Today has been exceedingly busy, but for once no fighting was required.

This morning's attempt to capture the Vampires failed, as I rather expected. We arrived at the crack of dawn, but they had obviously cleared out as soon as the sun went down last night.

Numerous of our Allies were already there at the Vampires' flat. Mr Ramsay was in attendance with a contingent of St Jerome's specialists. Mr Frazer and his assistant Turgenov were there as well. I was annoyed that our party was so behind-hand.

The flat had already been scoured of clues, and there was nothing left for me to do. I tried not to be surly. At least I can trust that Mr Frazer will have spotted any clues that I would have.

Between Scrying by the Mystics and corroborating evidence by other witnesses, it is apparent that Count Severin, at least, has left London. The evidence so far consists of two items:

1) the Statement of a carter who was hired to move some "large crates" to the train station. The crates were addressed to Paris.

2) A man matching Count Severin's description was seen on the platform just prior to the departure of a train for Dover. Further police inquiry will reveal whether he was seen actually on the train, and where he disembarked.

I am skeptical...such supposedly old and wily creatures surely know how to lay a false trail.

Still Mr Ramsay has promised to alert his colleagues of the Order to watch for them on the Continent. We will remain vigilant here. What else is there to do?

We returned to Mayfair to resume our normal course of lessons and work. My undirected anxiety and frustration made me very vigorous in my Defence lessons, but not very accurate or focused. Mr Salmalin, still recovering from from his battle Sunday night and not as nimble as usual, had to dodge a wild swing of my arm. He made me sit down and "meditate." I sat, with all the calm I could muster, but all I really did was sulk.

Hindi practise was passable, but hardly scintillating.

We all seem to be rather wrung out. We haven't had a day free of some imminent doom or other for Weeks!

I am quite fed up with trying to save England without anyone the wiser. I don't have much to offer anyhow. I can't be a very effective Tutor, as my charge has remarkable knowledge but no inclination to improve in behaviour. I am not useful as a companion, since no one here is interested in maintaining a semblance of propriety.. I couldn't fight my way out of a damp paper parcel. The only unique thing I have to offer is my common sense, and no-one listens to me anyway. I haven't even done any useful work on my latest paper.

I expect it will be a relief to return home for a time. Sir Cosmo has kindly granted me leave to travel home to Bridgwater for Matthew's funeral and to stay for two weeks.

I am to catch the train on Thursday, which gives me just time to pack a few things, get some suitable clothing, and to arrange lessons for Edward in my absence.

Sir Cosmo has kindly (if firmly) suggested that one of the Footmen travel with me. It will certainly improve my comfort and my sense of security. The League's various enemies would love to capture any one of us to use as a hostage; I could fend off one or two ordinary ruffians, but alone I would be an easy target for a professional villain.

I sent a wire to my Father and Mother warning them of my coming, and asking them to arrange lodging for Stuart. I don't know where we can put him! Mother and Father's little house scarcely has room for Florence, their maid-of-all-work. There's not really much room for me! Oh, well, we'll think of something.

After luncheon, I went to the dressmaker's. I approved the finished plum evening ensemble, which I plan to wear to the Engagement Party. The removable skirt was executed very nicely, and the material should wear well. I also selected some stuff and a pattern for a gown to wear to the wedding. I will have to wait to make a final selection of trims, until I see what I can afford as the day comes closer.

More urgently, I asked the dressmaker to cut and make up a new dress in a rusty black woolen, so I'll have something to wear to the funeral. I've asked her to cut it to the same pattern as my last day-dress, so she'll be able to get most of it together before tomorrow evening. I will have to do the finishing and trimming myself, but I'll have a day before the funeral to do it. I can wear my navy and dark grey until then, since Matthew was not even a first cousin.

I also stopped at the Milliners. I bought an untrimmed black straw and some veiling, which I can put together on the train. I also bought two black-bordered handkerchiefs. Fortunately, I already have black gloves.

Now, I think I must turn my thoughts to planning lessons for Edward during my absence.

Wednesday, 8 June, 1870

I have completed most of my preparations for my journey West. My trunk is packed, my lesson plans are approved, and all is in readiness.

