14 November, 1784
Rocca Sorrentina

My mind is much relieved. I never would have believed it possible, but I think I can be quite pleased with what lays ahead for Gabriel and myself. Of course, it is still possible I have reached a false conclusion regarding my current condition, but all the signs are there, as they have been in the past, and one important sign is not present as it normally should have been with some regularity. Of course, it would have been nice to have my suspicions confirmed by the village physician but I am starting to believe that the man must drink a little (or possibly a great deal). How else can one explain his office and shop left standing open day in and day out and, yet, him nowhere to be found. If he were located some place other than this small island village, the apothecary would no doubt have been robbed! It is only the insular nature of this community that protects one who seems to have no interest in protecting his own business.

You may wonder what has given me such relief in the absence of medical attention. It was a consultation with a woman of this place, a Lady Emira. Well, actually, I do not know if she can be properly called Lady, but she most certainly behaved as one in my presence. so that is enough to warrant the title. Lady Emira is one who reads the tarot. Oh I know! You no doubt think of that art as gobbledygook and you are welcome to your opinion, but I assure you Lady Emira is no charlatan claiming to predict the future. What she does with the cards is more akin to what a painter does when he shows you the inside of your own heart on canvas. I spent but an hour in this lady's company and found that I am most anxious for another child, this one born of real love between its parents. Until the cards asked me just the right questions, I was not sure that, at this stage in life, I could be happily accepting of such a condition. Now, I am prepared to embrace a son or daughter in loving arms.

Of course, it will be months before the happy day. Between now and then, I must wait and be wary of anything that might put this child at risk. And, of course, I will not tell Gabriel the news until the news is more obviously clear. Then it will not require my telling at all, I suspect. That will be some months still. In the meantime, I will keep this secret and support Gabriel in the many professional opportunities that have come his way since our arrival in Italy.

Now, since it is obvious the local physician will be of no use to me whatsoever, I must seek the counsel of a female healer. How does one find such a woman? Having lived at the very heart of civilization until now, I really have no idea how one procures these necessary services in so... rustic ... a world as this one.

10 November, 1784

Rocca Sorrentina,

My dearest Love, Master of My Heart and Mind,

I write to you bereft. Though you have not yet been gone from here even twenty-four hours, I find myself suffering as though you were lost to me forever. I do hope you have arrived safely in Genoa and will soon be well in your lodgings in Milan. So kind of the maestro to offer you rooms there. You will make a splendid Guglielmo and I look forward in strutting in pride as the wife of the much praised basso, Gabriel Piozzi! I will, of course, be present when you sing this role for the first time.

Although I miss you terribly, I am not without distractions in your absence. I have made an appointment to meet withEmira Xiamara, one of the band of gypsies in residence on this island. Yes, I know this is quite out of character for me. I assure you I will not be abducted or swindled. I seek just one conversation with this woman. She is a fortune-teller of some great skill, I am told. I would very much like to know a little bit of the future. Having reason to believe you and I are in for a happy surprise, I would like some input from one who can see what lies ahead. After I have spoken with her, I will have another appointment to keep. This one with another woman of this island. Between the two, I will learn enough to feel confident in sharing what they tell me with you. my love.

For now, know that you are deeply missed and that I will be at your side in a few week's time. Please write to me every night after your dinner and every noon before you take to the theater to rehearse. I shall sleep with your ring clutched to my bosom.

Truly and devotedly, your wife,

Hester

1784, 30 October

It cannot possibly be as I fear. Yes, Gabriel and I are newlyweds, but still! Surely, I am far too old for such concerns. Gabriel insists that I see the local doctor. I have heard the man is quite learned, but one has to wonder what qualifies for learning on an island ... in Italy. I sought out this doctor today at Gabriel's urging. The man, someone named Greymoon, was not in and there was no one about to take a message. I suppose I can return later in the day. Or tomorrow. Maybe next week.

