Uncle Jack still gone. I guess I know what that means. I must find a way out of this today. Must discover some fun. I have only just escaped from dear Miss Prism by telling Dr. Chasuble a little white lie. I informed him that Miss Prism had a slight headache and suggested a "stroll." He said he would "Hang upon her lips!" Then he called her *Egeria*! Said it was a reference to the *pagans*! I think he has been making love to her!
!!!!!! Ernest is here!!!!!!! At last! And he is exactly as I imagined him. He says I am the "visible personification of absolute perfection" and then he proposed! 3:00pm More later. No, now I am to be a married woman, I will put aside childish diaries once and for all.
(Ed's note: there follow no more entries, and documentary evidence has not been found to provide any further information on a Cecily Cardew, aged 18, from Hertfordshire.)
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
13 July
Oh I *do* hope that when Ernest and I get married he will have a sister that I can make mine. I have always wanted to have a sister to sleep with. It is so very lonely here with no one to share all the wonderful secrets of your life. I certainly can't share anything with Uncle Jack! He is gone again, in a highly nervous state. Uncle Jack seems quite agitated!
12 July
Uncle Jack back this afternoon for tea, and whistling (!) a tune which I highly suspect may have been from an *operetta*! Ghastly operettas! Wherever can he have learnt *that* sort of music (if one can call it music)?
11 July
No letter from Ernest in absolute days! Perhaps he does not love me anymore. But no, I am sure that certainly could not be. Perhaps, the consequences of his latest indiscretion have prevented him from writing to his little Cecily.
Oh goodness, I hope he has not been *killed*! It would be *most* ungenerous of him to die *before* marrying me.
Oh goodness, I hope he has not been *killed*! It would be *most* ungenerous of him to die *before* marrying me.
10 July
Uncle Jack said at dinner this evening that cousin Ernest would have to choose between this world, the next world, and Australia. I suppose he will choose Australia becasue there certainly will be many opportunities for adventure there. Uncle Jack is going up to London this weekend to buy dear Ernest's outfit. How handsome he will look in a safari outfit (Ernest, not Uncle Jack)! I *do* hope Uncle Jack will get him one of those explorer helmets—I *do* so love a man in a hat.
I am very excited to get letters from Australia. I wonder if they use stamps. It is terribly *wild* in Australia.
I am very excited to get letters from Australia. I wonder if they use stamps. It is terribly *wild* in Australia.
9 July
I have had the most unimaginable *shock* this evening! Uncle Jack has announced that cousin Ernest is going to be emigrating immediately. I can not imagine what desperate trouble he can have gotten himself into that would require such entirely *dire* measures, but I feel I certainly must prepare myself to live as a widow, for I fear I never shall see my darling Ernest more. He has not written to inform me of his position or of any plans to spirit me away with him, and so I am quite entirely *bereft*.
8 July
Ernest says I must not fear the attentions of mere *boys*. He says he will come for me soon without fail, and that I am to be a very *patient* little girl and think of him often. Oh, my prince! I know some day he will come for me. But will he ride a white horse or a black?
Tomorrow I simply will be obliged to tell Uncle Jack that I can marry no one but Ernest. In matters of matrimony, one must take a firm stand.
Tomorrow I simply will be obliged to tell Uncle Jack that I can marry no one but Ernest. In matters of matrimony, one must take a firm stand.
7 July
Absolutely captivating afternoon party at the Marquess'. I wore white tulle. Indeed, we all wore white, as it was a croquet party. Rupert and Ralph both present, as was the Marquess of Carabas, whom Alfie finds charming (!), and it was quite a fine day. Luckily, my dear guardian had thoroughly instructed me in how to play croquet very badly indeed, so I was the object if simply *all* the boys' attentions. Uncle Jack suggested I might allow Rupert and Ralph to call on me on occasion. Whatever shall I do? I am almost anxious.
Charming game of charades—Ralph and I won one round. If only he weren't so *clean*!
Charming game of charades—Ralph and I won one round. If only he weren't so *clean*!
6 July
Uncle Jack to be back early evening. Still, obliged to study German all day. Too hot today. Weather entirely *stifling*! Merriman nowhere to be found when we wanted refills of our lemonades. I was obliged to send Maxine after him and hold my own parasol. Bother! Then received an entirely *cranky* note from Ernest, asking me *why* I have not responded to his request to refuse the attentions of the other boys. I have another party tomorrow, so I believe I will allow my petulant boy to suffer for a day before I answer him.
5 July
Uncle Jack has gone to London again as of yesterday. That is why I was obliged to suffer through German all day yesterday. Horrid German! Miss Prism is *quite* excited about our voyage to Germany this autumn. We will travel via steamer to Hamburg, and bu private train car from there. Miss Prism is most concerned that I should make a favorable impression on Germany. I am interested in making a favorable impression upon Ernest. I really must admit I am entirely fascinated by the idea of travelling on a steamer. Travelling by steamer is quite the thing.
4 July
Horrid German today. I asked Miss Prism why I can't learn a *nice* language, like maybe French for instance. Miss Prism says German is a respectable language. Miss Prism says French is indecent and indeed that the French natives are not only indecent but also uncharitable and it is because of them that we no longer own the colonies. I don't much mind people who are indecent, but I don't at *all* approve of people who are uncharitable. It is wrong, and besides, it gives us no excuse for a ball!
3 July
Horrid lessons of absolutely *all* kinds today. Miss Prism is *quite* a mood. Dr. Chasuble is quite overwhelmed with christening this week and so unable to take Miss Prism off my hands. Finally found time between tea and dinner to receive a letter from Ernest. He says he certainly *hopes* that I will refuse attentions from any boys besides him, as it is not proper to receive gifts from one to whom one is not engaged. I certainly will be obliged to firmly say, but sweetly, sorry.
2 July
I *must* dissuade my guardian from marrying me to Ralph! I am growing almost *desperate* merely thinking about it! I simply cannot bear to be married to a *nice* boy. It would give me absolutely nothing to *do*! I feel a young girl must have an occupation, and certainly one's husband is the only really suitable occupation. But when a boy is already perfect, he can *hardly* be made into any kind of project at all.
1 July
Today I asked Miss Prism if she thinks I am pretty. Miss Prism said all good looks are a snare. Indeed, she *always* says good looks are a snare. I suppose that is why she doesn't much like dear Dr. Barnaby. I wonder if Ernest is good looking. I'll bet he has dark, curly hair like Uncle Jack's and a simply *devastating* scar across his left cheek.
Miss Prism has informed me that Uncle Jack was most taken with Ralph and has said he (Ralph, not Uncle Jack) would be quite a suitable match. Oh Bother!
Miss Prism has informed me that Uncle Jack was most taken with Ralph and has said he (Ralph, not Uncle Jack) would be quite a suitable match. Oh Bother!
30 June
Evening party at the Arbuthnots'. Wilted spinach salad with bacon, grouse with sour plums, and a really lovely spotted dick. Tonight I was seated between Rupert (in whom I have lost all interest) and a new boy named Ralph. Ralph was entirely charming and quite witty. Ralph said I am extraordinarily pretty, especially when I laugh. Oh I *do* hope Ernest is *just like* Ralph, only not *quite* so *nice*. I don't quite *trust* boys who are nice—it seems so *devious* of them. Otherwise, Ralph would have been really perfect. But I don't like perfection—it bores me so much!
29 June
Singing lessons have been suspecned for the time being. Miss Prism feels it is better that way, as it will allow me to debut at the beginning of next year's season with a full repertoire. Naturally, I am disappointed, but Ernest writes to say that he is very excited bu the news, as it will allow him to find a way to be present for my debut. Oh, my darling boy! How proud he will be of me. I am sure he will race across the room with flowers for me and cry "Brava!" (that's Italian) with all his darling heart.
27 June
Miss Prism in a sweeter mood today at breakfast after I asked her how she was feeling on this fine morning. We even went for a short stroll together to wish a fine morning to Dr. Chasuble. I even sang a matin to him, and he was quite entirely amazed. Speechless, even. After we left him, Miss Prism noted that my spirits have been high of late and said she is quite pleased that I have given up my entire *obsessions* with Ernest and with Peter. She says she felt quite sure I would never have thrown my life away on a male beauty in distress.
26 June
I am preparing to sing at the Arbuthnots' in a few days' time. Miss Prism feels that I should practice more at reading the notes and learning the words. On this point I really must disagree. Absolutely *anyone* may learn *notes*. *I* sing with great expression and style. As a result, Miss Prism and I have entered into quite a row—she refused to allow me a third piece of cake at tea. Really, I can't see what good *starving* me does! Miss Prism is *quite unreasonable*.
Dear Ernest writes to say that he simply cannot wait to hear me sing.
Dear Ernest writes to say that he simply cannot wait to hear me sing.
25 June
Ernest wrote to me today simply to ask that I tell him *how* undressed the Marquess of Carabas *was* exactly. He was *most* concerned! This makes me wonder greatly about that old snake rumour. He says he merely desires information. *I* merely desire information.
Uncle Jack gone, so I cornered Maxine. She says it's all very natural and said didn't I ever notice the stallions and the bulls. Well of *course* I feel entirely silly now. I didn't think it polite to notice. I am *so relieved* to have the matter resolved *at last*. I suppose this proves once and for all that men are animals.
Uncle Jack gone, so I cornered Maxine. She says it's all very natural and said didn't I ever notice the stallions and the bulls. Well of *course* I feel entirely silly now. I didn't think it polite to notice. I am *so relieved* to have the matter resolved *at last*. I suppose this proves once and for all that men are animals.
24 June
Ernest's stalk turned toward mine and I dreampt of him. Midsummer's Day evening party at Marquess Alfie's. Turtle soup with bacon, trout almondine and a lemon tart. Very tasteful as always. And the Marquess is always impeccibly (sp?) dressed. I do hope Ernest dresses *just like* the Marquess. Lovely evening. The sole dark spot was the Marquess of Carabas, who arrived almost *entirely un*dressed (!) and created quite a scene. I doubt very much that he will be asked *anywhere* again. Arriving undressed, even at a masquerade, is simply *not* the thing.
23 June
Midsummer's Eve. The servants held the bonfire but I was obliged to observe from my window as Uncle Jack kept me in at door all night. Bother! Double bother! But I did put out a Midsummer Man each for myself and Ernest, as well as a bit of coal under my pillow. I *do* hope I shall dream of him! But now I can not sleep for fear of *not* dreaming of him! Whatever shall I do if I dream of someone else? And how will I know if I *do* dream of him—how will I know, since I do not as yet know what he looks like?! I do hope he does not look like everyone else!
22 June
Tomorrow is Midsummer's Eve. I do hope I shall be able to attend the bonfire at night. Miss Prism does not approve of bonfires.
Lessons on all fronts today and my great disappointment is the Miss Prism feels I am not quite ready to sing in public as of yet. I had *so* hoped to sing for the Marquess' evening party! But I concealed my annoyance masterfully. That is good practice for evening parties.
Ernest writes to me that he will dream of me on Midsummer's Eve.