I have but to make this last entry in this volume...I will not take any of these diary pages, as the measures I go to to encrypt and hide them would be cumbersome during a short visit. So, I will write in a normal diary about normal things during my trip. I suppose the whole point of this trip is to experience normalcy for a while.

This morning I met with Sir Cosmo after our Defence lessons to go over the plans for Edward during my absence. Sir Cosmo had the excellent plan of focusing on Edward's Sinkable Boat plans, but discussing them only in French. That should keep Edward interested in that language, at least. Geography may be a problem.

During our interview, I observed Sir Cosmo's new Corresponding Secretary at work in a corner of the Study. He was doing his utmost to be invisible. He seems timid. It remains to be seen if he has the fortitude to work in our midst.

After this, I asked Miss Bertilde to accompany me to purchase a bow and some arrows. I have long been wishing to revive my Archery. My discussions with Mr Ramsay and Miss Whitnell lead me to suspect that untipped wooden shafts might serve as well as the proverbial wooden stake in case I should become reacquainted with my Cousin Peter.

While I am away from Town, I should find ample opportunity to practise without endangering the neighborhood.

Later, after Luncheon, I went out again, this time with Miss Whitnell, to the dressmakers, where I picked up the partly assembled black dress (which was farther along than I would have thought--thank goodness!). We also selected some stuffs and chose a pattern for Miss Whitnell's dress for the Engagement Party. She is also having the removable skirt built into it, and also the very long pocket inside the skirts which can secure her sword in its sheath.

We have all been experimenting with our corsetry, as well. Although real whalebone is very much more flexible, Steel boning can ward off all manner of blows and even the slash of a blade. I suspect that we will each come to our individual preferences. I wonder if any of the gentlemen employs a corset? I would not be so bold as to ask or to suggest it, though.

During our ride top the shops, Miss Whitnell confided some trepidation about the upcoming Tribunal to judge Baron Blackhall. She has been summoned to give testimony, and she is very concerned about being questioned regarding her role in Lady Miranda's present indisposition.

I tried to reassure her, but of course I wasn't there, and I have such a tenuous grasp of these magical matters.

Once we returned to the house, Miss Whitnell invited me to her room, where I selected a few mourning garments she had kindly offered to lend to me. She is taller than I, but mainly in the limbs. Some judicious tucks can make her clothes fit me fairly well. How generous she is! It will help me a great deal.

Just after tea, Inspector MacGregor came to visit. He and Miss Whitnell and I had a very pleasant conversation which featured no crises, murder, or mystical hazards. It was a relief. The Inspector seems to have an unruffled quality which helps pave over some types of conversational awkwardness.

Just after Inspector MacGregor departed, Mr Frazer came, as planned, for our German lesson. I was glad for Miss Whitnell's presence, as I felt unaccountably nervous. I found I had to avoid meeting Mr Frazer's eyes, or I would feel almost faint. As long as we kept our eyes on our books, and maintained the topic of vocabulary and pronunciation, we seemed to be at ease. Miss Whitnell helped bridge the pauses with pertinent questions.

I wonder what this really means.

I have noticed that all of us in the household have been rather on edge, trying to avoid discussing personal subjects, trying to forget the more intimate revelations we were compelled to make in the sway of the singing fits. Perhaps my anxiety is a further manifestation of those unpleasant events.

Now, I must settle in to sleep. I want to be rested for my trip, as I don't want Mother to fuss that I look pinched (though I expect she will still fuss whatever I do).
I received a return wire from my Father, assuring me that I would be met at the train and that accommodations would be found for me and for Stuart.

It will be nice to see Mary and the girls, and Helen. I just wish it weren't a funeral bringing me home.

Thursday, 9 June 1870
(evening)

I have been settled into my childhood home, and everyone else is sleeping.

I arrived here in Bridgwater after a blessedly uneventful train ride, and was met by my Father with my Uncle's carriage. Rather than taking me to the little house where he and Mother now live, he took me to the larger house now occupied by Mary and Edward and their girls.

My nieces have been shifted to my younger sister's house, where they will squeeze in with my littlest niece, Minerva.
This leaves the girls' room, which I once shared with my sisters, to me alone.

