you.

Darling Lottie, you sounded cross in your last letter. Please don't be cross that I couldn't come to you this summer. Bernard and Pip have taken Clarissa to Everwick for some mysterious grownup reason. And Bernard sent me to the Lakelands, but I will go to Everwick too before we all go home.

I didn't ask to come here, but I am enjoying myself, and I won't pretend I'm not. It is a beautiful country, it doesn't look quite real, and we spend nearly all our time on the lake, boating, fishing and swimming. Yes! I am learning to swim, and it is ever so much fun. When I'm swimming, I think I like it even more than horse riding. But then I get on a horse, and wonder how I could have thought swimming was better! If we ever go to the seaside together, I will teach you to swim.

You ask me whether Eden is pretty and nice, and I don't know if she is either of those things. She is more herself than anyone else I have ever met, she is like a tree or a stone or a lake. I don't know how to explain it, but a tree is right there, in front of you, and it is only a tree and nothing else. This is an idiotic description and you will rightfully screw up this letter in disgust.

Do you remember when I first came to Castile, when I was quite little, and there were olives for dinner, and I spat them out, they were so bitter? And your father said I should try them again the next year I came, because I needed to get a taste for them? And the next time I didn't spit them out, although they still tasted nasty and sour, and the next time they didn't taste so bad, and the next time I quite liked them, and now I love olives, they are one of my favourite things to eat?

Well, it is like that with Eden. I have developed a taste for her. And now I am hungry for olives because I wrote about them! Please send me a jar, some time.

Anyway, it doesn't sound as if you are missing me really. You sound as if you have been very busy and active, and you have a visitor. Prince Eric of Pomerania must be quite agreeable company. He sounds awfully nice, I am sure that anybody who loves dogs like he does must have a good heart. It's lucky that he is able to stay longer than expected, as his Danish cousins decided not to do whatever thing they were going to.

I will send you a copy of the chapters of Lucinda's adventures that I have written here, but I'm afraid they are pretty feeble. When I look back at the first chapters I ever wrote about Lucinda when I was ten, I squirm, because they are so silly and childish, and filled with ridiculous mistakes. I don't think I will write any more of it, it is foolish stuff.

When I get back home, I plan on starting a new book, about a quite ordinary girl called Lily, who cuts her hair and runs away and gets a place on a ship by pretending to be a boy called Luke, and has to learn all the ways of the sea while working her passage before the mast. It will be strictly realistic and filled with interesting facts and have a lot of deep philosophical thoughts sown into it. I am old enough now to write a properly grownup story, I think.

Please pass on my birthday greetings to Peter, and I hope he liked his present (boys never write and tell you themselves, do they?! It is many a long month since I received a missive from my youngest nephew). I know he will make his annual joke about being the same age as me, now that he has turned thirteen. But I will be a year older than him once more by Yuletide!

Love to you, and all the family, and Prince Eric, if that is not impertinent when I haven't met him yet, and everyone at the palace.

All my heart,

Lucy xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Notes
Pomerania is a historic region on the Baltic Sea, now split between Germany and Poland. Eric was a traditional name among their rulers (who were dukes, not kings), and they were related to the Danish royal family.