Lessons on all fronts today and my great disappointment is the Miss Prism feels I am not quite ready to sing in public as of yet. I had *so* hoped to sing for the Marquess' evening party! But I concealed my annoyance masterfully. That is good practice for evening parties.
Ernest writes to me that he will dream of me on Midsummer's Eve.
20 June
Absolutely charmingly imploring letter from my sweet, repentant boy. He was *quite melancholy* indeed. Of course, he trusts me *entirely*, but he fears I never can love him as much as he loves me. He writes that he is still quite *shaken* at having been away from me for so very long. He fears I may have despaired of him ever returning. He begs my forgiveness and looks forward to the day when he can rest in my soothing and restoritive (sp?) presence. What a dear romantic boy he is!
19 June
Whole day with my dear guardian. We took Maxine along to hold my parasol, and we took the dogcart that has no top. Entirely charming day. We drove out of Hertfordshire entirely and called upon Uncle Jack's acquaintance, Mr. Fawlty of Tunbridge Wells. Dear Mr. Fawlty is a most charming and *eccentric* fellow. He has a *moose*head on his wall. It is imported all the way from Canada, in America, and he disapproves of Germans very much. I approve of Mr. Fawlty very much.
18 June
Dear Ernest is very annoyed at all the evening parties I have gone to in his absence and has entirely *refused* to speak to me about his travels until I tell him absolutely *everything* that has happened. Of course, I have nothing at all to hide, so I will tell him nothing. I do like a bit of sulkiness in a man, but snits are another matter entirely.
Uncle Jack back this evening in a most agreeable mood! He promises to take me for a nice drive tomorrow unless the weather prevails.
Uncle Jack back this evening in a most agreeable mood! He promises to take me for a nice drive tomorrow unless the weather prevails.
17 June
My dear guardian has so many philanthropies that he has been in London for many days. He has, in addition to the N.A.A.C.P. and our new Farmers Food Insurance Fund, the S.O.B (Save the Buttons), the W.A.V.E (Widows Against Vegetarian Eating), the Liberal Unionists Against Reasonable Seizure, and the Wives of Foreign Wars. I always think it is good for a man to have an occupation but it is my opinion that my dear guardian is going entirely *too far*. My occupation until I marry my true love Ernest, is writing this little diary. It will be most charming reading for other young ladies and also quite entirely *instructional* for the lower orders.
16 June
My dear romantic boy has written to me at last! He apologized so sweetly for failing to write more often but says that he has missed me *desperately* and is entirely *determined*to find some way to me at once. He says he got in hardly any scrapes at all on his journey and that he will tell me all the details soon. He says that Uncle Jack is not at all saving him from any scrapes—that Uncle Jack is merely spying on poor Ernest, but also attending to his philanthropies.
Oh I am so *relieved* that my dear sweet love is home!
Oh I am so *relieved* that my dear sweet love is home!
15 June
My darling, darling wonderful perfect love Ernest has returned I know it because my dear guardian has gone to London for several days. Oh, I *do* hope Ernest and he will reconcile and return here together. I do *so* long to see my darling Ernest after all this time. I cannot see why dear Uncle Jack will not bring the dear boy down here some time. The country has a most wholesome effect upon a person. I believe the clean air and the beauty of the place have a specially bracing and inspirational effect upon those of the male sex. No doubt dear Ernest would be quite healed of his indiscretions were he here.
14 June
My dear dear darling guardian has consented to found a farmers' fund in *my name*! I am not interested in philanthropic work myself, but I do like having my name on things, especially things concerned with eating.
Lessons not *so* very bad today. Miss Prism *quite* relaxed today, and let the conversation slip to my long-lost Ernest, who has not written to me in so long that I despair he has been killed or kidnapped. When I asked Miss Prism about kidnappings, though, she became *quite agitated* and said she needed to pray. Poor Miss Prism must be worried about dear Ernest too.
Lessons not *so* very bad today. Miss Prism *quite* relaxed today, and let the conversation slip to my long-lost Ernest, who has not written to me in so long that I despair he has been killed or kidnapped. When I asked Miss Prism about kidnappings, though, she became *quite agitated* and said she needed to pray. Poor Miss Prism must be worried about dear Ernest too.
13 June
Read a recent *Times* this afternoon after tea. Weather gloomy out, so I stayed in at doors. The main story was about the agricultural depression. I am not used to read about matters of money, but they seemed to be speaking of country matters. Apparently, there is *quite* a *crisis* in Agriculture with prices being too low and farmers and the families not being able to eat. How dreadful not to be able to eat! I am entirely devoted to eating. I must speak to Uncle Jack about adding the farmers as a new philanthropy.
12 June
Uncle Jack quite often seems a little bored when he is with me and Miss Prism. I wonder what he is thinking about. He is fine when he is just with me.
Lovely tea today with more rose petal sandwiches. I am *devoted* to rose petal sandwiches.
Lovely tea today with more rose petal sandwiches. I am *devoted* to rose petal sandwiches.
11 June
Today, dear Miss Prism has taken me to sing for Dr. Chasuble. After I practiced my scales and my two pieces, Miss Prism stayed on to play the rector's piano forte a bit longer, and I went for a stroll in the garden and watered the roses until Moulton came along and took the watering can away from me. Really, if he does not want anyone watering the garden, I can't understand *why* he leaves the watering can out so very often. Miss Prism says it is because he is a bit senile. Miss Prism loves Italian.
10 June
Today is was just Uncle Jack, Mr. and Mrs. Arbuthnot, Veruca, Rupert and I for dinner. Mr. Arbuthnot and Rupert away all day, so I was obliged to listen to Veruca accompany herself on the spinet to a most dreadful effect. Veruca is very fond of operettas. I *loathe* operettas. I feel they are always in poor taste. At dinner though, I was seated between Uncle Jack and Rupert! I told him I am 20. Sadly, he is only 19 and so too young for me. Luckily, I still have Ernest.
9 June
Evening party at the Arbuthnots! Tomato-basil soup, goose with wild berries, tomato aspic, beans with bacon and a green tomato tarte. The Arbuthnots' cook seems to have made tomatoes her *theme*, and I don't like that. One's cook should never think anything while cooking—it looks so *forward*. I was seated next to Nigel, a horrid boy with hair pas his ear (!) and Roger, an odd American (!) with forearms like a farmer. Really, it was too much! I was entirely prevented from speaking with Rupert and was obliged to gaze at him from afar. Nigel and Roger wanted to help me cut my meat. I told them I was 20 and they let me alone. They admitted to 21, but I am sure they were not a day past 20.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
8 June
Lovely day, and I distracted Miss Prism from these entirely *incessant* lessons by taking her from a walk through the garden and as far as the schools. On the way back, we ventured into the rectory for a short prayer (that Ernest shall return safe and soon) and a chat with *dear* Dr. Chasuble, who kept Miss Prism after. Rest of day alone. Uncle Jack spending an *excessive* amount of time in his library. He is becoming entirely *hermitish*! But tomorrow we will get him out at last. Tomorrow Uncle Jack and I travel to the Arbuthnots' for the week-end. *Two* evening parties! I hope Rupert will be there.
7 June
Lessons all day, including singing. I don't understand a word of what I am saying, but Miss Prism assures me it is of no great importance. Miss Prism says most people don't ever know what they are saying, even in their own language. Indeed, she said it is never a good idea to know *quite* what one is saying in a foreign tongue.
5 June
My dear guardian has decreed that I will begin singing lessons with Miss Prism, who is most excited indeed about the prospect of introducing me to "the fine art of musical composition." As a result, I am obliged to practice upon the piano forte so that I might accompany myself at evening parties.
No response from Ernest.
No response from Ernest.
4 June
Today Dr. Chasuble made a new sermon entitled "The Messiah: Man or Mouse?" It was saying that we live in an age of ideals. It was quite a successful sermon. My ideal is Ernest.
Oh dear, I am so very *bored* of late. I have even taken up reading the back issues of the London Times in the library. I certainly never believed I would have been driven to such extremes.
Oh dear, I am so very *bored* of late. I have even taken up reading the back issues of the London Times in the library. I certainly never believed I would have been driven to such extremes.
3 June
Ernest wants me to run away and join him in London as soon as he returns. He can not bear to be without me for another day. I have written him that he must be patient, as I have several evening parties I must attend first.
Rose petal sandwiches for tea. I adore rose petal sandwiches.
Rose petal sandwiches for tea. I adore rose petal sandwiches.
2 June
Today, Miss Prism and I took a day trip to Queensberry, wher ewe had tea with Old Lady Arbuthnot and her dauther Veruca. I am afraid I did not care for Veruca so much after all—I thought her a bit too *forward*, but I did find her brother Rupert *quite* amenable indeed. He rushed in from fox hunting halfway through tea, *quite* flushed and with his hair all a-muss. I felt my heart go pit-a-pat. And I will see him again, for I am invited to an evening party at their home next week. I think I would like to hunt for foxes! I love fox-fur stoles!
1 June
Uncle Jack, Miss Prism and I took tea to the near hill and had a lovely day, except that Uncle Jack seemed rather bored. Dear Uncle Jack never gossips. I think it would do him so much good to gossip sometimes.
31 May
Uncle Jack and I have been taking the most *lovely* long walks nearly every day, I *do* like walking. Oftentimes before I have walked alone in order to think about things (like what Ernest must look like or what clothes I should wear the next day) but it is quite pleasant to walk with dear Uncle Jack as well. We like to talk about the weather.
30 May
I don't much like Uncle Jack being here so very often. He was ever so much more cheerful when he was running off to save Ernest from his scrapes. And I do miss Ernest so very much. These days are entirely *interminable*. That means they have no end. I am building my vocabulary so that I can appear in Society or abroad with Ernest after we are married.
29 May
Took a stroll in the gardens with Uncle Jack this afternoon before tea. He says he will find some suitable activities for me. I think he is growing a little bit annoyed by my attendance in the library. He seems to feel that a library should be always entirely silent. I feel libraries are already entirely too quiet.
28 May
Quite possibly the most boring day ever. Miss Prism entirely *missing* today, and Uncle Jack entirely confining himself to the library all day again. Merriman *hovering* everywhere I went. Nothing to do outside. Dr. Chasuble engrossed in christenings. Finally went and sat by Uncle Jack in the library. Excessively boring.
P.S. It's spelled "celibate"—and it means a person who is not married and has no relations. I am a celibate.
P.S. It's spelled "celibate"—and it means a person who is not married and has no relations. I am a celibate.
27 May
Miss Prism absolutely refused to speak about Ernest today. In fact, she called him "unspeakable." She is unhappy today, and Dr. Chasuble is away, so I asked her if she is in love with Dr. Chasuble. She said *certainly not*, he is a celebate! and then spoke *most ferociously* on the impudence of the natives (in India) and then ended lessons early. I wonder what has got her so *nervous*?
26 May
I have received a letter from abroad. I don't know whether they have stamps abroad. Ernest says he cannot say anything *at all* about his voyage. Says he will not be able to write often but that I must be patient and remember that he loves me more than life itself. I don't think he should say he loves me more than life itself—that doesn't seem to make much sense. What a daring, dangerous life he must lead!