Stuart has been relegated to a pallet in the alcove adjoining the front rooms (these rooms serve as the offices of Sinclair and Morris, Solicitors). He will be sharing with my father's junior clerk (one of a seemingly endless series of young apprentices who have all been known as "the boy").

I thought this arrangement mortifying. I offered to pay (I don't know how) to put Stuart up at the Blake's Flag Inn down the road, or to send him home with the plan to return to escort me back in two weeks. Stuart informed me rather stiffly that Sir Cosmo had instructed him to stay nearby, and so he would. He insisted that he would feel perfectly comfortable. I will have to give him a significant gratuity for this!

I was able to complete the trimmings on my black hat on the train. Now I have only to finish the dress. Tomorrow will no doubt see us all together, sewing our crape.

Friday, 10 June, 1870
(afternoon)

So far, I have avoided discussion of how Matthew met his end. I am not sure what to say. I want to be sure that Peter doesn't receive any welcome here, yet I don't want to cause a rift in the family by blaming him outright for Matthew's death.

I will have to ponder this, and perhaps discuss it with my Father before I say anything to anyone else.

As expected, I spent the day sewing, in company with My Mother and sisters and Mary's girls, sewing black borders on our darkest dresses. No one (except me) has the time or the money for a new dress. I feel somewhat conspicuous having acquired something new for the occasion. However, I'm sure that my Father's cousin's household will spare nothing, and this dress is certainly not fine or conspicuous in its own right.

Mother's neighbor Mrs Berringer came by to "offer condolences." Her motive, if I know anything, was to look me over a judge whether my Mother has been exaggerating about my new social set. I did not oblige her prying much, but Stuart put in an appearance with the post. I could see her weighing the significance of a top-notch footman in attendance on me, and how that signified my importance to my employer.

Mother deftly deferred inviting her to tea until after the Funeral. With any luck, I'll manage to be out when she comes.

Mary gave me no end of teasing about my sewing... When we were younger, I used to claim no skill at it, and coax her to do all of my stitchery. Now circumstances have required me do do this for myself for long enough that I am tolerably skilled. She jests that I must have been cheating her all those years ago. I reminded her of how many times I helped her with her lessons and how many times I took her turn in feeding the chickens.

Friday, 10 June, 1870
(evening)

After supper I spent some time with Father, and told him an abbreviated account of Peter's role in Matthew's death. I told him that the police suspect that Peter's debauched friends had quarreled with Matthew and killed him. I said that they weren't sure if Peter was present (or competent) at the time, but that Peter is believed to be still in their company.

I asked his advice as to what to tell Aunt Dorothea or Aunt Louisa Sinclair. He said he would try to broach the subject gently with the father of each cousin and let them decide what to tell the respective mothers. I am not entirely happy with this, but I am sure that if I spoke directly with my Aunts, it would raise very uncomfortable questions.

My Father did me the courtesy of saying although this news made him worry for my safety, he would trust me to behave sensibly and keep myself safe.

Tomorrow we will need to rise early to dress and travel to the neighboring parish for the Funeral. I wish I didn't feel like such a storm-crow, returning on such an ill wind.

Saturday, 11 June, 1870

The funeral went smoothly, no-one had hysterics.

My Uncle Bertram's house was as grand as ever. The meal after was very generous, but perfectly inedible. I had the usual meaningless conversations with my various cousins No-one seemed aware that I had any idea of what happened to Matthew. Since I had not been much in contact with him, they would not think it likely.

During the service, I thought about why I had not spoken to Matthew, since we both were in Town. Of course, he and I were never close, as his family lives somewhat outside Bridgwater and we had never had a carriage. I also had avoided Matthew in previous Seasons in Town because the Mertons and other employers would certainly have disapproved of Connexions with a music-hall player.

Aunt Louisa Sinclair has always been rather socially ambitious, and never seemed to care much for my Father's lowly practice. I always thought it served her right to have her younger son enter such a shiftless profession. Still, her grief today was as fearful as could be.

Sunday, 12 June, 1870

Not an interesting day.

I attended Services with my family. I was reminded of my good fortune in working for an Employer who does not expect me to attend.

