[Journal Entry - 4 July 1773]

In the early morning hours yesterday, I arose and made my way to the stables to take my mare for the day's ride. I advised my maid that I would be back in time for tea as I had many stops to make that day. She protested, of course, that I had not had anything to eat. She is determined that I take better care of myself.

As the boy fetched and geared Barrow (named after a particularly long-faced Governess I had as a child), I contemplated my life. A rather meaningless occupation for one newly twenty, but my lack of suitable suitors was a constant ghost, haunting me. Mama threw every Earl, Duke and Count my way, but either they had no interest in a silly young girl, or I no interest in dull men. Papa constantly threatened the convent, but as he had not wrapped me in a modest cloak and shipped me off to Coldingham Monastery, I surmised that it was merely his way of keeping me in line.

Atop Barrow, my main concern was getting where I needed to go with as little of nature's decoration as possible. The roads were thick with mud after so much rain. A carriage was quite out of the question. I had to see Mrs. Hill - our blacksmith's wife, who'd taken ill - to ask after her health; to see the Vicar, to make a donation to the fund for newly opened orphanage; and to speak with a number of others on various personal matters. Some may think that a politely written letter would suffice; I disagree. Certain things should be done in person, and personally, to my mind.

I did not make it off the estate when something spooked the horse. She reared. I remember screaming as I lost my grip and flew. A thousand things flooding my mind in the blink of an eye. Then nothing more.

I cannot be sure how long I lay on the road, but as it is part of the estate, no stranger would have found me, and as I was to be gone the entire day, no servant came to look for me.

Barrow was gone. I do not know where to. I merely brushed myself clean as best I could, and had great difficulties in keeping myself upright. My hat hid any marks left by the road and I was able to struggle back to the house without being seen. Katie knocked and I sent her away, saying that I was feeling poorly, and to ask the cook to send up some broth. She would leave it on the table in the sitting room, I knew, so I made my way into my dressing room and fell back onto the chaise.

I took stock of myself. Legs were in working order, though quite weak. I was not bleeding, or at least that I knew of, still dressed in my riding habit. But the one maddening thing was the light. The candle light seemed magnified a hundred... nay... a thousand times. I could not bear to open my eyes, so brilliant and intrusive.

After a long night's rest, it seems to have subsided some, though I still have a residual halo around all things, as if all things were framed in a heavenly aura. I shall have to cleverly use paste and powders to hide some discoloration along my cheekbones but all in all, feel quite fortunate to have sustained only minor injuries.

The entry is smudged in places, the hand looks hurried and frenetic

[Journal Entry - 1 July 1773]

I have not slept at all. Not once did my eyes close since Ladies Merry and Gabrielle departed. I have danced alone on the lawn, and picked blooms in the middle of the night. O, how I wish the delight of this night could continue, but I know there is work ahead...

I had availed myself of Lady Merry's talent with the tarot deck during the weekend's events; but foolishly, I left the matter of my future open to the deck, and much to my dismay it answered in riddles and obscurely. And so I had requested that perhaps whence a clearer query came to mind, I might again impose.

And so, this night, it was done.

I clearly explained that I was upon a road, quite stable, and quite straight. But that before me lay two paths; one, which if sought, might give me great pleasure, but those around me some measure of sorrow, and another, that, if taken, would leave me bereft of happiness, but make others quite satisfied. I advised Lady M. that I wished to know if the path that I, in my heart, wished to choose, was the one unto which cards might give their celestial blessings.

I dare not write my true feelings on this, as until my foot lands over the threshold and my future is assured, I mustn't breathe a word, but still, the message is one that deserves telling, and so I shall in as enigmatic a fashion as I am able....

The writing style improves - flourishes adorn the carefully penned poem...