25 May
Uncle Jack at lessons again, and looking very bored indeed. Whyever does he come to lessons if he is merely going to be bored? I myself am often moved to yawn during lessons, but I would quite certainly *leave* if I were he.
24 May
Uncle Jack moping about all day with what Miss Prism called a "hang-dog" look. I suppose it is because of my dismal appearance at the dinner party, but I could not stand it there any longer. If we had not gone, I would have run amok. Lessons horrendous and usual. Why can't I at least learn history like I used? History at least was *readable*—there were so terribly many *scandals* in it.
23 May
Invited to an evening party at Miss Lucy Brown's. Miss Prism, with the assistance of my dear guardian, absolutely forced me to go. They said it is a good *social opportunity* (!) and that my grandfather (RIP) would wish it. Under great protest I went, but arrived late. But then the *entire* party was left waiting by Miss Brown. I *loathe* waiting. Even for 5 minutes. I was entirely *surrounded* by *infants*! I told them all that I am 20, and they subsided. When Miss Brown arrived, she wanted to play party games. I felt ill and left *immediately*. Miss Prism says she doubts very much that I will be asked again.
22 May
Trapped indoors all day, so I visited with my dear guardian in his library. While I was there, I also looked for information on pirates and found the most astoundingly exciting news—apparently, pirates often have a patch over one eye, and they *always* wear an earring! I became quite breathless when I read that and was obliged to sit down for quite some time. Oh, I *do* hope my Ernest is a pirate—they look so attractively outlandish!
21 May
Evening party at the estate of the Marquess. I wore my aqua taffeta gown. Charming party! Roast beef with bacon and peas and also mashed potatoes. Carrot soup for starters. I didn't quite approve of the meal at first—I thought it almost vegetarian! I don't approve of vegetarians. But I did enjoy myself even though there was no dancing. Before we broke up into boys and girls, one boy asked me my name and age. I admitted to 20, but I didn't talk to him anymore because he had straight hair. I can't abide straight hair.
Marquess Alfie says I simply *must* meet his little neighbor Veruca.
Marquess Alfie says I simply *must* meet his little neighbor Veruca.
20 May
Uncle Jack sat in at lessons today and was most distracted. I wonder if he was thinking about Ernest. I certainly was. I wonder where he is. I suppose he must be in the Orient doing some type of silk or spice trading. Suppose he is a pirate! Pirates wear big boots just like bombers. Bigger, actually. And they fight duels!
19 May
A *most* maudlin day at the Manor House. I am in mourning over Ernest's departure, and Uncle Jack seems quite uneasy as well, though I am sure I do not know why. He has retired to his library for the day and seems to be quite in distress. Whatever can be the matter? I suppose he must be quite worried about Ernest's safety during his travels.
18 May
Uncle Jack says Ernest is abroad just at present and will not return for an entire month! How can he be abroad?! He never mentioned to me that he was abroad. How very secretive of him. He grows more interesting hourly.
17 May
I entirely forgot to say that the Marquess has invited me to a dinner party at his estate in Queensberry. He says I will meet many gay young people there. I certainly hope so! Otherwise, it will be dreary. Perhaps I will arrange a tryst with Ernest there. Also, I won a little carved wooden box in the charity raffle. It really is a darling little thing! I will use it to hold all of Ernest's dear letters. I already have them tied up in a sweet little ribbon from the May Day coronet. Oh, how I love my little box!
16 May
The ball went over quite swimmingly. The weather was charming and the band was really marvellous (sp?) so the dancing went on all night. Most everybody was very old indeed, but there were a few young persons there, including the Marquess himself, and we had our own table at dinner. I was allowed three glasses of wine, as more would be improper for an unmarried girl, but I am afraid the wine went entirely to my head. I had the most entirely gay time, but I am afraid I don't remember the name of a single boy I danced with!
15 May
Tonight our household presents the Annual Charity Ball for the NAACP (the National Association for the Advancement of Charitable Persons), hosted by dear Uncle Jack and presided over by the Honourable Lord Alfred Douglas, Marquess of Queensberry. We will have roast squab and asparagus with new potatoes, preceded by a lobster bisque and followed by a hazelnut torte. I wonder if cook will put bacon on the asparagus like last time. She wrapped it round and secured it with a toothpick. I do so love bacon. I feel everything is better with bacon on it. After dinner, an auction and dancing, on the veranda if the weather is right. Full moon tonight.
14 May
Tomorrow the ball! The entire village is employed in cutting up confetti. I do love little country events. We have little pavilions set up all about the grounds, and there are streamers everywhere. Our estate looks quite the fairgrounds! Each of the pavilions has a most charming amusement or tasty delicacy in it. Charity balls have turned outto be very gay after all! If only my darling Ernest were here too. Oh dear, I am so very excited. However shall I sleep tonight?
13 May
Two days until the ball. Poachers got the last of our lambs, do no more mutton for dinner. Bother! I do love mutton. I wonder if Ernest is a poacher. If he is, I do hope he will save all the mutton for me. Uncle Jack has gone back up to London quite all of a sudden, so perhaps he will bring the mutton home with him when he returns, which must be soon! Mad activity about the ball. Caterers and cook not getting along entirely. No one allowed a day off, as the house must be spotless.
Later—a detente (Political Economy) with the result that cook will be dinner and the caterers will contain themselves to the pavilions.
Later—a detente (Political Economy) with the result that cook will be dinner and the caterers will contain themselves to the pavilions.
12 May
Three days until the Charity Ball. We are to have a gross of confetti, which will drop at midnight. Nearly all the guests will be coming down from London specially, and the band will be mae up entirely of members of the London Philharmonic, so we will have all the bedrooms and guest houses quite full. The excitement in the air is quite palpable, and the house staff are scurrying about like a thousand mice, only bigger of course.
Ernest increasingly distressed at being excluded from the ball. He hopes some day we will hold a charity ball for him.
Ernest increasingly distressed at being excluded from the ball. He hopes some day we will hold a charity ball for him.
11 May
Only four more days until the Charity Ball! We expect the weather to be charming, and Moulton, the gardener, has done the most *charming* things with the whole garden. He has brought in clematis and *passion flowers* for the trellis, and he has cut the topiaries in the most delightful shapes‚lions, tigers and bears. Oh my, I do love them! Miss Prism is not at all pleased with the passion flowers and clematis—she feels they are inappropriate. I feel they are lovely.
Ernest is terribly upset that he will not be able to attend. He says he will think of me exactly at midnight. What a dear, romantic boy he is!
Ernest is terribly upset that he will not be able to attend. He says he will think of me exactly at midnight. What a dear, romantic boy he is!
10 May
Uncle Jack arrived back this morning with my new German text, and Miss Prism says we will be obliged to spend a *large* amount of time on German now since we have missed so many lessons. I hate German. It isn't at all a becoming language. In fact, I am quite sure that I look more than usually plan after my German lessons.
Sweet, appealing letter from Ernest, asking whether I will still think of him even after I have met all the charming boys at the ball. I have informed him that I will not even *look* at any boys at the ball, unless I am obliged to dance with them of course.
Sweet, appealing letter from Ernest, asking whether I will still think of him even after I have met all the charming boys at the ball. I have informed him that I will not even *look* at any boys at the ball, unless I am obliged to dance with them of course.
9 May
Nothing to do at all today. Miss Prism off with Dr. Chasuble after morning vespers and breakfast. I *do* hate morning vespers. They are held so desperately *early*. I am always so frightfully ravenous by the time they start. It is most inconvenient. Uncle Jack always says I have a capital appetite and that it is a sign of good breeding.
At breakfast, ate all the muffins. Dr. Chasuble says perhaps my appetite is a touch too capital. The others were all quite put out.
At breakfast, ate all the muffins. Dr. Chasuble says perhaps my appetite is a touch too capital. The others were all quite put out.
8 May
Uncle Jack gone! I suppose my darling Ernest has bounded again. Oh I *do* wish I could meet up with him! At the very least, I could bound with him. He has written me a charming letter saying he is sure I could travel with him, he is sure it would be okay! He says we could trek up and down through the Punjab from the source of the river to the sea. Oh the Punjab does sound so very exciting! I hear the Punjab is lovely, except of course that it is inhabited almost entirely by foreigners.
7 May
Miss Prism somewhat lax at lessons today and somewhat distracted. On the subject of Ernest, she says merely that it is not proper for a young lady to spend so very much of her time thinking about any man at all, much less a rogue and a bounder. I think a rogue must be a most excellent thing to be, but Miss Prism says a roue always comes to ruin.
6 May
My dear guardian and I went for a nice drive today, as the weather was charming. We made morning visits to Lady Percival, who served us some entirely lovely muffins, and then back through the village, where we stopped in at Bosie Jones, the blacksmith's, and had the horses re-shod. I forgot to mention that that impudent boy, P, was let go some time ago, and at present we have no main stable boy to make the errand on our behalf.
Old Bosie tell the *most eccentric and entirely unbelievable* stories. He is a Welshman. I always think the Welsh are so very quaint! Bosie is quite fond of ale. He even let me have a sip once when I was very much younger. I wonder if Ernest is fond of ale. Fingal O'Flahertie waved at me and I motioned him to keep my secret. He is a good man for a Catholic.
Old Bosie tell the *most eccentric and entirely unbelievable* stories. He is a Welshman. I always think the Welsh are so very quaint! Bosie is quite fond of ale. He even let me have a sip once when I was very much younger. I wonder if Ernest is fond of ale. Fingal O'Flahertie waved at me and I motioned him to keep my secret. He is a good man for a Catholic.
5 May
Today dear Miss Prism allowed another attempt at a picnic on the hill. I found the wildflowers charming, though they made my dear governess a little sniffly and twitchy. I told her she is my only girlfriend in the whole world, and she talked about Ernest the entire afternoon! She owned she is very worried about poor Uncle jack in regards to Ernest—mostly worried about his social position, since Ernest is *continually besmirching* the Worthing name. And she fears that dear Uncle Jack must be under quite a *strain* from being obliged to frequent places of *ill-repute*. I would like to visit some places of ill-repute. I would like to visit a place of *any* repute.
4 May
A sweet, pining letter from Ernest, begging me to forgive him for his jealousies and grieving that he was unable to see me in my outfit. I am having my coronet dried and will save it to show him when we meet.
Lessons *beastly* today—went on for *hours*. Miss Prism quite intent on me entirely understanding the Pound/Mark exchange rate, and I money holds no interest for me. Indeed, I think it quite vulgar to have any understanding of money at all.
Lessons *beastly* today—went on for *hours*. Miss Prism quite intent on me entirely understanding the Pound/Mark exchange rate, and I money holds no interest for me. Indeed, I think it quite vulgar to have any understanding of money at all.
3 May
I was quite a success at the May festivities—our little country newspaper chronicled the events this morning. they say I "was effervescent in (my) May gown and garland of pink roses, as refreshing as a cool glass of champagne and sparkling with youth and charm." Oh, it is lovely to be adored! Mr. Adrian Mole, the write and publisher, has adored me for as long as I can remember. Indeed, he may have adored me forever. I sent a copy to my dear Ernest. He will certainly be obliged to speak to me now.
