23 September 1872, Monday

I have not set pen to paper since long before the birth of my little daughter Octavia Ambar Salmalin. I have made some terrible mistakes and misjudgements over the past few months and now, between the natural resurgence of my normal inquisitive self, a stern talking to from beyond the grave (in the form of Great Aunt Hethelyn), and a just-concluded visit with the Frazers and my dear brother, James I feel much more able to tackle the joys and difficulties I have brought upon myself.

...

I am afraid this record will be much more fractured than in past years, as my darling daughter requires more constant attention than I am accustomed to providing to another human and since Mr Salmalin and I have declined, at this juncture, to employ a nurserymaid of our own, our daughter’s care falls solely to us.

...

Now she is settled for a nap and I should have more than a few minutes between her claims on my attention. For the purposes of a complete, if shortened, narrative I will review the events of this spring and summer.

In April, after Mrs Cuthbert, Miss Botley, Mr O’Flaherty and I finished dealing with the divided souls that the Kahash had left to our care, I made arrangements to stay with Mrs Travers in Snodbury and work with others in doing a throrough inventory of Doverton Abbey. Sir Cosmo and an agent for the LHW office managed to convince the heirs of Sir Robert and Mr Plank that such an inventory would be to their benefit.

I suffered slight interruptions in my (mostly self-appointed) task in the form of summonses from the office of the LHW. In mid-April I was officially questioned regarding my role in the injury to Major Powell. Such questioning, was, as always discomfiting but I drew solace in the knowledge that my actions, combined with those of my inestimable spouse, thwarted an agent of evil from furthering his (or its) plans.

In late May a tribunal was called and Nanny Chigwidgeon, Mrs Cuthbert, the Comte and Comtesse des Brabant, my husband and I were all called to testify. I was found to have acted in self-defence and Major Powell was found not guilty by reason of demonic possession. He was given into the custody of an order of healing monks who must certify his recovery before he will be allowed to return to duty. I still hold that the Major’s own greed with regard to Rimbaldi artifacts was at the heart of the matter, but better cured than dead. He has been given a second chance, I hope he uses it wisely.

Also around that time, we completed the inventory and I returned to London in time for my sister’s presentation to the Queen. All went well on that front, and Betty was immediately deluged with invitations to balls, high tea, and other Suitable Engagements. I was a little alarmed at first, that all the attention might turn her head. I should not have feared, these past two years working with Mother on the Young Mother’s and Infants Programme has given her clear eyes and a level head. When I heard from John, in one of his brief letters, that she was using her new opportunities to rally funds and support for Mother’s pet cause I was surprised, pleased, and quite entertained. It was delightful to imagine the looks on young men’s faces after they had been subjected to a ten minute lecture on the plight of Young Mothers and then asked of open their wallets and hearts to the cause. If nothing else she has found a way to keep much of the riffraff away– those dissipated young men who would rather spend her money than theirs (assuming they have any left).

...

Where was I?

Betty’s coming out signalled the time to make my own plans for my confinement. My proportions were becoming ungainly and I was beginning to draw stares if I appeared in public. I do not know what came over me at this point. I am told women become irrational in the later stages of my condition, but I had hardly expected such a thing to happen to me. After all Mrs Frazer had set a fine example of remaining sensible, determined, active (and quite near Mrs Cuthbert) though the late states of her own pregnancy.

Regardless, I found myself making plans to retreat to Whitnell House to give birth to my first, and possibly only, child among my kith and kin. Before succumbing completely to convention, Mr Salmalin and I did spend a week at my cottage in West Darslon. I tried to remain calm in the face of mounting evidence that I would indeed have to give birth to bring this process to its natural conclusion.. My dear husband was a source of great strength for me and he stayed with me from that point until the birth, three weeks later, of our daughter.

Like being shot with Lieutenant Wooster’s repeating rifle, the experience was both extremely painful and bloody. My Mother told me much later that it was rather more harrowing than could be hoped for. I certainly would not voluntarily go through such an experience again, but for the tremendous reward in the form of Octavia Ambar who is the delight of her father’s eyes and the joy of mine.

...

My joy needed a change of nappies and a snack. Her father has taken her for a walk around the fields, today is a beautiful late-September day with the heavy gold sunlight of Autumn setting the turning leaves afire. The warmth of summer lingers yet, but he days are shortening rapidly.

After Octavia’s birth, I found myself subject to listlessness, crying spells, and a heaviness of spirit that I had never before experienced. Even with all my adventures in the past three years, I had never felt such persistent hopelessness. I was so tired I did not even realize how alarming my dear spouse and family found my condition. Physically I recovered quickly, much more quickly than my Mother or Sisters expected but spiritually I could not seem to regain my footing.

In mid-August I received a letter from Mrs Frazer, inquiring as to my health and hinting that an invitation to visit would be welcome. At that point, I realized that something was terribly wrong with me, for I had not communicated with her, or with any of my friends in the League since Octavia’s birth. Mrs Frazer, Mrs Cuthbert, and Lady Cowperthwaite should have been among the first people I wrote to with details of little Octavia’s every gurgle, but instead I was caught in the quicksand of despair. I had not even noticed that my dear husband had taken advice from Mr Frazer and was making the puffin-face at our daughter whenever she was upset or restless.