1786, October 26

And to think there was a time after the incidents with those two men whose names will not here be mentioned again, the departure for Italy of my friend, Hester, and the loss of dear Dr. Johnson, when I believed I might become a recluse! Now, I find myself traveling! And not just traveling as an English citizen but in the company of Their Royal Majesties Themselves! Today, we arrive at The Isle of Glytton, home of the infamous Lady Freda Frostbite Thane. The King has come here to take the waters and we will be in residence for quite some time. I do hope life on an island in the channel is somewhat calmer than life at Windsor and Kew. Perhaps I can attend to my own work, which seems to be have been completely abandoned since I joined the court of George and Charlotte earlier this year! Perhaps there will even be time for more conversations with Col. Digby. Or am I being a ninny once again? I suppose only time will tell.

Fanny Burney arrives at Frostbite Lodge on the Isle of Glytton.

1785, 23 November

Dearest and Most Treasured of Friends, Lorsagne,

It has been so long since I have seen your face and heard your laugh, somehow both lilting and wry at the same instance. I do hope all is well with you and yours. As well at least as it possibly can be under the current conditions. I assume you have managed to keep in touch with your father even as he is moved willy nilly from place to place. I hope also that you are in touch with friends and loved ones closer to you than I can be at this time. I know how I have grieved for lack of regular visitations with you and can only imagine how hard things must be for you out there in the world fending for yourself alone. I at least have Father and my brothers and sisters to depend on. Of course, I miss Dr. Johnson fiercely, it being almost a year since his passing. I am so grateful to Father for encouraging my return to England in time to see that dear man a few more times before his passing.

Speaking of friends-- It seems I am to Christmas at Windsor. Mrs. Delany, that dear old lady I mentioned meeting some months ago, has been given a grace-and-favor house by King George and Queen Charlotte. She seems to have settled nicely into her new home and greatly enjoys her life at court. Of course, as she points out to me, her house is not within the castle proper, so she is able to keep herself at comfortable distance from the pressures and activity of life within. The lady works at her art, which really is quite impressive. I hope to be at least one third as industrious in my old age as Mary Delany is in hers!

I was somewhat hesitant about visiting Windsor at all and even more so about missing Christmas on St. Martins Street. Father prevailed upon me to accept this opportunity as he hopes to be introduced to the King. It seems the King's master of music, whatever the man's proper title might be, has resigned and Father has great hopes of receiving the appointment himself. As Father will be present for part of the holiday, I will manage to be brave and will try to enjoy myself at Windsor. I know, you probably think me silly for not wanting to go. I know my sisters and father and Motherdear think me a fool. Well, maybe I am.

And now I will prove what a fool I am by asking if you have had any encounter with one Henri Badeau since last we spoke of him more than a year ago. Has he proven himself the scoundrel he appeared to be then?

I do hope we are able to see one another again. Letters are appreciative but not at all a substitute for face to face presence. You have my undying devotion,

Fanny

1784, 20 October

Home! I nearly fell to the ground and wept, so overcome was I with the emotion of a return to England after so many months abroad. Father, who traveled with me, had to steady my knees and my nerve by taking hold my arm as we disembarked the ship at Dover. Having never left England before, I had never before experienced the glorious return to my homeland. I had not expected the many powerful emotions that washed over me as we stepped onto English soil.

Of course, I recall all the reasons I fled home nearly a year ago. But those reasons seem small in comparison to the gut wrenching lurch of longing I felt when father suggested it might be time to head back to the place of my origins and the family that loves me.

Oh the joy, the sheer unblemished joy I experienced upon seeing our home On St. Martin's Street! I knew at once that home was precisely where I most needed to be. Nothing here has changed one iota since I walked out the front door that sad morning last winter. Mama dearest is the same as ever, as are her spawn. Of course my dear sisters were here to greet me and they are as loving as ever. Father is still the gay charmer, flitting about town, sharing his talents and expertise. I have not had the pleasure of running into Mr. Cambridge and that is good, I think. I am not at all sure I'm ready to face that particular pain, particularly with the pain of Mr. Lt. Badeau still gnawing at my soul. Luckily, I am unlikely to run into him in England. George is another story. Or at least he could be. For that reason, I will not avoid him but will also not seek him out.