2 May
Everyone entirely useless today. The entire village and everyone on the estates stayed up reveling far too late in the evening. It seems to me that *this* is the day that should be the holiday. Our breakfast was lumpy, our midday was nothing but cold cuts, our tea was dull, and our supper involved rutabagas. I detest rutabagas! Uncle Jack spent the entire day in his library, Miss Prism forgot about lessons entirely (she had a headache) and Dr. Chasuble was quite cranky, which is not at all like him. I was left to mourn my great disappointment on my own.
1 May
May Day at last! We arrived quite early in the village and stayed long after dark, until the official festivities were over. Naturally, I was required to open and close the ceremony, as well as lead the maypole dance. I have always like the maypole dance very much, but this year it seemed so childish. I had rather planned to steal a kiss from dear Dr. Barnaby, but I saw him there with his young wife and baby. The whole day went quite dark for me then. I cannot speak any more about it.
30 April
How shall I ever escape Miss Prism? She is positively *bombarding* me with Geology. Horrid, horrid Geology! It is enough to drive one perfectly frantic! I was obliged to ask her *why* I must be forced to learn all these horrid lessons. I *really* can't *see how* I will *ever* use Political Economy in the future if Ernest is not a mad bomber. But Miss Prism assures me that German and Geology and things like that influence a man very much.
Uncle Jack back. My May Queen dress arrived with him. I will look stunning. It is all pink with ribbons and bows. I wonder if my dear doctor will notice.
Ernest not speaking to me. Will G and G influence Dr. Barnaby very much?
Uncle Jack back. My May Queen dress arrived with him. I will look stunning. It is all pink with ribbons and bows. I wonder if my dear doctor will notice.
Ernest not speaking to me. Will G and G influence Dr. Barnaby very much?
29 April
I went for a short walk to the doctor's this morning. Oh dear, I had forgotten how terribly *handsome* he is! His name is Dr. Barnaby, and his Christian name is Tristram. Oh, what a *noble* name is Tristram! He is very clean and neat, and his voice alone inspires absolute confidence. I wonder if he is unmarried. Being ill is beginning to look *very* much more attractive.
28 April
Uncle Jack has gone away again. He has ever so much planning to do for the charity ball, which is to occur on 15 May. I have been obliged to give up my idea of having a masquerade. Uncle Jack is hearing nothing of it, and Miss Prism says masquerades are positively indecent. Ernest writes that he is very much disappointed, as he had *so* hoped to sneak in disguised and spirit me away with him. Oh, when shall we ever be together? I despair!
27 April
The tea was not a great success. Miss Lucy brown was a most horrid, spoiled little child! She wore a dress of the same fabric as mine (!), disdained my cucumber and cress sandwiches and refused *entirely* to discuss Ernest. She does not know Ernest. She is not even from London, and even if she had been from London, she does not like men. Indeed, she spent the entire tea clutching her "friend," a stuffed teddy named Aloysius, wh o*also* disdained my cucumber and cress sandwiches.
26 April
My dear guardian has arranged a tea with a Miss Lucy Brown, who is visiting her aunt, Lady Percival, a rather persnickety old lady down the road. I am wearing my new yellow tea dress and serving cucumber and cress sandwiches (and maybe rose petal sandwiches) in the garden. Oh I *do* hope I will like her—she may be able to help me locate Ernest.
Uncle Jack has allowed that I should continue my Political Economy lessons. Horrid Political Economy.
Uncle Jack has allowed that I should continue my Political Economy lessons. Horrid Political Economy.
25 April
I went for my first walk outside today—went across the meadow (carefully avoided barn) and up to one of the smaller hills quite close, where I received an *enormous* bouquet of flowers from my darling Ernest! he is most *desperately* afraid of losing me! I am afraid our first breakup was quite a blow to him. I feel it is always best to let a man see what he could lose so that he will make sure not to take one for granted. Miss Prism calls it "the fear of God" and says it can be helpful in all *sorts* of situations.
24 April
Ernest wrote me the most terribly *agitated* letter today. He is threatening to take *drastic measures* if I accept any attentions at all from the doctor, I wrote back immediately explaining that *of course* he must calm himself and be quite *reasonable*, as he must see that one simply cannot *disobey a doctor's orders*!
23 April
The doctor has advised that I stay in bed for three more days, but of course I *never* listen to doctors, even if they are more than usually handsome. So I have promised to stay in bed today and then go visit him a his home in a few days. Ernest apoplectic.
22 April
Ernest is *very* jealous of my relationship with the doctor. The poor boy is frightened he will lose me. He is entirely *bombarding* me with loving words. He has even attempted a charmingly simple little love posy. What a dear, romantic boy he is! I am quite quite sure he will bring me lots and lots of flowers as soon as I am able to get outside.
I have special ordered my May Queen dress—from London (!) and Uncle Jack will pick it up. If only Ernest could see me in it. He would be my slave for evermore.
I have special ordered my May Queen dress—from London (!) and Uncle Jack will pick it up. If only Ernest could see me in it. He would be my slave for evermore.
21 April
Feeling much better now. After I dictated yesterday's entry to Maxine, I was left alone for awhile and was obliged to rest and regain my strength. Then, just as I opened my eyes, in walked Ernest! Or so I thought, but in fact it was the new country doctor. I am feeling *much* better now that he has been here. He was *quite* dashing.
17 April
Miss Prism has quite a chill today and stayed in bed all day. I was free to do anything I liked. Couldn't find anything at all to do.
Later—letter from Ernest with no news in it whatsoever.
Later—letter from Ernest with no news in it whatsoever.
16 April
Miss Prism and I took lessons and a picnic out to the top of one of the hills quite close. Weather splendid until we got to the very top of the hill. Then the rains came. Books all wet. I won't be able to study German for weeks until the new book arrives.
Uncle Jack has said I am to be May Queen this year. Whatever shall I wear?
Uncle Jack has said I am to be May Queen this year. Whatever shall I wear?
15 April
Uncle Jack is *not* sending me to London. He means for us to sojourn in Germany! He says it will be a wonderful learning opportunity for me to practice my (horrid) German in its homeland! I hate German! I hate Uncle Jack!
Later—letter from Ernest. My own sweet, loving boy! He says that he will meet me without fail in Germany! He hates German too. We will speak only English there. Mudie left this afternoon on the 4:05. She has her bridge game this evening in town. Uncle Jack has gone with her. Not to bridge.
Later—letter from Ernest. My own sweet, loving boy! He says that he will meet me without fail in Germany! He hates German too. We will speak only English there. Mudie left this afternoon on the 4:05. She has her bridge game this evening in town. Uncle Jack has gone with her. Not to bridge.
14 April
Mudie has told Uncle Jack that she believes I need to socialize more and so Uncle Jack has agreed that Miss Prism and I are to travel in the Autumn. At last, I will go to London! And for practice, Uncle Jack will arrange for several luncheons to be held here, but also for a charity ball to be here. I fon't think that I will like charity balls. They don't sound gay at all!
13 April
Today Mudie and Miss Prism took a day trip, and Uncle Jack and I stayed in and played games. I asked Uncle Jack to teach me to play cards, but he says gambling is not only improper for a young girl, but also entirely stupid for anyone at all. Oh, why can't I learn anything useful or amusing in this house?! I really can't see why everyone insists on treating me like a child!
Later—short note from Ernest, promising me that he will never ever ever treat me like a child. So there.
Later—short note from Ernest, promising me that he will never ever ever treat me like a child. So there.
12 April
We all (Uncle Jack, Miss Prism, Dr. Chasuble, Mudie and I) went for a long stroll in the park toady. The weather was charming until just before tea, but we made it indoors *just* in time! Then it cleared again in time for tea, which we took in the garden. Mudie has been quizzing me about all my activities—she wants to know all about what young girls do in the country. *I* want to know all about what young ladies do in the city!
10 April
Mudie quizzed me on her birthday 3-volume novel this morning. At the last, I was obliged to own I had not finished it as yet. Told her I was reading as slowly as possible since I simply cannot *bear* for it to end. Dr. Chasuble says a lie that hurts no one is not *really* a lie in God's eyes.
Short note from Ernest wishing me a very lovely Easter and a most joyous end to Lent. Horrid Lent! Why do we have to celebrate (?) Lent? It seems very unfair!
Short note from Ernest wishing me a very lovely Easter and a most joyous end to Lent. Horrid Lent! Why do we have to celebrate (?) Lent? It seems very unfair!
9 April
Mudie is a ear old friend of Miss Prism's from London, where she is also involved in some philanthropic work with Uncle Jack—that is how Miss Prism came to be my governess. She is a dear, sweet thing, though I am afraid not very *interesting*. Her visits here are always rather *convenient* for me though, as I am allowed the entire time off from lessons. Of course I am obliged to spend my time with her when she wishes, but she and Miss Prism go off on their own quite a bit—especially evenings. Perhaps Mudie knows cousin Ernest!! I must ask her at once.
No answer was forthcoming.
No answer was forthcoming.
8 April
Ernest *is* a gambler! And a drinker "to the point of intoxication" Miss Prism said. Not to me, of course. I listened in on her after-sermon chat with Dr. Chasuble again this morning, and apparently she heard it *directly from Uncle Jack*! Dr. Chasuble is praying for him. Miss Prism seems to feel that the time is well past for prayers. I am intoxicated with Ernest!
Uncle Jack arrived with Mudie this afternoon. She will be staying the whole week.
Uncle Jack arrived with Mudie this afternoon. She will be staying the whole week.
7 April
Weather charming.
Less left of Mudie's novel than previously, but still an awful lot left. She comes soon!
Weather dreary.
No letter from Ernest today.
I had so hoped for one.
Perhaps tomorrow.
Weather charming.
Lessons out-of-doors.
Weather dreary.
Tea indoors.
Weather charming.
Weather dreary.
Weather charming.
Our weather is so changeable!
Less left of Mudie's novel than previously, but still an awful lot left. She comes soon!
Weather dreary.
No letter from Ernest today.
I had so hoped for one.
Perhaps tomorrow.
Weather charming.
Lessons out-of-doors.
Weather dreary.
Tea indoors.
Weather charming.
Weather dreary.
Weather charming.
Our weather is so changeable!
6 April
I am becoming more certain that Ernest is a gambler. He writes to me that he *bets* Uncle Jack will do absolutely *everything* in his power to keep us apart. Alas, the course of true love never did run smooth! I wonder whether Ernest is a gambler... Yes, I feel it instinctively that he is *shamelessly* extravagant (sp?). I can tell it from his handwriting, especially his spelling, which is most creatively formed. I am certain he must be constantly in debt. No doubt Uncle Jack is obliged to buy him new shirts every time he loses one. In fact, I am certain that is what my dear guardian is doing today. He has gone for Mudie but stays an extra day.