Upon the grate, the wheel reversed
No choice advised, no choice is cursed;
The kindling there the Eight of Wands
Reversed, creativity in bonds
Upon my mantel, there does hover
None other card than of The Lovers
The hearth rug is reversed Wands Four
And as it stands, I rest no more

Calamity, departure takes
The Tower out the back doth snake
And in the front, O, woeful Death
But where one dies, another's breath
Then Pentacles of Eight does show
Where, with my efforts, skill shall grow
Queen of Pentacles: Kin and friend
The next card will they stand, defend

The Queen of Swords sits throned, reversed
My choice maligned, my name is cursed
But Knight of Cups, aloft does ride
The universe, my love, abides
And as within display it seems
From darkness coming sun's bright beams
Two lovers standing on a cliff
Hand in hand at precipice

No love borne of similarity
For in the blend, disparity
One with heart of stone, dismayed
The other, by no storm allayed.

I hurried down the stairs and through the halls as the first of the carriages arrived. No sooner had the footmen taken the trunks from it, and the carriage rolled off than it was replaced with another, and then another, until the front gate was buzzing with conversation. The sun moved behind some ominous clouds, and we were all lucky enough to make it to the picnic under the tent before the skies opened up. All manner of delicacies were laid out by my cook and we feasted on cured venison, local cheeses, freshly baked loaves of bread, fruits and berries, and of course, with champagne. Laughter rang out as we all were given names of gods and goddesses, making our hilltop retreat into Mount Olympus itself.

The rain soon cleared and we stood, somewhat unsteadily after being seated for so long (it could not have been the freely-flowing champagne), and made our way into the house. I gave a brief tour of the house to familiarize the guests and then they were shown to their quarters. Some, who had endured longer journeys, chose to rest while others, more adventurous, joined me for a ride around the grounds. Lady Merry's horse was more interested in grazing than galloping, and so she refereed a race between Monsieur Gandt and myself and I lost the first, but am happy to report that I won back my losses with the second. Soon, others came to join us, and sweet Jean-Matisse atop his pony, made a wonderful third to the riders. Lady Aphrodite and Mr. Ewan Bonham joined us, but alas their horses were too skittish atop the high hill above the lake.

Soon enough it was time to hand the horses over to the stable boys and we all went to wash and change for dinner. Many of the guests slept right through, so I made sure to tell the housemaids to have some food prepared in the larder in case they should awaken late in the night, hungry. Myself, Mr. Bonham, Signore Stern, Ladies Merry and Aphrodite joined me in the dining hall to have a taste, first of some casks of wine my mother sent to me just in time. A lovely claret that we only get in once every 3 or so years, so it was quite the timely treat.

Hungry from our ride, we sat down straight away and enjoyed quite the feast. Oysters and lobster, succulent beef and ham, and sweets to complete the meal. A wonderful compliment to my cook, whom I kept hidden from Lady Merry (who threatened to try to bribe her from my service! The nerve :P ).

Finally satisfied, we all made our way into the gaming room, where Lady Merry read our fortunes. Lady Aphrodite's was very well received. Mine was a bit perplexing, and not just a little bit frightening! And Signore Stern's was enlightening and helpful. Lady Merry was very proficient in explaining the possible meanings of each card!

All in all, a wonderful first night of a house full of guests, and much merriment was had by those of us with a stronger constitution. The others had the constant soothing sound of the rain on the roof and windows to lull them into much needed rest.

I know not what brought me from my sewing to the window. Perhaps it was the constant tapping on the panes; the endless rain of England, beckoning me to watch it paint the landscape in watercolor.

As I stood and gazed upon the beauty of nature's artistry, I noticed that two eyes stared back at me from 'neath the canopy of night. Squinting, leaning forward, nose to glass the eyes stayed true to their target, and as my vision grew accustomed to the darkness, a nose, a mouth, a shock of hair beneath a tri-corn'd hat.

He was revealed to me, little by little, as if a curtain of rain were parting. Strong chin and charcoal eyes, his stature that of health and prosperity.

A lady (barely a woman) should have gasped or run to fetch a footman to interrogate this brash stranger, question his intentions, and inform him that the storm must have put him off his path, advise him that he stood on my grounds, and yet...

My eyes and his were sealed; a key to a lock, not yet turned. He did not smile, nor bow, nor did he make any motion to come forward or retreat, but stood there still. Transfixed.

I cannot tell you how long I stood there, though time seemed to stretch out like an endless bolt of silk coming from a loom, until I felt an overwhelming need to seek him out and ask his name.