I amused myself (much as everyone does, I suppose) by surreptitiously observing my neighbors. It's amazing how some people have changed so little, and others are so very different. How many girls are now wives and mothers of some standing. How much older the Vicar looks. How many women continue to wear the most atrocious hats.

After services, we all gathered at the House, and I helped the girls with their French. Mary has been teaching all of them, but her accent has never been very good.

I also noted that Lenore has a very inquisitive turn, and likes to spend time with her Grandpapa, in the Library. Mother frowns at him and looks meaningfully at me, as if to say, "You see where that sort of learning put Ruth." He pays it no mind though,

Monday, 13 June, 1870

Today I went out to practice my archery. My Mother said "Whatever for?" I couldn't very well tell her. I went anyway.

I discovered that even in these few days away from the routine of the League, I am losing some of my hard-earned strength. I cannot really practise my Defence skills here, though. There is not enough room indoors, and the garden at the house is too open. I feel quite restless.

I also continued to help my nieces with their lessons. I told Mary, with a smile, that I was helping so I could repay her for all the stitchery she did for me when we were young.

We have had several visitors today as well. Mrs Berringer came by, with her vapid younger daughter. A neighbor of Uncle Bertram's (whom we met at the Funeral) came in to town to "consult with Mr Sinclair," but stayed to tea in the parlor. I can only imagine he was fishing for gossip, as he asked me about the Season in Town and numerous questions about who I knew there. Everyone seems to regard a death in the family as an exciting social occasion.

Tuesday, 14 June, 1870

I went for a walk today, with Charlotte and Lenore, with Stuart to escort us. The girls kept up fairly well, despite the fact that they do not get as much exercise as I think healthy. I took my bow, and had a try at some longer-distance shots. I lost one of my arrows in a pond, and forbade Stuart from going in after it.

When we returned (barely in time for Tea), I learned that Mr Bamfield, one of yesterday's visitors, had called again to talk with Father. Father said that he had come to discuss the settling of some of his late wife's property onto his young daughter. Father kept looking at me rather oddly though, as if he wished to tell me more about the business. Of course, his business matters are always handled in strictest confidence, so I cannot know what he meant.

This evening, Father told me he had spoken to Peter's father, his cousin John Sinclair. John had told him that the London Police had been to see him, to tell him that his son was suspected of connivance in Matthew's death.

The Police inspectors had told John that Peter and especially his foreign friends are extremely dangerous &c.
My Father pressed John to give his word to contact the police if Peter should appear, and gave him my story of contagious illness.

My Father could not tell me the names of the police who came. I don't suppose it was anyone I know, or I would surely have received a visit myself.

I still feel restless. I have been reading the papers from London. They say so little to the point that I wonder always what is Really Going On. I feel disconnected from the important matters which I am sure must be transpiring without me.

Wednesday, 15 June, 1870

I was unable to take another long walk today, but I did do some archery practise in the garden. I have a nasty welt on my forearm to prove it!

My Uncle Radcliffe Sinclair and his family called on us and took Mother, Father and myself in their carriage to visit Uncle Bertram and Aunt Louisa Sinclair. We were able to offer condolences more personally than at the Funeral. I told everyone that although I hadn't been able to visit with Matthew, I had heard many people speak very highly of him and of his musical talent. Poor Aunt Louisa became quite watery.

While we were there (we stayed to tea), their neighbour Mr Bamfield came over from his estate. He invited us to call upon him and see his gardens. I thought him rather insensitive, but he obviously meant well. Aunt Louisa and Uncle Bertram seem to think well of him, and were apparently willing to forgive him for being trivial in the face of their Bereavement.

Aunt Louisa's cook has quite a penchant for savoury foods. I discovered with dismay that she had even put salt in the cucumber sandwiches.

Thursday, 16 June, 1870

Another nice walk today. This time Charlotte came but Lenore stayed behind. Charlotte tried out my bow, and has a natural good aim. I think she is already stronger than I, and she has only ten years! I had to remove the outer layer of my skirt and climb a large oak tree to retrieve one of the arrows she shot astray. She was scandalised in a delighted sort of way. I made her swear not to tell her Grandmama, but I'm sure everyone will hear all about it one way or another.