5 April
Reading all day. I dislike Mudie's novels so *very* much! She writes entirely from memory, which means that her stories are entirely unbelievable, and more than usually boring. Besides, Mudie is very old indeed and has far too short a memory for such entirely lengthy books. And besides that, her novels always end *happily*. I don't like novels that end happily. If I am going to read for days on end, I must be allowed to cry. What else is reading for?
4 April
Ernest has written me the most stimulating letter! He says the air positively *sizzles* with the name of *Cecily*! I very nearly *fainted* when I read that! My knees were entirely a-quiver.
Miss Prism refused to allow me to shorten my lessons today. She says that what I sew, so shall I reap. I don't even like to sew. It doesn't seem a proper thing for a lady. And I certainly do not intend ever to "reap."
Miss Prism refused to allow me to shorten my lessons today. She says that what I sew, so shall I reap. I don't even like to sew. It doesn't seem a proper thing for a lady. And I certainly do not intend ever to "reap."
3 April
Mudie coming for a visit. That means I shall be obliged to read her birthday gift to me.
Can't write. Must read.
Can't write. Must read.
2 April
Confined indoors due to the beastly rain. I *must* devise a plan for escape to London and my dear Ernest. But of course I must not get wet, so I will not go today. Besides, Uncle Jack has returned and watches me very carefully. I am so afraid he may suspect. I certainly hope Ernest has not let any hints out!
New maid—Maxine. The first letter of her Christian name bodes not well.
I think Ernest must be a gambler. That would be very *reckless* and *dashing* of him!
New maid—Maxine. The first letter of her Christian name bodes not well.
I think Ernest must be a gambler. That would be very *reckless* and *dashing* of him!
1 April
Lovely letter from Ernest in this morning's post. He says London has lost all its glamour to him because I am not there. He says his life has become *most* dull and dreary ever since he met me and that he hopes soon he will *actually* meet me. He says the circus is coming to town and that there are all sorts of charming plays at all the theatres. Oh *why* must I be confined to the country? I *must* run away to the city and be with my Ernest!
Monday, September 21, 2009
31 March
Miss Prism assures me that dear Uncle Jack is not any kind of agent at all, not even a secret agent. She says that my dear guardian in fact is obliged to do business in London at times and that he certainly would never lie to me, as he is a gentleman of the highest integrity, unlike that dissolute young man, his brother, and that if Uncle Jack occasionally goes to dinner parties, he certainly deserves the moment's relaxation after all his hard work guarding the honor of his name from the ravages wreaked by young Ernest's hand.
I would like to be ravaged by young Ernest's hand.
I would like to be ravaged by young Ernest's hand.
30 March
Uncle Jack has gone away again and says he will be gone several days this time. He says he has business to do regarding my trust fund. He is used to do all business with Markby, Markby & Markby by mail, but he says now that I am 18, I will receive a larger allowance and he must sign some papers in person. But why must he spend so many days there just to sign a paper? I suspect he has gone to spy upon my dear Ernest. Perhaps he will sneak up on him at a masquerade. Is Uncle Jack a secret agent?
29 March
Excessively long letter from Ernest today. He has written to tell me what form his pining for me took during every moment that we were apart. What a dear, sweet boy he is! How wonderfully thoughtful and kind! I will never hurt the poor dear boy again. How he has suffered for his silly little Cecily!
Weather no longer so charming.
Weather no longer so charming.
28 March
Ernest and I have *so* much catching up to do, I despair of ever succeeding. We have lost so very much time in this past week. I have missed so much of his life—I just don't know whether we will *ever* catch up.
Geography today with Miss Prism. I wonder what her first name is. Francine has been dismissed after I told Uncle Jack that it was she who had upset me. Naturally, her sister went with her.
Charming weather.
Geography today with Miss Prism. I wonder what her first name is. Francine has been dismissed after I told Uncle Jack that it was she who had upset me. Naturally, her sister went with her.
Charming weather.
27 March
My sweet, wonderful, loving boy has returned to me! At dawn, a letter from him appeared as if by magic. The morning post seems to be coming alarmingly early these days, now I come to think of it. This letter, like the others, was so beautiful, and so badly spelled, that I fell into a fit of sobs from which I did not recover for at least 5 minutes. Of course I had to forgive him. Firmness is one thing—hard-heartedness is quite another. And of course it would never do to be hard-hearted in matters of the heart. That would make no sense.
26 March
I am a broken woman. My dear, sweet, beautiful boy loves me no more. Ever since he broke my heart lo so many days ago. It really was rather cruel of him to break it off with me so suddenly and heartlessly, especially considering that we have never even met. I am devastated. Will I ever learn to love again?
25 March
I really don't think it can be right for a guardian to brood all the time. Guardians are supposed to be kindly people, I had always thought. At least only very bad little boys like E and so forth should be allowed to brood—it always makes a man *so very* attractive, and certainly one's guardian is never allowed to be attractive. Well, hardly ever. It seems to me to be quite improper. Oh why did Ernest leave me alone like the sad clown of life?
24 March
Nasty rain all day. Uncle Jack in a terrible mood. Why is it that when I am feeling rather gloomy, I am made to go to my room, while Uncle Jack is allowed to run amok about the whole house? No one seems to care at all that my heart is broken over losing my poor, dear Ernest. When will I be allowed to mourn my great loss? I cannot properly grieve with all the *to do* in the place. It really is quite inconsiderate of Uncle Jack not to think of me at this time. He is not to be appeased. What an ogre he has become of late.
23 March
Consoled myself with a long walk today, back to the old barn where Peter and I were wont to meet in my younger, more innocent days. How tragic it is to be a formerly engaged girl. Still, I know I did the right thing. It is a far, far better thing I do than to allow my honor to be held up to question in any way. Still, aye me!
Weather really lovely today!
Later—two charmingly imploring letters from Ernest. But I must be firm in my decision.
Weather really lovely today!
Later—two charmingly imploring letters from Ernest. But I must be firm in my decision.
22 March
Today I broke off my engagement with Ernest. I feel it is better to do so.
The weather still continues charming.
The weather still continues charming.
21 March
Entirely charming weather, but still I am quite troubled by the matter of the snake. I always feel that a really proper man must always be very naughty indeed but not actually *frightening*, and now I fear a poor girl cannot trust *any* man *at all*!
Francine no help at all. I believe the beastly girl enjoys upsetting me. I must return to my plan not to share *any* more confidences with her until she learns to converse properly and not upsettingly.
Did manage to sit up for some tea this afternoon.
Francine no help at all. I believe the beastly girl enjoys upsetting me. I must return to my plan not to share *any* more confidences with her until she learns to converse properly and not upsettingly.
Did manage to sit up for some tea this afternoon.
20 March
Uncle Jack gone just for today and part of tomorrow. Weather entirely charming today, so we held lessons out-of-doors, and Dr. Chasuble came by to take Miss Prism for a walk to "keep fresh her complexion." Little Francine kept me company, and we were having such fun behaving like sisters until she told me in confidence to whom the snake belongs. She says it was *Peter*(!) and that all the Marys saw it too and that's why they are no longer here. What a wicked, wicked girl she is! I will nevermore believe her lies. I took to my bed at once.
19 March
My 18th birthday, and not yet married. This is a source of great sadness for me. I shall be obliged to speak to Ernest about setting a date *right away*. I must admit I had hoped he would have done so *for* my birthday, but the dear boy is so forgetful! He bought me the most beautiful little bangle with a true lover's knot. I have promised him always to wear it. I also received several new dresses, a small and very lady-like string of pearls, a little prayer book from Dr. Chasuble, A Young Lady's Book of Manners (1895 supplement) from Miss Prism and a *3-volume novel* from Mudie. Charming weather.
18 March
Terrible dream last night! I dreamt that Ernest took me to a masquerade. He was dressed as a Vampyre (!), and I was a Fairy Princess—with the most beautiful gossamer wings! I discovered that I could fly, quite cleverly, and then so could Ernest! So we flew over London and landed in a terribly dirty and smelly location, where Ernest cornered me entirely and pulled out from under his cape a snake, which bit me. I awoke feeling *most* weak and tingly. I fear I am in great danger. Weather still charming.
17 March
Long walk today. Weather entirely charming today and the servants of the Catholic persuasion all quite drunk with Spring today, only of course it is not *quite* Spring yet. The Catholics always seem to get things a little funny.
Charming letter from my Ernest. He says he certainly will not allow Uncle Jack to stand in the way and he promises to take me to a masquerade when I am old enough. He is very fond of masquerades.
Charming letter from my Ernest. He says he certainly will not allow Uncle Jack to stand in the way and he promises to take me to a masquerade when I am old enough. He is very fond of masquerades.
16 March
Uncle Jack is very mean! "On no account," he says, will he allow me to go to London at any time soon. In fact he has expressly forbidden my meeting Ernest. Ever! So I am refusing to leave my room until further notice.
Francine has spent the day with me in order to console me. I asked her whether she really had this "snake" business on very firm authority, and she says she and others have seen it on one man here. But can he be normal? Surely not. Maggie and Francine are twins! How odd, and, I must say, not quite decent. They sleep in the same bed. How nice that must be.
Francine has spent the day with me in order to console me. I asked her whether she really had this "snake" business on very firm authority, and she says she and others have seen it on one man here. But can he be normal? Surely not. Maggie and Francine are twins! How odd, and, I must say, not quite decent. They sleep in the same bed. How nice that must be.
15 March
My dear sweet Ernest has written to tell me not to worry my pretty little head about his troubles, his nature or what is in his knickers. He certainly has calmed my fears. He says he merely overindulges a little because he so much enjoys the pleasures of London. He feels there is no doubt at all that our marriage will have a most *soothing* and pleasant effect upon him, and he is most desperately excited to show me all around London as soon as he can. He hopes to meet me very soon. Oh dear, I love him so very much!
14 March
I have questioned Uncle Jack at length. He has told me nothing except that cousin Ernest is most certainly not a danger to anyone except to himself. So I suppose he can not be a revolutionary. Uncle Jack had no opinion at all about the origin of cousin Ernest's defects of character. He says merely that Ernest is of a most impossibly weak and vacillating nature and is to be trusted only to get into more trouble in the future.
13 March
Uncle Jack returned and most worried to see me quite unwell with no explanation of any kind. Miss Prism shooed him away with a vague mention of female trouble, but really, it isn't female trouble at all—it seems to me that the trouble is entirely male! How will I ever recover?
12 March
Francine has just told me the most scandalous news! Apparently, men have *something else entirely* under their knickers than those of us of the feminine persuasion! Really, I can't imagine where she got that idea, but it is *far* too *bizarre* to be untrue. She claims *it* looks something like a snake! I loathe snakes. Besides, I certainly can't imagine *Ernest* like that! I was forced to spend the entire afternoon abed.
11 March
Miss Prism explained to me that London itself does seem to have a *most* crippling effect upon those of a weak constitution and that no doubt cousin Ernest's naturally delicate nature was corrupted at an impressionable age, that his innocence was quite *crushed* by the horrors around him. The poor dear boy! How lucky for him that he has found me. I will protect him and save his soul. I always think it is quite important for a young lady to save as many souls as possible.