I turned, rushing through the hall and entry, and through the front doors, out into the teeming rain and over the foot bridge to where I had seen him. Trying to see where he had gone to as the storm lashed against me, turning my gown to a tight-fitting layer of plaster: a statue standing in the grass, looking upon the spot where he had been, as if upon a sacred object, blinking rapidly against a mixture of the rain and my own tears of disappointment.

Where could he have gone to, so quickly?

I stood stock-still in the pouring rain, seeking out a dream.

My maid ran out, calling my name, holding out a blanket to wrap around my shoulders, and lead me back, as I looked over my shoulder, eyes searching every shadow and finding nothing.

Finally, dressed in my night clothes, I sat before the hearth watching the sparks dance, and then deeper, into the charcoal eyes of the fire.

[Journal entry]

8 June 1773

It has been a week's time since my last entry. So consumed by preparations for my weekend guests, that I have all but abandoned thoughts of detailing my days... until to-night.

My staff have worked tirelessly to see that old beds were brought from the attics, and deliveries have come at least three times this week alone, bringing new feather mattresses, and other supplies necessary for the comfort of my guests. Despite my fatigue, I was awoken early; this time by the cook accepting provisions for the larder. As her menus never disappoint, I shall forgive her for rousing me.

I have earned at least a little more respect from the staff in these preparations; they have become aware that I am quite capable. Yesterday, however, I had a set-back in that progression -and one which pains me. I had hoped to bestow the responsibility of arranging each of the guest quarters to the head house maid. I drew a fairly good diagram of each of the rooms, and detailed where each piece should be set. Upon handing it to her, initially I thought I had provided too much detail (though in cases like this, one should always do too much, than too little) until it dawned upon me. The poor girl could not read. I did my best to cover her shame and replace it with my own, by saying that I had made mistakes, and she was quite right to look at it so oddly. She had a faint expression of relief, but it was mixed with awkwardness and self-consciousness. I have made note of that short-falling in my character, and shall endeavour to commit myself to more forethought in such dealings.

[ The page ends uncharacteristically mid-page, and continues on the next]

Although all of that is necessary to record, and long overdue, it is peripheral in comparison to a discovery that I made.

Such labours took much of my time, and rather than take tea in the garden, I sought refuge in the library. I scanned the titles and finally settled on an old volume, a book of prose, its spine weathered and worn. As I carried it to the chair, something slipped from between the pages and fell to the floor . . . a folded letter. So delicate; yellowed and old. I feared I might shatter the pages like a pane of glass as I opened it. I was in shock that it was addressed to one Robert Chapman, of whom I was told was responsible for the raising of my family from mere merchant caste to nobility. I must relate here, the contents:

Dear Mister Chapman,

I have become acquainted with a mate on your ship The [illegible] who informs me that you or someone you know may be in possession of pages which are of great interest to me. They are written by a dear friend, Anthony Babbington, who has laboured many years on a volume of fiction, and bereft of the pages which you now hold, renders his work nearly useless. As you can well imagine, the re-writing of a book would take more years than a man can hope to live.

I am currently residing at the Rose & Crown pub in Portsmouth, and would very much appreciate if you would bring these missing pages to me at your earliest convenience. For your trouble, I am willing to part with a good sum of silver and with gratitude, would happily recount the plot of the book to you, over a few mugs of ale, should you be interested in such things.

I look forward to receiving word of your acceptance of my offer.

Sincerely,

Edward [illegible]

As I write, I tremble to think what may have become of England, let alone the realization that my very birth would not have occurred should that document have been handed over for a handful of silver and some ale, but what of the letter? Part of me wishes I had never seen it, and so for now, I have replaced it within the volume from which it fell. I shall make arrangements to speak with my father and his wisdom will guide us down the correct path. Should he feel its place is best among the embers of the fire, I shall make this entry its companion.

[Journal entry]

1 June 1773

Two days have passed and still I sleep restlessly, if I sleep at all. My countenance has suffered for it, and I dread sitting before the mirror each day. Katie had commented that perhaps I am suffering from an affliction of some sort. I do not even have the energy to write long, nor paint, nor play a piece. Thus has this lethargy settled in my whole being. I wonder if I shall ever feel the vibrant energies I did before I came to this house...

