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)?

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.