*Freya*
The skies have cleared considerably since the previous night, so I open all of the carriage windows as I make my way to London. The trip passes quite quickly, for the Wilding estate is much closer to town than Westonbirt, and Summer has generously lent me the copy of Hamlet that I had started to read last night.
I become quite engrossed in the story, pausing only occasionally when the rhythmic clip-clop of the horses’ hooves lulls me into a semi-daze. “To build a hospital or not to build a hospital. That is the question,” I say aloud on one of those occasions, followed by, “That was really awful.”
It is shortly after noon when I reach London, and as we turn the final corner before reaching my cousins’ home, I poke my head out the window excitedly. In the distance, I see Angel de