My dearest wish,
I shall write Mama
Come the morning...

[a series of sentences, begun, crossed out, and abandoned, end the day's entry. No further entry is seen until 3 June]

[Journal entry]

3 June 1773

I have received a parcel from La Rocca. In it is the most wonderful gift from my dear friend Lady Aphrodite Macbain... the gift of sleep! I am almost too exuberant to fully describe the manner of this elixir... such dreams! One moment in gauzy chemise, unabashedly spread in a field of flowers so vibrant, so delicate yet un-crushed, their tendrils and soft blossoms formed to make nature's most fragrant, colorful and exquisite bed. O, and the next, a vivid sunlight, so bright I feared the light would burn my sight away and so fearful was I of missing one single flash of colour... such a riot of hues and shadow! I shall heed my friend's warning that only a small amount of thislaudanum be taken, even though I long to see and lay amongst that field of blossoms once again.

I should be wary of such open admissions and yet I am so giddy for the blessing of a sound and lengthy slumber!

I slept so soundly and so long, I nearly danced down the stair this morning to breakfast, though I was quite long past the set time, and I understand Mrs. Burridge was quite cross with me, but nothing... nothing at all could sour my mood to day! I am taking a turn in the park and will have paper, pen and ink set out on the bench beneath the tree, to write a note in thanks. As the day looks to be quite fine, I shall also set some time aside to select some roses and lavender to make a gift for her in return.

[Journal entry]

31 May 1773

I fear I shall not sleep to night. Though traveling and many tasks should have wearied me, each foreign noise troubles me. The rain has a gentler hand in the northern country... a lusher palette and softer canvas upon which to paint. The droplets here sound so coarse upon the stones.

Three times I have arisen from my bed to investigate an unfamiliar sound, and three times I have felt more foolish. Once, the passing shadow of a wind-whipped branch nearly saw me call out for one of the servants. I have reproached myself for being so childish, and yet I cannot help but feel perhaps too young for the task set before me.

I know that the servants gossip; not even one and twenty, with a station they feel is far beyond my capabilities. I have become aware of the stifled giggles of the maids when I misstep or try to be firm with a clumsy footman. But these things mustn't weigh upon me, for I have made a promise, and I intend to prove to them, and to myself, that I will make a good mistress of this house, and... perhaps someday... a worthwhile and useful wife.

The rain is now starting to ease. There is a change of atmosphere in the patch of trees beyond the walled garden, turning black to dappled golden hues, and I know the dawn cannot be far away. I pray for even an hour's rest, to fortify myself for the day's work ahead.

I have a weekend party arriving in only three weeks, and I must be at my best to assure that everything is in order for their arrival!

To morrow, I shall visit the church and pray for a stronger will and for a foundation of wisdom upon which to build my future.

14 May 1773

Dearest Mama,

The journey to the estate was, as I had imagined, long and arduous but otherwise uneventful. The last of my trunks were brought in by William and James only moments before an absolute deluge of rain.

I would be woeful of the weather, were it not creating the prettiest painting of the garden from my windows. I have arranged my desk so that I might write to you with the garden, and park beyond it as a backdrop, and an inspiration of beauty, rather than to focus on the rigours of travel. So you see, Mama, not all of your lessons went unheeded by your daughter.

The estate is just as you and Papa left it; the staff has been dutiful in restoring the covered contents to their stately beauty, and the grounds keeper has done very well in keeping the park and surrounding land tame and navigable.

I do hope to see you both soon, perhaps in town, once I am settled in as mistress of the house. I must admit it is a very strange thing indeed to be so saddled with this great house and its responsibilities, but I have given you both my word that I will run it well, and so I shall.

Katie is fitting in well with the other maids, and has made herself quite invaluable already. Not one droplet of perfume wasted, nor one hair left unbrushed; all of my gowns have sturdy seams and hook and button are in no peril of coming undone. I thank you for parting with her; I know that it was a sacrifice to do without your personal maid. I will continue to hold her to your high standards and correct any missteps with your patented kindness, should the need arise.

I will write again very soon, and please be sure to give a kiss to my beloved Papa. Until we meet again, I remain your loving and devoted daughter.