10 March
At last, I have engaged dear Miss Prism in a *really* long conversation about my Ernest. Of course I *dared* not inform her of our impending marriage—I merely asked her to explain his nature to me so I could avoid those pitfalls myself. Miss Prism is not sure whether cousin Ernest was born evil or whether it is simply a result of a corrupting atmosphere. Ordinarily, she says, she would be inclined to place the blame upon poor parenting, but since dear Uncle Jack also had no parents, one is hardly inclined to believe that idea at all. More tomorrow.
9 March
Uncle Jack away again. I wonder what cousin Ernest has done this time. I suppose he has committed an outrage at a masquerade. Perhaps he arrived as Zorro. I *do* like a man with a sword! No doubt he terrified some of the ladies and caused them to faint. Oh, my darling dashing man!
German. Geography. Global currencies! Aaaggghhh!
German. Geography. Global currencies! Aaaggghhh!
8 March
Just understood at *last* how to solve my christening problems. You see, one must quite clearly lift the fish out of the water and then re-immerse them. Certainly that would save them... twice! Still the problem of sharks, though.
Letter from Ernest. He says Miss Prism is a fearful liar. What a wicked boy he is! I love him more than ever.
Dinner was mutton.
Letter from Ernest. He says Miss Prism is a fearful liar. What a wicked boy he is! I love him more than ever.
Dinner was mutton.
7 March
Today in Geography I asked Miss Prism whyever shouldn't I learn the geography of London, and she said that London is a horrible, dirty place full of unpleasant smells and people like rippers (!), and that I should at all costs avoid it. She is very worried indeed whenever dear Uncle Jack goes to town and thinks he had better not go anymore.
6 March
Ernest says that the clever people are not at all a bore, that it is the people who merely *wish* to be clever and are not clever that are a bore. Ernest says that when we are married, he will take me to London immediately and show me the clever people himself. Ernest says that he also does not much like listening but that he does like talking very much indeed.
5 March
I asked Uncle Jack about all the gay balls in London, and he, I must say, paints quite a different picture than dear Ernest does. He says they are not at all gay balls, but are dreary affairs that one goes to only because one *must*—that they really are the most terrible *bore*, as they are without fail full of *clever people*, to whom my dear guardian cannot bear to listen. He loathes listening. Still, I think I would like to see these clever people for myself.
4 March
Long letter from my dear Ernest, telling me how wonderful London is—the shops filled with all the latest fashions, the bands that play in the parks, and all the gay balls in the evenings. Oh, to be in London!
Geography today. Why can't I learn the geography of useful places, like London?
Dinner—mutton.
Geography today. Why can't I learn the geography of useful places, like London?
Dinner—mutton.
3 March
Campaign quite destroyed, as I, for one, am entirely unwilling to baptize sharks.
Oh, I *do* hate Lent! So very *bored* all day! Uncle Jack whistling *all day* long, and that certainly can not be proper during Lent or at any other time if one is a guardian. Uncle Jack certainly is behaving *most* strangely of late. Whenever he returns from saving Ernest, he is quite *giddy*, one might say.
Mutton for dinner again.
Oh, I *do* hate Lent! So very *bored* all day! Uncle Jack whistling *all day* long, and that certainly can not be proper during Lent or at any other time if one is a guardian. Uncle Jack certainly is behaving *most* strangely of late. Whenever he returns from saving Ernest, he is quite *giddy*, one might say.
Mutton for dinner again.
2 March
Dr. Chasuble says "it is high time" I ended my lessons with him. He says he will speak to me about my campaign at a later date, as it is not a proper subject for the Lenten period. Now that I think of it, nothing at all seems to be a proper subject for the Lenten period.
Evening—Uncle Jack back. No word of Ernest. Mutton for dinner. I *do* love mutton!
Evening—Uncle Jack back. No word of Ernest. Mutton for dinner. I *do* love mutton!
1 March
Trouble with my campaign. I am worried about how it may *look* if we christen the lambs but not the fishes. It certainly cannot be right to christen fishes. One can't even *say* "christen fishes." Also, they are already wet, so...?
Letter from Ernest. He is charmed by my campaign and says to "keep up the good work for our country." I suppose that means he must be a revolutionary *for* England rather than against it. I am *so* glad!
Letter from Ernest. He is charmed by my campaign and says to "keep up the good work for our country." I suppose that means he must be a revolutionary *for* England rather than against it. I am *so* glad!
29 February
Trouble
Oh dear me, there is no February the 29th this year! Whatever does one *do* when there is a page but there is entirely no day to accompany it? How bothersome for the publisher not to think this situation out before-hand. That shows a certain lack of planning.
Oh dear me, there is no February the 29th this year! Whatever does one *do* when there is a page but there is entirely no day to accompany it? How bothersome for the publisher not to think this situation out before-hand. That shows a certain lack of planning.
28 February
A surprise letter from Ernest. He *is* in jail, but they have allowed him pen and paper for good behavior. Uncle Jack is expected any minute, and dear Ernest is taking the *greatest* care that Uncle Jack should not discover him writing to me. He wants to preserve my honor after all. It would not do for the wife of a bomber to have a sullied name. I wonder whether we ought not christen the little baby cows as well. They are also God's creatures, even though they are not quite as cute as the lambs.
27 February
Uncle Jack after cousin Ernest again. I suppose this means no letters again for *ever* so long, although, now that I think of it, the darling boy always seems to have plenty of time to write to his dear little Cecily when he is actually getting into his scrapes but none at all while he is getting *out* of them. Whatever can that mean?
Perhaps he is in jail, where pen and paper simply are not allowed!
Perhaps he is in jail, where pen and paper simply are not allowed!
26 February
I have begun a campaign to convince dear Dr. Chasuble to baptize the dear little lambs when they are born. I feel that Our Lord Jesus would wish it. I know I wish it. I am naming the campaign the Christen Christ the Lamb's Lamb Campaign (CCLLC).
25 February
At last a really *lengthy* letter from Ernest. He apologized *most* sweetly for not being very *practiced* a letter-writer and for being *so very busy* right at the moment with all his *activities.* The sneaky boy says he mustn't divulge any more *information* just at present, as it is all *quite* "top secret." Of course he would tell me, but he is so very afraid that dear Uncle Jack will *intercept* the letters at some time. If only I had a lock box of some sort!
24 February
Miss Prism has decided that since I am to study with Dr. Chasuble every day, she will relocate *her* day lessons to the rectory for now.
Horrid Geography!
Horrid weather. We were entirely *sopping* by the time we arrived at the rectory, and after all, Dr. Chasuble was too busy with christenings (as usual) to give any lesson of any kind.
I know animals don't have souls, but I think they deserve to go to heaven anyway. I think it would be so cute to baptize the little lambs when they are born!
Horrid Geography!
Horrid weather. We were entirely *sopping* by the time we arrived at the rectory, and after all, Dr. Chasuble was too busy with christenings (as usual) to give any lesson of any kind.
I know animals don't have souls, but I think they deserve to go to heaven anyway. I think it would be so cute to baptize the little lambs when they are born!
23 February
I have asked Uncle Jack for a chemistry set, but he is so far resisting. He has suggested that I pay more attention to the lessons that I already have. I think he must have spoken to Miss Prism about me too, because she absolutely *refused* to speak about Ernest at all today. And I have been assigned special lessons with Dr. Chasuble (!) every day for *two weeks*!
Ernest wrote today to tell me that he loves me more than flowers. What a sweet, simple boy he is!
Ernest wrote today to tell me that he loves me more than flowers. What a sweet, simple boy he is!
22 February
Uncle Jack has pulled Political Economy lessons for the time being.
I wonder what position Ernest holds in the revolutionary army? I highly suspect that he is a mad bomber—then he would be obliged to wear tall boots and black gloves to protect himself from gunpowder. Oh, how I love a man in uniform!
I wonder what position Ernest holds in the revolutionary army? I highly suspect that he is a mad bomber—then he would be obliged to wear tall boots and black gloves to protect himself from gunpowder. Oh, how I love a man in uniform!
Sunday, September 20, 2009
21 February
Directly Uncle Jack returned this morning, I interrogated him about Ernest's activities. He was not amused. I explained that I know all the details of Ernest's past indiscretions, which is a lie, of course, but I thought it would help my case when I suggested that he take me with him when he goes to London. After all these lessons in Political Economy, I am sure I could reform any revolutionary. Either that or learning more about revolution could make Political Economy *so much* more *stimulating*!
20 February
I have been thinking more about the idea of Ernest being a revolutionary, and I have decided it is quite a proper thing for him to be after all. Revolutionaries are, I am told, quite dangerous indeed, and I do like dangerous men. I believe they are always very well dressed. One must always be impeccably (sp?) dressed for a revolution.
Miss Prism in conference with Dr. Chasuble for most of the afternoon.
No letter from Ernest! He must be *extremely* busy!
Miss Prism in conference with Dr. Chasuble for most of the afternoon.
No letter from Ernest! He must be *extremely* busy!
19 February
Miss Prism and Dr. Chasuble are under the impression that my dear Ernest is a *libertine*! I don't approve of libertines at *all*. I much prefer the Tories. I wonder if he is a revolutionary libertine, perhaps under the pay of the Catholics in Ireland. If so, one could certainly understand why Uncle Jack does not allow him in the household. We have had quite enough revolutions here already!
18 February
Yes! Miss Prism *is* interested in Uncle Jack's brother. I overheard her talking to Dr. Chasuble about Ernest. She was with his guidance attempting to determine what his faults were, specifically. Apparently, they need to know in order to properly pray for his soul. I am praying for his soul to come down here some time. How entirely uncharitable of Uncle Jack to have a brother and not invite him to stay with us! He may be a good guardian, but he certainly does not appear to be a very good brother.
17 February
Whatever can Ernest be up to now? Uncle Jack gone suddenly and *quite* early this morning. He is certainly gone after my Ernest (oh, how I love that name. Mrs. Ernest Worthing) again. What an impossibly naughty boy he must be! What *is* his particular vice, I wonder? Ernest himself has so far been quite secretive about the matter and of course Uncle Jack is of no help at all! Miss Prism tight-lipped in anything concerning Ernest but interested nonetheless I do believe.
16 February
At last a letter from Ernest. Of course I was obliged to write it myself. I shall write three times a week, I think—perhaps oftener, since it is *so* difficult for young lovers to be apart.
Now that I am engaged, of course, I shall be obliged to curtail my *friendships* about the house. After all, one mustn't encourage too many confidences with those of the serving orders—one does not desire them to take liberties.
Now that I am engaged, of course, I shall be obliged to curtail my *friendships* about the house. After all, one mustn't encourage too many confidences with those of the serving orders—one does not desire them to take liberties.
15 February
Today I went to the village and bought the most delightful little ring in Ernest's name from Fingal O'Flaherty, the goldsmith. It is a simple gold band which signifies our simple unbreakable love for one another. What bliss it is to be in love with someone whose name is Ernest! I do hope I will not be bored with him after he settles down. Perhaps I shouldn't have gotten such a simple ring after all. I shall have to insist upon a fancy one at the wedding.
