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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.