Of course, my first foray out of St. Martins St. will actually take me out of London. Though I yearn to stay here indefinitely, I yearn even more to see Dr. Johnson who is currently in Oxford with his friend, Boswell. I understand he is not well, the surgery for gout having left him rather weaker than before. I hope I can persuade him to come home to London where he is sure to receive finer medical care and where his many friends can visit regularly.

And now I must close this diary and face the dragonette (Mother Dear ) in her lair. She insists that I take tea with her and Sarah. I'm sure it will be an occasion to remember for the ages.

1784, 14 October

My most beloved friend and sister, Susan,

I write to you from la dolce, Roma, where I have passed several pleasant days in the company of our dear father. He is understandably pleased with himself on the occasion of this commission from the Vatican. Father has completed the composition, which is to be premiered during Passion Week in the papal chapel, and is, as I write, presenting the work to the Vatican direttore di musica. I have heard it played and am sure it will be enthusiastically accepted and do not see how such a success could not lead to more success. I know you are as proud of father as I am. I wonder if his dear wife is as impressed. I will not complain of her absence here, but have to wonder why she chose not to accompany her husband on so important a mission, to be at his side as he achieves one of his life's greatest goals. Oh I know, she is not well. I still wonder about her choice.

Father and I will begin the journey home tomorrow morning. We'll travel over land via Genoa. From there, we'll travel to Geneva. We'll cross the channel at Calais and be in London three days later. Our velocity will be dependent upon the availability of coach seats at each stop along the way. I believe, under the typical circumstances, you can expect us home in two weeks time.

Along with this letter, I am posting a drawing I purchased from a woman I met here in Rome. She is an Englishwoman, named Frostbite. Lady Frostbite is a countess and lives alone on Glytton Isle, her husband having died some years ago. She is rather a talented artist, as you will see. When I saw that she had sketched The Trevi Fountain, which I had visited with father that very day, I just had to possess the work. I know you saw the fountain when last you were in Rome, playing your harp. I know you praised it at the time, but really had no idea how perfectly grand it is until I saw it with my own eyes. I will see to framing the sketch upon my return home. In the meantime, please keep it safe for me.

I look forward to our reunion, dear sister! It has been so very long since I saw your lovely face and embraced you in adoration.

My best to your devoted husband and family.

Your most loyal sister,

Fanny

P.S. In your most recent correspondence, you asked after Lt. Henri Badeau. Let us just say that I am happier not thinking too much of that traitorous man. That story will keep until I can sit at your feet and lay my head upon your knee. And now to post this letter and accompanying package!

14 October 1784

Rocca Sorrentina, Italy

Gabriel and I arrived by boat three days since. The journey was exhausting and already I am abandoned by my spouse. He is off to Milan where there is to be a new opera house. Gabriel hopes to find employment there. Given the difficulties of travel and the availability of a fine room here at the Villa Vesuviana, we decided it would be better for me to take respite from the journey. Gabriel will send for me if it seems he will be in Milan more than a few short weeks or he will return here himself if there is nothing to keep him in that city.

Irony of ironies, my rooms here were most recently occupied by my old "friend," Frances Burney, that ungrateful woman still living the life of an ingenue well past its appropriate time. I am told she was here for some many months and made friends in the community, most notably a daughter of the infamous Marquis de Sade. I too am acquainted with Lorsagne and have to wonder how one so sophisticated can tolerate the silliness of the child-woman. Perhaps Miss Burney has at last learned to better appreciate the attentions of her betters? I never understood how our dear Dr. Johnson could bear to be so frequently in her company. And then there is Samuel Crisp. The bond between that man and the novelist is equally inexplicable to me.

Nevertheless, the rooms here are lovely and the grounds are exquisite. Today, after taking tea-- one assumes the staff of such an estate will know how to brew a proper pot of tea -- I plan to explore the village. I am told there are several dress shops. I suppose it is too much to expect elegance here on an island so far from even Italian civilization, such as it is. But one makes do with what is available.

The newlywed Mrs. Piozzi takes tea at Villa Vesuviana in Italy.