Nine

Greystone Castle

Friday, 24th December 1819

The middle of the bloody night. — Confound it, I still cannot sleep! Having gone down to the kitchen in hopes of settling my stomach, instead I’ve only managed to un settle my mind. What time is it? No, I shall not look. I should rather not know, for daybreak cannot be many hours distant.

Really, upon reflection, I’m inclined to think Jonathan The Ratbag dreadfully inconsiderate! Surely unburdening oneself to one’s former lover at such an hour, and with no regard for said lover’s quality of rest, is quite infamous behavior? Is it not the very height of selfishness? For now I shall continue awake the whole night through, thinking over what I’ve heard and puzzling over what I’ve felt, instead of replenishing myself with much-needed slumber.

What a ghastly toil tomorrow will be! How can I hope to endure the day’s engagements, including our surprise outing? After wasting the night in a wearisome stupor, robbed of even the barest scrap of a wink of sl

Half past six o’clock in the morning. — I fell asleep.

I know you shall pardon me, most wise and merciful Diary, for conscripting your unwitting self as a pillow. Your binding has only slightly split beneath the weight of my head. I shall have you re-bound, of course, along with the new pages and embroidered jacket, just as soon as our guests depart.

I dreamt of Lord M, I think. He was down on bended knee, but instead of proposing he removed his hat and revealed a headful of snakes, like Medusa’s.

So that seems a good omen.

My one bit of luck: the storm has finished. Hallelujah! I fancy dawn shall break clear, though it’s still too dark to tell. I’m crossing all my fingers (except the ones I’m using to write).

I suppose nobody else will be stirring for a while yet. Which suits me just fine; I can use the time to write out my directives and save myself the trouble of rushing about to give them in person. Let me see how many there are…

M. Laurent: His Grace no longer to require special diet (cancel calf’s foot jelly, dry burnt toast, etc)

Mr. Evans: Footmen to disregard cold bath order from Ruby Room (send hot water instead)

Mrs. O’Connor: Ruby Room to require fresh bedclothes (warn maids about smell)

John the Stableman: Upon further consideration, do please put Serenity to harness in place of Chaos

Elizabeth: Where are trousers???

La, what a sad waste of poor Elizabeth’s ingenuity. My sister will be sorely disappointed. To be sure, the entire operation was childish, petty, and mean, but it was also great fun.

How I hate when Jonathan is right!

A quarter to seven in the morning. — And yet, was I not just as right about his childish behavior as he was about mine? Is he not acting awfully naive by pretending his mother into a ghost?

But perhaps I would overstep—were I his wife—to concern myself with the matter. Heaven knows I haven’t any right to scold him in my new capacity as a friend.

I must dwell no more upon it. Especially since I ought to be writing my directives.

Ten minutes to seven. — Though mustn’t it be said that, were I his wife, the matter surely would be a legitimate concern for me?

For I, too, would be obliged to live next door to a ghost—and accept my share in all the attendant nonsense. When word goes round the neighborhood, how would I hold my head up? What would I tell my new neighbors? What would we tell our children? What if they wished to know their grandmother?

And if Jonathan cannot face a quarrel, what of the quarrels that inevitably arise in marriage? Would he shut his eyes to all my little foibles and mistakes until the day I go too far—and become a ghost myself?

Five after seven. — And by-the-by, what did he mean about hearing a hint of my “softening” toward him?

Did Noah write him that I was softening?

I suppose it does not signify, given said softening never occurred .

Ten after. — Though if Noah did write something of the kind, I cannot but take it as further proof that he’s never cared a whit for me.

What motive could prompt him to tell such a lie? Merely desiring a reunion with his friend? Or was he perhaps, in the loss of a high-ranking connection, feeling the blow to his own consequence? Whatever its basis, I can scarcely conceive a more egregious betrayal! It boils my blood!

But I really must get on writing these notes. Others will soon be stirring.

A quarter after. — How I long to confront Noah and learn the truth! Yet I dare not risk a scene with the house full of company. So long as this dratted party continues, I must play the gracious hostess and keep my mouth shut.

Come the end of Christmas, however, he shall have much to answer for!!!

Half past. — Men are a plague. Every last one of them. Hang Noah and his lies, Lord M and his proposal, Jonathan and his…well, existence.

A pox on them all!

A quarter to eight. — Sun is coming up, and it appears to be a rare sunny winter day. Hurrah!

Oh no, voices in the corridor, and my notes yet unwritten! Ahh!

Frantically,

Claire