Today is the 8th, dear diary. There's not much else to say, really. I recently heard the clock strike 11 o'clock, and that's about the most that has happened all day.
Father came home yesterday- his steps uneven and words slurred. He barely even gave me a second glance after he greeted everyone, not that I'm complaining. I've long since stopped trying to get him off the drink, and I wish not for another hit. He is a loving, caring father, do believe the truth which I speak, he just has his own demons to battle and that's perfectly understandable, even if he does sometimes snap and yell some harsh words. Father spends most of his time with Sir Pennyworth, as they are old friends. I believe that Sir Pennyworth even mentioned my mother at one point before my father quickly changed the subject- maybe he knew her?
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It's 2 o'clock now, and I have just escaped a rather horrid and forced conversation with Richard, the younger son of the Pennyworth family who's mother seems set on courting me. She is a forceful but kind woman, who seems to stop at nothing to try to get the two of us together. As expected it was she who sent her son over to speak with me just half an hour ago, and this time I had no chance of escaping it.
"The weather is fine today," He began, his usual grating voice interrupting my thoughts about dodo birds.
I nodded in reply, "Indeed it is." I then fell silent, wanting nothing more than for him to merely walk away or go torment some other unfortunate soul with his boring subjects and irritating tones, but I was not so lucky. He continued talking.
"The wind is rather chilly, though," He said, and I noticed that his mother was giving him a look. After that his natural, sour expression twisted into what I think was supposed to be a smile. I smiled back, but only to be polite.
"Yes, it is," I replied, falling silent once again.
Nothing more can truly be said- it was a forced, seemingly endless conversation with a vile young man that I'm sure will be just another gentleman that gambles away his fortune and expects his treasury to never end- oh how the future will be cruel to those such as him.
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Whilst practicing 'the Maiden's Prayer' on the parlor's rather splendid pianoforte I received a gift I had never expected to receive in all my life- a beautiful batch of red poppy's with a sprinkle of yellow acacia's and white clover's added in. A strange batch, to be sure, but I was flattered nonetheless. With the flowers came a box of strawberries and a note which I here copy down-
"Dearest Jane Elliot,
I do hope that this batch of wild flowers are to your liking, I bought them as fresh as they would come in a city such as this.
I would also like to offer an invitation for Lady Wakefield, your father, and you, of course, to join me and a friend for tea tomorrow afternoon at my apartment.
I do hope you will consider accepting the offer and enjoy the rest of your stay with the Pennyworth's.
Yours, sir Willoughby Radcliffe
PS: I also bought some wild strawberries as I remember long ago how much you liked them as a child, I hope you still do."
What am I to think of this, dear diary? Do I speak of this to my father? Oh yes, I must. But what of my dear aunt? She is so protective I dare say she might flat out refuse the offer. Would that be something I'm happy with or do I want to meet him again? My head is so full of conflicting thoughts and emotions I feel as though it may burst and leave me to die alone.
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I just asked my dear aunt if we would accept the offer, and she did agree to it saying, and I quote, it isn't wise to turn down a respectable gentleman who is in such close friendship with the family. So, as you can clearly see, tomorrow I shall meet sir Radcliffe again. I shall see his home, his possessions, and how he treats his servants. It would truly be a definitive afternoon on what my opinion of him shall become. For now I am uncertain and slightly afraid.
It's strange... I'm never afraid when I somehow manage to see the apparition that is my Thomas. Oh dear, should I even call him mine? Is he all in my imagination? Things here seem so dull and lifeless, while with him the pull of true death and mystery just makes me feel more alive than ever. Just a glimpse of his dark, enticing eyes seems to bring a new breath of life into me each time I'm lucky enough to be able to catch the rare sight.
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On another note- Philip, the tea boy which sweet Elizabeth is so transfixed on, seemed so strange and absent-minded after dinner that he was exclaimed at by Sir Pennyworth and taken to be punished by his superior, the butler. Seems the treatment which these servants are forced to endure is much different than the treatment I make sure ours get at home. But, as I've been told many times before by many different people, and I quote, if it is God's will it shall be done.
God help me for saying this, but I disagree wholeheartedly.
YOU ARE READING
The Secret Diary of Jane Elliot
RomanceJane Elliot was the young daughter of a wealthy gentleman in Victorian era England. In 1851 she began to write a secret diary. A diary that has survived to this very day. She was married to a man she did not love, she got sent to an asylum, fe...
