What Manner of Man: Postscript 🦇

Ite missa est.

At the conclusion of this narrative, I have little to add to the facts which were laid out at the beginning. 

From the perspective of his immediate family, Victor Ardelian vanished forever in 1950, and there are none now living who remember having known him personally. 

It is all but certain that Vera Ardelian passed away without any knowledge of the many letters which he addressed to her. They — along with all the other documents which have been used to make up this volume — were delivered anonymously to her eldest daughter some time after Vera’s death. From her daughter’s hands they passed to my friend, at whose behest this has all been prepared for publication.

Despite my best efforts, I have been able to discover no satisfactory account giving any hint of the subsequent life of Victor Ardelian; neither have I found anything pertaining to the island of Swallow’s Rest which might corroborate the contents of this volume.

Likewise, as to the subsequent history of the documents themselves, I can only speculate. How they came to survive despite Victor Ardelian’s expressed intention to destroy his letters and journals is a great mystery, and has been a subject of much speculation between my friend and myself. Certainly they are not forgeries — the handwriting is a clear match, and the journal itself has every appearance of authenticity. It is clear that some person took it upon themselves to deliberately preserve the documents, and, after many years, decided to have them sent to the person to whom the letters which make up so much of the material were originally addressed.

As I’ve said, I have nothing verifiable to add to the account of his experiences which Victor Ardelian gives in these foregoing pages. The reader may or may not choose to connect with them one anecdote known to my friend pertaining to his grandmother, Vera Ardelian.

This came to him via his aunt, Vera’s eldest daughter, who had a recollection of being taken, rather reluctantly, on some trips as a child to a remote and obscure seaside destination. Her chief recollections were of being in damp, fishy-smelling surroundings, and of how queer and secretive the people were. There was also cat with whom she spent most of the time. Besides these memories, she had only a dim idea of a strange man who lived outside the town, in whom her mother was keenly interested for some reason that was obscure to her.

Your humble servant,
St John Starling

With that, darlings, What Manner of Man is officially complete! 🥳 Thank you ever so much for reading.

If you’re looking for something to fill the void, may I recommend: my previous book? The Sacred Sins of Father Black is available from Amazon and Payhip. (It’s also given free to all patrons of Accomplice tier and up.) Like What Manner of Man, it’s a romance featuring a priest — though Father Black is, shall we say, a somewhat less conventional priest than Father Ardelian. Perhaps a lot less conventional.

If you’ve gotten any glimmers of pleasure out of What Manner of Man and would like to thank me with a tip, I humbly offer my ko-fi.

It’s a new year and I have many bright, new and splendid things planned for this novel, but I don’t want to clutter up the end of this email with announcements. Expect to hear from me in a day or so when I will have various glad tidings to impart.

Read from the beginning