14 February
Worn out by Ernest's entire ignorance of my existence, I resolved to end the matter one way or the other. After a long struggle with myself, I accepted his proposal of marriage. We will opt for a long engagement, I think, since we have not, as yet, actually met one another.
13 February
Still no letter from Ernest. Miss Prism entirely does not approve of him and says quite openly to Uncle Jack that he should refuse to associate himself with Ernest. Ernest has made his bed, she says, and he should therefore lie in it. That statement does not make much sense, does it? In any case, I can't see why Uncle Jack should be concerned whether cousin Ernest lies in a made bed or not.
12 February
I have decided to allow Ernest to write to me. Oh, I do hate long-distance relationships—they are so very painful!
Weather charming.
Weather charming.
11 February
Miss Prism very cross indeed all morning, chiefly, I believe, because Dr. Chasuble has been absent quite often recently. I am quite sure that my Miss Prism has a more than usual interest in praying, because she certainly appears to find dear Dr. Chasuble of great interest, and he has told me he will never marry. Could there be yet *another* scandal brewing in our little household? And speaking of scandals, I have determined to begin an affair with Uncle Jack's wicked brother Ernest *immediately*. It certainly wouldn't do to wait until someone else discovers him.
10 February
Miss Prism very cranky today after I asked her why she thinks it is that Ernest always seems to get into trouble at week-end. More horrid German for awhile, but I think I may know what that daring boy is up to. It is my opinion that he is an incurable *adventurer*! Took a long walk to think about that.
9 February
It rained off and on this morning, and Uncle Jack is gone again, so I was trapped not only doing German lessons with Miss Prism, but indoors! It is always so much nicer in the garden, even in the cold early Spring—Dr. Chasuble often happens by. Indoors, only Merriman drops by, and then only to bring tea or letters, which in any case are always for my dear *absent*(!) guardian.
I asked Miss Prism what Mr. Worthing the wicked had done this time, but she was quite mum on the subject and forced me to decline irregular verbs for the remainder of the day. I was obliged to come up with his indiscretions on my own.
I asked Miss Prism what Mr. Worthing the wicked had done this time, but she was quite mum on the subject and forced me to decline irregular verbs for the remainder of the day. I was obliged to come up with his indiscretions on my own.
8 February
Uncle Jack's brother is called Ernest! What a perfectly divine name!
Mr. Ernest Worthing
Mrs. Ernest Worthing
Lady Cecily Worthing
Mr. and Mrs. Ernest M. Worthing
Mrs. Ernest Worthing
Mrs. Ernest M. Worthing
Ernest Worthing and the former Miss Cecily Cardew, his lovely wife.
Mrs. Ernest Worthing, nee Cecily Cardew, was spotted at the ball, wearing a splendid gown of pink and white silk toile, accompanied with an ermine stole.
Mrs. Ernest Worthing, Esq.
Mr. and Mrs. Ernest M. Worthing
I do hope he doesn't go by the name of Ernie!
Mr. Ernest Worthing
Mrs. Ernest Worthing
Lady Cecily Worthing
Mr. and Mrs. Ernest M. Worthing
Mrs. Ernest Worthing
Mrs. Ernest M. Worthing
Ernest Worthing and the former Miss Cecily Cardew, his lovely wife.
Mrs. Ernest Worthing, nee Cecily Cardew, was spotted at the ball, wearing a splendid gown of pink and white silk toile, accompanied with an ermine stole.
Mrs. Ernest Worthing, Esq.
Mr. and Mrs. Ernest M. Worthing
I do hope he doesn't go by the name of Ernie!
7 February
I am beginning to believe that Uncle Jack is avoiding me altogether. He did not make an appearance at breakfast this morning and then also declined to drop in during my lessons. Political economy today. *All day.* I am rather inclined to believe that Miss Prism plans to run off and become a parliamentarian one day. She certainly has many *opinions* on things. What a *dictator* she can be! Finally enticed her into a conversation on the topic of Uncle Jack's brother. Miss Prism is of the opinion that he (Uncle Jack's brother) is "of a dissolute manner." Oh, how exciting he must be!
6 February
I tried all day to make Uncle Jack tell more about his wicked brother. I'm certain he must be *unbearably attractive!* Whyever has my dear guardian never brought him here in all these years?
5 February
Uncle Jack has just confessed to us that he has a younger brother who is very wicked and bad! The shenanigans of this very naughty boy are the chief cause of Uncle Jack's many absences of late. It seems that this young scoundrel (he is older than me though, of course) is forever getting himself into an extraordinary amount of trouble, so much so that dear Uncle Jack is obliged to go and bail him out of jail quite often. More he will not tell us. Miss Prism is "shocked and appalled" (sp?). I, of course, am intrigued.
4 February
Uncle Jack has returned at last, and I overheard Dr. Chasuble and Miss Prism saying that they believe he may have been in London. Can it be that Uncle Jack is going to London for pleasure? Dear Uncle Jack is so serious all the time. Is he leading a double life?
2 February
Uncle Jack gone—endless hours of *German.* Horrid German. I think German must be *the worst* language ever invented. All those ichs, achs, blechs... yuck! It can't really be a proper language to speak—one always seems to be yelling.
1 February
The weather has been charming of late. I have been taking extended walks, mostly to avoid dreary lessons, though I am sure Miss Prism thinks I am off to see Peter. I really can not bear to see Peter any more. I simply haven't the energy.
I do hope on one of these walks I will find a really suitable man. I won't go for that same type again. I feel one should always learn from one's mistakes. This time I shall find someone who is impeccably (sp?) dressed, but whom one can still suspect of being somehow not quite clean. Uncle Jack leaving again this afternoon. I know what *that* means!
I do hope on one of these walks I will find a really suitable man. I won't go for that same type again. I feel one should always learn from one's mistakes. This time I shall find someone who is impeccably (sp?) dressed, but whom one can still suspect of being somehow not quite clean. Uncle Jack leaving again this afternoon. I know what *that* means!
31 January
I think I will make Francine my new ladies' maid. She is a most sensible girl and very gay and amusing. Her sister Maggie is, sadly, a bit plain of speech but also thoroughly sensible. More sensible, in fact, than Francine. Francine has been consoling me very sweetly. I am afraid I could not help but turn pale at the mention of P's name, and she ran to get me a sip of water immediately and then later brought me a darling bouquet of meadow flowers. What a sweet and loyal child! Peter nowhere to be found. Men are *so* cowardly!
30 January
Whole household in mourning today, as the first Mary has died in childbed. Of course, we are supposed to forget that she ever existed, but she really was quite a sweet child. We all found ourselves back at the rectory despite our best intentions. Meals entirely disrupted. Miss Prism seized the opportunity to point out that had these girls had any sense at all, they would not have been in this position, and our meals would remain on time! She is fond of pointing out the fact that the Catholics as a sect seem to have no sense of moral responsibility or thrift at all.
29 January
I have refused to speak to Peter today, mostly because he made himself entirely unavailable.
Uncle Jack and Miss Prism very cranky today as well. And the weather not cooperating at all.
Later—Uncle Jack took the entire of the remaining household to the rectory for a special sermon from Dr. Chasuble, who spoke, once again, upon the subject of the manna in the wilderness. This time, I was forced to stay awake for the entire sermon and after sermon as well. Miss Prism stayed behind for further prayer.
Uncle Jack and Miss Prism very cranky today as well. And the weather not cooperating at all.
Later—Uncle Jack took the entire of the remaining household to the rectory for a special sermon from Dr. Chasuble, who spoke, once again, upon the subject of the manna in the wilderness. This time, I was forced to stay awake for the entire sermon and after sermon as well. Miss Prism stayed behind for further prayer.
28 January
I have recovered from my affections for that impudent boy. I will question Maggie further at once.
Later—I may faint. I have just learnt the most terrible news! Apparently, the 4 dismissed girls had all been secretly married, as they *all* were *with child*! I am afraid there has been an entire white slavery ring in our under-stairs! (I know the girl Maggie was telling the truth, because she refused to accept the few coins I offered her.) It seems that Peter was most definitely involved in some small way, though Maggie would not say how. The horrid boy must have been involved in the transport of the poor babes.
Later—I may faint. I have just learnt the most terrible news! Apparently, the 4 dismissed girls had all been secretly married, as they *all* were *with child*! I am afraid there has been an entire white slavery ring in our under-stairs! (I know the girl Maggie was telling the truth, because she refused to accept the few coins I offered her.) It seems that Peter was most definitely involved in some small way, though Maggie would not say how. The horrid boy must have been involved in the transport of the poor babes.
27 January
Met with Maggie at last, and I am too ill to write. There is a dreadful, dreadful scandal, and she feels *Peter* may be involved! I sent her away at once.
Weather charming today.
Weather charming today.
26 January
I caught hold of Francine again this morning and she believes she *will* be able to deliver Maggie to me tomorrow. Apparently, the scandal continues to grow. A third Mary, a Merry, and a Molly have all been "sacked." I must say this hardly looks good for girls with M-beginning names. Perhaps Maggie will be the next to go.
Uncle Jack very firm with me this evening—I daresay he would like me to account for my whereabouts every second of the day! I distracted him by asking where *he* has been going all this time. He assures me it has been all business and not pleasure at all!
Uncle Jack very firm with me this evening—I daresay he would like me to account for my whereabouts every second of the day! I distracted him by asking where *he* has been going all this time. He assures me it has been all business and not pleasure at all!
25 January
Dreadful lessons simply all day! I really can not understand why I should read political economy. It doesn't seem at *all* a proper sort of subject for a young girl. Besides, it is excessively *boring*! Luckily, Dr. Chasuble happened along and Miss Prism felt she needed to talk to him about an important matter, so I hied myself to the barn to Peter. He made love to me as always, but he seemed strangely distant and did not even *try* to touch me. Really! I *hardly* expected that sort of behavior from my future husband. I informed him that I will expect better from him in future.
24 January
Well! I was able at last (!), with the aid of a small coin, to obtain some information about the staff Troubles. One of the upstairs maids, Francine, has a sister, Maggie, who works below-stairs, and she let me know that *another* scullery maid, also called Mary, has been sent away. Francine has promised to bring Maggie to me tomorrow so that I may interrogate her further, Uncle Jack was back today and most attentive (though still secretive about his whereabouts), so I had no time to find out more.
23 January
Uncle Jack still gone, but I managed to slip away from *dear* Miss Prism and get down to the barn. *No Peter again!* Luckily, I took along a really *marvellous* (sp?) novel! I read all day and felt those strange sensations again, even though Peter wasn't there. I *loved* the book. It ended so very tragically, with the dear heroine being thrown from her stallion and lingering for several days, unable to see her lover—just like me! Oh, if only Mudie's ghastly 3-volume dealies were like this! Mudie really could learn a thing or two about novel writing.
22 January
Uncle Jack has mysteriously disappeared once again. He is growing more and more interesting all the time! Where *can* he be going? Of late he is gone at least once a week for two days at a time. Once even three! And whenever he goes, Miss Prism lays particular emphasis on my German lessons, which I *loathe*! Is she trying to punish me for something? Why must she punish me for *him* going away? No Peter today. He has mysteriously disappeared as well. I am beginning to believe that something is not quite right.
