Once upon a midday merry, while I pondered, meek and wary, over many a quaint and curious volume of contemporary study; while I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping upon my twee cuddy.

'Nevermore,' I answered the knocking at my door, my grumble a mere squeak permeating the hardwood.

'Pardon me? Oh- um... stop knocking? Duly noted...' a female voice mumbled response, its tone sliding from perplexity to deference.

'Miss, um, Ellery, I am here to deliver a return letter on behalf of the Zoological Society of London,' the woman stated with an interjecting fake cough, and before I knew what in blazes was going on, I had sprung up from my desk and sprinted to the door.

With a strength comparable to the western lowland gorilla's two-thousand kilograms of isometric force, I powered through the door and raced out into the sun's effulgence.

Galloping like a goaded stallion, I felt my indoor shoes slap against the winding stone path as I made haste down the slight incline my cottage perched atop.

I blinked once before noting my elevated position, and froze like a sunbaked troll.

In my frenzied passion, it seemed I had propelled myself off the stone and leapt to hug my courier.

Notes of linseed oil and turpentine clung to my senses as I tore myself away from the warm body. I instantly recognized the smell of stamp ink. The courier's lingering scent briefly lulled me, before mortification swiftly burrowed into my bones.

Peeling my gaze from the floor, I noted the frazzled courier's fright mirrored my own disposition tenfold. If I could barely breath, this woman looked as though she would swoon.

She reminded me of a spooked horse.

Her raven hair, plaited into twin braids like a schoolgirl's, hung frizzled across either shoulder, and her hazel eyes bore into a realm visible to her alone.

The lady's face was plated with pale makeup that perfectly extenuated her elegant features, and I caught myself staring.

The contrast between her features and drab courier's uniform only made her ever the more ravishing.

Were she a horse, I would bet my last shilling she'd be a Friesian. And from what I'd felt, her physique was robust to boot.

Criminy, I felt like such a louse.

'Your letter,' the courier continued, pulling an envelope from her leather satchel and extending it to me as if nothing had happened. I was gracious to the stranger for that.

'They replied, they finally replied! Oh, joy!' I squealed as I snatched it from her dainty hands, practically mad with frivol.

Most unbecoming of a lady, but such was an expected byproduct of years of social isolation.

Unable to contain my excitement, nor the contents of the envelope, I cracked it open and unfurled the parchment.

'"Miss Ellery, we are ever so thankful for your submission to our fine society's breadth of knowledge,"' I began to read aloud before the courier, my very being overcome with bravado as I skimmed the letter. The woman shifted in place awkwardly, finding her shoes suddenly very interesting.

'"The council has overseen your paper, 'Bird Courtship and the Toxins of Frogs,' and thoroughly considered its addition to our knowledgebase..." Yes, yes, do go on,' I urged the paper as I consumed each line, my whole body shaking with anticipation.

'"However, we are displeased to inform you that you lack the qualities we desire in a fellow of our great society... Thus, Miss Ellery, your paper has been rejected,"' my blood ran ice cold as I repeated the final word ad nauseam in my head.

Rejected. Rejected. Rejected. Reject-ed. Rejection, and they had at long last responded to one of my submissions. This submission marked my eighty-ninth paper, to be exact.

Suddenly, I felt as if my insides were tearing each other apart as hot tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. I gulped, fighting off discomfit before the courier.

'Nevermore, I suppose...' I croaked, and shifted my gaze back to the courier. She still stood there, examining her ankle-high boots.

She radiated a strange air of knowing, as if she had been expecting this outcome.

'Did you read my letter, Miss Courier?' I whimpered, stifling a sob as my glasses fogged up.

'No, that would be a statutory offence and a violation of my duty as courier, Miss,' she stated laconically, her voice soft but carrying no warmth, though I read no ill will. In fact, she seemed to be trying hard to maintain a professional composure.

'Also, there is no need as you read it aloud to me - and - um, the outcome was to be expected,' her voice quavered as she spoke, though she seemed less awkward and more distasteful.

Was this stranger upset on my behalf? Why ever had she expected such a response?

Glancing over to me, her gaze turned stony. 'You really ought to write under a male pseudonym,' she spoke bleakly.

At that point, I felt as if I would be overcome by paroxysm. 'Pseudonym? Male? Make a mockery of my womanhood and bestow all my efforts upon a fictitious man? Why? Why ever would you suggest such a-' I protested with an unpleasant volume, catching myself before I inevitably drifted into another idiosyncratic harangue.

As chagrin seeped in to displace my sudden gall, I noted she had greeted my expostulation with a near-imperceptible smirk. Surely this lady thought I was ever the buffoon, but I deigned the very notion of such utter dissimulation. 

Oh, how I deigned it.

'Excuse me, Miss, but is it not proper decorum for a hostess to treat her guest? I did come a long way, after all,' the smirk slipped from her face as she gestured to her stagecoach parked at the base of the rise, though her tone was oddly sprightly.

'Gainsay to my no visitors rule, you did deliver the necessary blow to my fruitless endeavors, so, it is only proper to treat you to a spot of tea, I suppose,' I conceded, noting that I should at least not somehow exacerbate my mien before the weary courier.