CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Mary Shelley
Albion House
Marlow
April 1817
My Mary,
Once again, forgive me for ceasing yesterday’s letter without adequate conclusion. I was called to the Bow Street Magistrates’ Court by Officer Hamilton. I shall tell you more on Friday.
For now allow me to continue where I left off. I stepped into The Punchbowl, shrugged off my frock coat and handed it to the doorman. He offered no towel, so I shook my head and combed my fingers through my hair so I might maintain some modicum of decency. The meaty smell of roast game and gravy wafted down from the dining room upstairs. Straight ahead, in a light much too dim for conversation, cigar smoke hung beneath ancient rafters.
Perhaps two dozen gentlemen sat within. I daresay most all have met our acquaintance at one gath