21 January
A blustery, blustery day. Miss Prism did allow me a day off lessons, as we have been so upset about the goings on amongst the serving staff of the house. It is all quite a mystery—one I intend in my few spare moment to unravel. Today Miss Prism suggested that I read Mrs. LT Meade's novel The School Queens. I curlt up by the fire and did so. It was somewhat amusing, though I found it a bit *young* for my taste. It did not *thrill.*
The weather cleared this evening , so I will go meet my darling P. tomorrow. *He* will thrill.
The weather cleared this evening , so I will go meet my darling P. tomorrow. *He* will thrill.
20 January
There has been another disturbance among the scullery maids, with the result that dinner arrived both late and also somehow a bit en deshabille (oh where is an accent on the keyboard when you need two?). The quail's legs were, I am afraid, not properly tied together. Miss Prism, in fact, refused to eat them altogether. I thought they tasted fine. Uncle Jack says good help is *so* hard to find these days. I am *so* afraid this may be the early signs of a Catholic revolt in our very household. I must confide in Peter and be sure he will be ready to protect me should such a devastating occurrence come to pass.
Later—Peter very petulant indeed.
Later—Peter very petulant indeed.
19 January
I have been thinking very much about the important question of London Society versus Highland Society, which is highly likely to be no kind of society at all. Indeed, it is likely to be a society of sheep! And yet I feel quite certain that Peter can not be quite trained to fit in to London Society. It is quite easy to train a dog—it is not quite so easy, I should think, to train a man. They seem most stubborn creatures! Whatever shall I do?
18 January
No chance at all to speak to Peter today. We had excessively boring neighbors (!) over. It was the most absolutely tedious affair. But Uncle Jack did say it was terribly necessary for me to learn the finer points of the social graces. It is true that I don't often engage with society, but after all, I am sure that the Hertfordshire set is *hardly* of the same calibre as proper London society. I shall certainly be obliged to speak to Uncle Jack about introducing me properly. This is of course so that I may be able to make friends on my own after Peter and I have eloped.
17 January
Saw Peter at the house this afternoon! Whatever can he have been doing here? He looked rather surprised to to see me and said that he was in an exceptional rush to get back to the stables, but I am sure that he is, once again, guarding my honour as the lady of the manor. No doubt he was hoping to catch me alone!
Later—
Dr. Chasuble's "Manna in the Wilderness" sermon again at evensong, so I got a good rest. In fact, I believe we all did.
Later—
Dr. Chasuble's "Manna in the Wilderness" sermon again at evensong, so I got a good rest. In fact, I believe we all did.
16 January
*Almost* a disastrous day! Escaped lessons today, due to Miss Prism's being obliged to run an errand in the village. Of course I *immediately* ran to see darling Peter at our secret meeting place. Once there, it began to rain. So I most certainly could not *leave*! I grew almost anxious, but the dear lad took me in his arms and distracted me entirely, so entirely, in fact, that I very nearly missed tea! There was very nearly a scandal. Luckily, the rain abated.
15 January
Today Uncle Jack and I went for a long ride up to the hill where one can see 5 counties. Thankfully, the weather held—it had looked like rain early. He was most silent on the subject of his recent absences and restricted the conversation to the subjects of my studies and my pending adulthood. He does say that he will be gone more now than he used, and that he is most concerned that I continue to be impeccably (sp?) brought up in his absence. Asked me the most peculiar questions about Miss Prism (!) and made me recite a small section of The Iliad and also corrected my on my German. Uncle Jack is so very *serious* of late!
14 January
Humiliation! How will I ever forgive myself?! I have been an unbearably silly little girl indeed. I met with Peter again for a very brief space of time between today's *two* German lessons (!) and he has clarified the mysterious matter of the undergarments. He explained to poor, silly me that he never meant to look at my undergarments but merely hoped to prevent the dirtying of my overgarments. Seeing as how the barn is, after all, an excessively *dirty* place, I feel his explanation to be quite satisfactory. The dear boy merely hoped to protect my honour! I will certainly be obliged to overcome my bashful nature in the very near future!
Saturday, September 19, 2009
12 January
Mary has gone.
A really wonderful day today! I escaped from Miss Prism almost immediately by informing her at the beginning of lessons that dear Dr. Chasuble was most eager to see her at the rectory at her "earliest possible convenience." I got off with a promise to recite the numbers from 1 to 100 in German. But of course (!) I slipped off to find Peter. I noted a strange melancholy in him today. Really, he was quite sharp with me today. But I know that beneath his troubled demeanor, he loves his dear little Cecily.
A really wonderful day today! I escaped from Miss Prism almost immediately by informing her at the beginning of lessons that dear Dr. Chasuble was most eager to see her at the rectory at her "earliest possible convenience." I got off with a promise to recite the numbers from 1 to 100 in German. But of course (!) I slipped off to find Peter. I noted a strange melancholy in him today. Really, he was quite sharp with me today. But I know that beneath his troubled demeanor, he loves his dear little Cecily.
11 January
There has been some sort of scandal in the kitchen. Cook was very angry at one of the younger girls, Mary. I think it is because Mary has been putting on *quite a bit* of weight of late. I suppose she must have been stealing an awful lot of food. I believe the Catholics are prone to do such things. I don't much approve of Catholics.
10 January
Feigned a headache today in order to stay in bed and then ran like the wind all the way to the barn. Or rather, I would have, except I got rather faint and had to loosen my corset. Drat! But I am *so* lucky that I did, because had I not, I would certainly have been intercepted by Miss Prism, who was on a stroll with Dr. Chasuble, though strangely, they were somewhat off the path, actually. I hid behind the elm until they had passed. Then to Peter who was *very* affectionate indeed until I chastized him for asking to see my undergarments. Then went all sullen again. Oh dear, he is so *very attractive* when he sulks! But really, I don't know what interest my undergarments could hold for him. He can touch, but he cannot look. That would be wrong.
9 January
No chance to talk to Miss Prism about her indiscretion in regards to the Peter incident. She cut short our lessons today, making some excuse about having an excessively large number of people to pray for. Perhaps it is from the rectory that she was coming yesterday afternoon. I have settled the matter by stating definitely to Peter that we must always meet in the barn and *not* at the garden gate. Of course it is *inconvenient* that way, but I always think that inconvenience makes love so much more *intense.* Peter so *loving* today. He says he wants to be *closer* to me! We have arranged to meet tomorrow without fail.
8 January
At last the rains have gone. But I was prevented from having a real meeting with my dear Peter due to a cough on the part of Miss Prism. That is to say, Peter and I had met, at last, by the garden gate, and I am sure he was just going to kiss me, when up walked Miss Prism from heaven only knows where! It certainly can't be proper for a governess to go about spying on a poor girl and her love—one will never obtain a decent proposal. I shall be obliged to speak to her about this matter at once.
7 January
We are having rains of *absolutely Biblical* proportions! I fear I shall never see my darling Peter again! I know that despair is meant to be a sin, but really it must be the most delightful sin of them all! Peter has no doubt been *prevented* from sending me a note. Poor boy. I hope he will live. I *do* love his *name.* I think Peter must be the most charming name a man could ever have. Stately yet approachable. There is something in that name that seems to inspire absolute devotion. It has such music to it. Anyone would have to admit Peter is a name which absolutely thrills!
6 January
Indoors, indoors. I think I will be perfectly frantic if I do not get out to see Peter. Whatever must he be doing without me? He must be quite bereft. I myself am so bored that I risked my health and took tea with Miss Prism. She has been reading Mudie's latest 3-volume novel. I believe she may not have been really ill after all. She *likes* Mudie's 3-volume novels *!!!* Uncle Jack back but entirely silent on where he has been. He is growing entirely *mysterious!*
5 January
Terrible storm. Miss Prism still indisposed and my dear guardian still away. I do wish I knew where, at least, he is. He usedn't to go away at all when dear grandpapa (may he rest in peace) was alive. At least, when he went away, we went away together to one of grandfather's (rest in peace) other residences. Oh, how I miss the Highlands! When Peter and I elope, we shall go to the Highlands, most definitely. Of course, everyone there speaks the most appalling (sp?) language, but *we* shall not care. We are in love.
4 January
Stuck indoors again.
Dreary, dreary weather.
Thought about Peter all day.
I do hope some day we shall be married. I must think how to cause him to propose to me. How does one induce proposing in a man? Of course we will be obliged to run away together. Uncle Jack would never allow me to marry a man of the *Lower Classes*, much less a stable boy. It is hardly the thing. What a scandal we shall cause! I will name all our children Peter. Or Petra as the case may be.
Dreary, dreary weather.
Thought about Peter all day.
I do hope some day we shall be married. I must think how to cause him to propose to me. How does one induce proposing in a man? Of course we will be obliged to run away together. Uncle Jack would never allow me to marry a man of the *Lower Classes*, much less a stable boy. It is hardly the thing. What a scandal we shall cause! I will name all our children Peter. Or Petra as the case may be.
3 January
Peter at last! Uncle Jack away for a few days and Miss Prism in bed with a slight ache or a bit of an ague, I can't remember which. We met at the barn and he warmed me in the hay. I have never been held by a real *man* before, I mean, someone who is not my grandfather (may he rest in peace) and dear Uncle Jack. My heart beat *****so***** fast (!) and I felt the oddest of sensations all through my body. At first I thought I might have been coming down with Miss Prism's ailment. I am beginning to understand why she has warned me against seeing him. I am afraid I have been very wicked indeed!
2 January
My first kiss of the New Year wasn't from Peter after all. It was from Uncle Jack! I think that is really rather hard. I am certainly not going to be in love with Uncle Jack! Does this mean the end of my love affair with Peter Flint? He is such a cypher always. I searched for him all day yesterday and only found him just at dusk, when he was carrying out his evening duties, but just then I heard the bell for dinner and was obliged to leave! Today, the weather was ghastly, and I was not let out. I miss him to *death*!
The Year of Our Lord, 1895—Happy New Year!
1 January, 1895
Happy New Year! At last I begin my new lovely little diary! Uncle Jack allowed me to stay up until midnight at last although he had said I would not be allowed until I was fully 18. But I shall be 18 in 3 months and 18 days, and I told him I *so* wanted to give him his present at midnight. My dear guardian doesn't have a proper birthday, as he was *found*(!), so we celebrate it every new year on the first day. I gave him a little silver cigarette case. I had it engraved "From little Cecily with her fondest love to her dear Uncle Jack." He was very amazed and appreciative. Must see Peter.
Happy New Year! At last I begin my new lovely little diary! Uncle Jack allowed me to stay up until midnight at last although he had said I would not be allowed until I was fully 18. But I shall be 18 in 3 months and 18 days, and I told him I *so* wanted to give him his present at midnight. My dear guardian doesn't have a proper birthday, as he was *found*(!), so we celebrate it every new year on the first day. I gave him a little silver cigarette case. I had it engraved "From little Cecily with her fondest love to her dear Uncle Jack." He was very amazed and appreciative. Must see Peter.
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