We had just returned when Mr Bamfield came by yet again. I'm afraid I wasn't very attentive to him, since I hadn't had time to change out of my walking clothes, and there was a wretched cocklebur in my stocking. I was no doubt dreadfully flushed from the wind and the exertion. He finally returned to the Front Room to complete his conference with Father.

I received a note from Mrs Cuthbert, saying all was well in Town, and that the House at No. 12 was nearly ready for them to move in. Miss Whitnell came through the tribunal perfectly, and is now en route to her Great-Aunt's cottage with Miss Chigwidgeon and Mr Salmalin. Edward has been pounding as per usual, but has apparently also been working on the Harpsichord project. On the whole, things are well there.

I rather miss it, pounding and all.

Friday, 17 June, 1870

Today has been a vexing day. My Mother found one reason after another to keep me indoors. She insisted that I go with her to call on Mrs Berringer. She asked my help with some entirely routine household accounts.

I had a slight row with Mary over something I told Lenore, and Mary became rather insulting when I suggested that Lenore could benefit from further schooling.

I am restless. I have had a stomach ache since Wednesday, and Mary's housekeeper keeps putting out kippers for breakfast.

I feel so different from my family. I had forgotten how hard it is to conceal myself from the people who should know me best. Perhaps I will feel better if I write some letters to my friends and colleagues in Town...

Saturday, 18 June, 1870
(morning)

I don't know what came over me yesterday. I feel much better today, except that I am in some anxiety about some of the letters I wrote yesterday evening.

While I was lying awake last night, I started thinking about this matter of keeping secrets. I thought about the gross injustice of my career as a Naturalist--all the absurdities I have perpetrated to maintain the glory of the work and the obscurity of the author.

I revisited every decision I have made, every letter written, every connexion cultivated.

I determined to dissolve the obscurity and declare myself. I had half resolved to this course anyway, because of Peter's reappearance. Last night the matter seemed so urgent.

The key steps I planned to begin with:
1) My Father--not only does he respect my intellectual capability, he can advise me about legal ramifications of this course, particularly regarding ownership of the works.

2) Mr Silas Scuddamore--as a typical representative of the Naturalist establishment, his reaction will help me gauge my likely reception by others. Besides, the poor man has been holding on to the Moth paper all this time--I owe him the truth!

But strangely, when I lit the lamp and sat down at the small schoolroom table to write my "confession," my writing came forth addressed to Mr Frazer.

The idea that he might hear of my dubious career through some other (unsympathetic) agent is just too monstrous. Perhaps I flatter myself in thinking that he would care in the least, but I imagine he would feel betrayed by the untruth.

I have read over my account in the light of morning, and it seems well enough. Its only flaw is the essential self-centered quality of it, but that can't be helped.

I have determined to post it and hope for the best.

And now to address my Father...

Saturday, 18 June, 1870
(continued--evening)

My Father was occupied with other business until after luncheon, but he consented to see me privately in his offices in the early afternoon. I cannot say as yet what the outcome there will be, but he listened to me attentively, asked questions about dates of publication and presentation, and asked to be sent copies of the works in question. I suppose he addresses all his clients with this reserve, but I found it unnerving. I had braced myself for some recrimination, or some grudging praise, or some personal response. I received an un-judgemental and pragmatic response and a promise of the best assistance he could render.

Perhaps this is because I put it all to him as a professional, rather than personal matter, that I asked him as a solicitor more than as my Father. Perhaps if we discuss it again in a different setting, he will tell me how he feels. Or perhaps he won't. In any case, I feel relieved to know that Mr Morton Sinclair, the respected Solicitor, will be working to improve my legal circumstances.

After my meeting with my solicitor, I proceeded to go out for a walk. I was accompanied by my sister Helen today. I have seen so little of her. She was just 16 when I left to take up my post with the Perlebridges. Now here she is, a married woman with a young daughter. She is still the reserved lady she always was. Her manners are gentle and impeccable, her voice is soft. Yet, I have always known that she is very intelligent, and that her eyes see everything. I can see it in her like the shimmer at the surface of still-seeming, fast-running water. I think she learned from my bad example not to display her opinion, and she lacks my stubborn, shrewish disposition. Her daughter, Minerva, shows signs of growing up much like her, and indeed our niece Lenore as well. She seems ready to be happy.

I know her husband, Mr Gerald Davies, a little. His father owned the most successful Inn in Bridgwater. Since the death (some 6 years ago) of Mr Davies' older brother, my brother-in-law took to running the business for his ailing father. Then, when his father also passed on, he was well situated to manage the business well.

He has the good sense to allow his clever wife to help him with business decisions. Now he owns several buildings in the same area, and is part owner in one of the more successful Livery stables. Anyhow, he is amiable, a good father, and far more prosperous that he was expected to be when Helen married him. He is not as clever as his wife, but he is unusually content to let her advise him.

On my long stroll with Helen, we roamed all about the town and saw what had changed (so much!) during my absence. Many of the older shops had closed down, and much of the wealth of the town has moved to other ports, but there are still some good farms in the neighborhood, and the brick works, and the shopkeepers still have one another to sell to.

We had to return home to Mary's before we had exhausted our conversation, since Helen wanted to return in time to take tea together with the girls. Besides, it was rather hot, and the streets of the town were less than refreshing.

Supper was tolerable, in small quantity anyhow. Mother and Father have come over to play cards with Mary and Edward. I think I'll do some sketching.

Sunday, 19 June, 1870

Today was an unmitigated bore.

Monday, 20 June, 1870

This morning Edward passed me the newspaper from Saturday last, pointing out mention of Sir Cosmo. He has apparently been appointed permanently as Royal Commissioner for Scientific Expeditions Abroad. The paper made little of it, but Edward and the rest of my family were impressed.

Helen invited me to go riding with her and all three nieces. Since her Husband keeps a Livery stable, she has plenty of access to horses, provided they are not all hired out. The girls each have a pony, and the family rides often. "We must keep the animals in good condition, after all," Helen says with a delicate smile. I begged to be given a sedate and aged mare-- I have not ridden since we visited the Scarisbrick estate, and that was rather hair-raising.

It was a pleasant day, and we rode some way out of town. Stuart proves to be a satisfactory horseman in addition to his other qualities--even Minerva rides too fast to be accompanied by a man afoot, so my brother Mr Davies provided him a suitable mount. Mr Davies stayed behind to attend his business.

The only drawback of the day was that my Mother got wind of my tree-climbing adventure of Thursday last, (Charlotte was very sorry for letting it slip in front of Grandmama). She rebuked me thoroughly for hoydenish behaviour likely to disgrace the entire family, and for influencing my nieces to unladylike pursuits. She said, "You aren't going to become another Lady Crystabella, so perhaps you should behave more ladylike!" This was a disparagement not only of me, but of a famous and brave lady of Bridgwater's past. I almost said more than I should about fighting for the good of the nation and the Sovereign. Instead, I left the room, and I didn't slam the door.

Tuesday, 21 June, 1870

Today Mother apologized for being rude. She said she just wants me to make a good impression. I said, to mollify her, that no one other than Charlotte could see me, and that I am always careful of my reputation. I did not say, "oh, don't worry, I do this sort of thing all the time," which is closer to the truth, but would hardly comfort her.

In happier news, I received a letter, well, more of a note, from Mr Frazer. It was perfectly cordial, with no indication of pique or remonstrance. It's always so hard to tell what people are really thinking, though, when they write a formal and polite letter.

At least Mr Frazer did not seem discomposed the first time he saw me climb a building. In that regard, he understands me far better than my own Mother does.

Today I helped with the girls' lessons again. They are picking up French fairly well. I asked Mary if I should not give them a little Latin, and she said, "Heavens, Whatever for?" We returned to our French. I taught them a little Latin anyway, just to help them remember some of the French words.

They also coaxed me into helping them make some silk flowers for their bonnets. Now that they know I can sew, I am quite the novelty, especially since I've seen what's in London this Season.

Mrs Berringer came to tea and saw us at it. She wouldn't be dissuaded from bringing her daughter over so we could all sit and make them together. I was tempted to start talking about the techniques of dissecting salamanders, just to dislodge them. I refrained, so don't let my Mother say that I have no discretion.

Wednesday, 22 June, 1870

Another good day for a walk. I wouldn't let anyone dissuade me. When Charlotte spotted me unobtrusively passing my bow and quiver to Stuart, she immediately asked if she might come too. She didn't give away the game, so I allowed her to join me. We held a friendly Archery contest... we were fairly well matched for distance, but I have the advantage in accuracy as yet.

We brought a little picnic of bread, cheese, and cold chicken. It was delightful! It began to get cool by the afternoon though, and tonight we have rain.

Father received an invitation to a dinner party from one of the Barristers in the area, but fortunately we could decline it due to the recent death in the family.

Thursday, 23 June, 1870

Today I received another note from Mrs Cuthbert, kindly apprising me of the news from Charles Street.
--She and her uncle have been settling in to the new house this past week.
--Sir Cosmo's business partner, Mr Ichabod Balderstoke, is in London on business and staying at Sir Cosmo's house.
--Today the Cuthbert and Cowperthwaite parties will each be attending the Derby at Epsom Downs.
--Edward is still clanging away, but with more quiet interludes.

I also read in Wednesday's newspaper that there is rather a shakeup in France, with that ridiculous Emperor of theirs appointing himself "Supreme Marshall." Come now, is "Emperor" not sufficiently grand? I noticed the story largely because it mentioned that Admiral LeCoq had been removed from the position and sent to Sicily. Is he in disfavor? Hard to be sure, really.

It's strange how news of foreign lands becomes more interesting when you know about the people involved. I have never cared a fig for news of the Continent, but now I read with a scowl on my face as if it matters to me. Father asked what interested me so, but Mother diverted the question by scolding me for causing wrinkles in my forehead.

We had no visitors of note, except that Edward and Father had several clients to see, but they don't usually come to the back section of the house.

We dined at Helen's house. The food was not bad, They must have kept the best of the cooks for their own kitchen instead of the Inn.

Tomorrow we go to the house of my uncle Radcliffe Sinclair for tea. Then in the evening I will have to pack up my things for the trip back to London.

Friday, 24 June

Today during our visit to Uncle Radcliffe Sinclair's house, my Father went aside with my uncle for a time to discuss "a weighty matter."

Father later told me of the conversation, since he knew, as others did not, of my concern with the subject. Uncle Radcliffe Sinclair told my father that their cousin John Sinclair had come to him with a warning about Peter. Since Uncle Radcliffe's son Douglas Sinclair had already met up with Peter on the Continent, there might be danger to him, and he should be warned.

John Sinclair also apparently went to his elder brother Bertram Sinclair to apologise. His reported words (fourth hand, mind you): "Although my son Peter has been for some time estranged from us, I still feel painfully responsible for his conduct. Although we don't know precisely what occured to cause Matthew's death, please know that I view Peter's actions as unconscionable. If there is any poor thing I can do in recompense for this evil, you have but to ask.

This apparently occasioned great emotion all around, but my Father could not offer a prediction about the ultimate effect on the Sinclair family.

This evening, my Mother joined me to help me pack my things for my return journey (which means that she sat exactly in my way and talked to me while I worked).

She asked if I would not consider staying home. "All our family is more prosperous than when you left. You could live right here in perfect comfort."

I replied that although Charlotte and Lenore had been kind enough to let me use their room for this short visit, they would surely not appreciate permanent displacement.

"I'm sure you would find an establishment of your own soon..." (and here she became somewhat flustered-- I'm sure she hadn't thought this all out). "Your sisters could use your help in teaching your nieces."

"Mary has already indicated that she doesn't appreciate the value of much of my knowledge, as have you yourself. It's one thing for me to limit myself to teaching needlework and comportment to other people's daughters, but I could never tolerate the under-utilisation of my own nieces' intelligence. It would only cause a row. Besides, I have important work and a good, comfortable position in Sir Cosmo's household. Everything here is running along smoothly without me."

Mother continued trying to wheedle me into staying, or returning permanently as soon as possible. I suppose it is de rigeur for Mothers to do this to their wandering offspring. The converstion certainly helped me clarify in my own mind how much greater my opportunities and usefulness are with my colleagues in London.

I will miss my family, but I could never stand to come back to this narrow existence.

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