To see my solemn, reserved Ravvi screwing up his lips and puffing out his cheeks should have, at the very least, brought a smile to my lips– that I had not even noticed was the last straw in my tolerance for that infernal lethargy.

...

I sent a note to Mrs Frazer, inviting her and the babies to visit us at the Cottage at West Darlson and immediately began making plans to remove our little family to those environs. I sent a telegram to my cousins Major Elliot and Mrs Russell and five days later we found ourselves arriving to their tender embrace. My cousins ferried us to our cottage in their coach and little Eliza got to meet her new cousin.

They left us with a fully stocked pantry and invitations to come to their home as often as we wished.

Not long after our arrival, I performed the ritual that sustains House and was so visited by Great Aunt Hethelyn (as previously mentioned). She took me to task for the amount of ‘moping’ I had been doing but did comment favourably (if acerbically) upon the fact that I was now taking pains to remedy the situation.

I spent time in meditation (when I could, the reality of Octavia could not be denied, nor would I have wanted to, regardless of how deep a meditative state I reached) and while still befuddled, felt my head beginning to clear, as if I had been ill for sometime, and was at last emerging.

A few days after our arrival we were visited by various delegations from the village– with the charge led by my Great-Aunt’s old friend Mrs Dobsin (with young Billy’s help, of course). There are still women who will cut me dead for marrying a ‘foreign infidel’ (never mind that he was born in London) but many have come around– especially now that there is a baby to hold their interest. I did hear a few unkind remarks and noted who made them. My hearing my not be as keen as Mrs Frazer’s, but insults to those I hold most dear I hear with bell-like clarity. I do not believe in cursing or using other malevolent magiks, however, I do wonder if there will ever be a time that they will have a need to come to me for aid– if so, it will certainly be an educational experience, for them, of course.

Mrs Frazer, Violet with Caroline and Robert in tow arrived a week ago. Violet immediately took over care of Octavia– inspecting my child as if I would not know how to care for a baby. She eventually proclaimed our care of our daughter ‘satisfactory’ and one would hardly know she was a young woman by her tone of voice, in that moment she could have passed for Nanny Chigwidgeon!
Mr Frazer had only managed to get Friday off, so he would join us at the end of the week. My original plan had been to give the Frazer’s our room, put Violet and the toddlers in the spare room and have Ravvi and I set up in the living room. Ruth would not hear of it. She had already taken our scanty accommodations into consideration and, when Mr Frazer joined us, it would be with camping gear in hand– they planned to pitch a tent in my backyard.

I gave in to my friend’s plan– especially once she mentioned how the chill Autumn nights would serve to remind her of her honeymoon in Aberdeen in the dead of winter. She then got a fond but determined look in her eye that told me there would be no swaying her from this plan.

In the meantime we had a week to spend together. Mr Salmalin left us to our own devices for much of the time and we sat in the kitchen drinking tea and discussing the various difficulties of being a Lady of Action (as Mrs Frazer named it in her Rational Dress pamphlet) and having children.

I confessed to her some of the fears that had arisen after my daughter’s birth– fears that weighted so heavily on me that I did not recognize them until we began to speak of my unnatural (for me) sadness and anxiety after the birth.

...

My daughter takes after her father in looks. Her hair and eyes are already much darker than any in my family and her skin looks to be much closer to his in colour– though perhaps not quite as dark. She will be beautiful when she is grown, if she continues on this way. However, there will likely be those who will look at her and see, not her father’s handsome features transformed into girlish loveliness, but the half-breed daughter of a servant and a divorcee.

A large part of my fear and helplessness came, I now realize, from my understanding that there is little I can do to insulate my daughter from the legacy her parents had bestowed upon her. I do not regret my marriage to Ravvi. He has brought me joy that I never thought possible after 10 year with Mr Forrester. And now I have a daughter, further joy that I never expected would come to me. But with that joy comes the weight of responsibility and a fierce protectiveness I have only felt before when facing down gods, angels, and evil sorcerers intent on doing harm to my friends.

I want to protect my daughter and was, at first, crushed by the idea that I could not– that there were mean-spirited people who would look down on her and try to fit her into their narrow view of the world. These are the same people who spit in disgust behind my husband’s back (for even they can see that he moves like a tiger and that his footman’s uniform, or tailored suit is no concealment for his true strength).

He may not be built like Mr O’Flaherty, but when he wants, my husband can give off an aura of menace that stops most footpads in their tracks and will cause them to look elsewhere for their low sport. My daughter will not likely have that advantage, but there is much we can teach her and provide her with so she will not become a victim of such people, or their high-ranking counterparts whose weapons are more subtle and more difficult to counter.
At the end of the week, Mr Frazer arrived, tent in hand and he and Mrs Frazer moved into the yard. I saw him in deep discussion with my husband several times during the weekend. Also on Friday, my brother James, fresh from his ‘academic’ tour of the Continent arrived at my cottage on with barely an hour’s notice. There was a bit of difficulty with the telegram he sent. He was a good sport, and rather than bother Major Elliot, James took up residence on our couch (so it was all to the good that the Frazer’s had brought their tent).

We awoke Saturday to the smell of frying bacon. Mr Frazer had decided to cook us dinner over the campfire he had built near their shelter. It was quite tasty, if a little burnt in places and was the first meal I really remember eating with delight since my confinement.

James had some rather startling bruises to explain in the light of day. He and I went of for a tour of the property, and while I restored my wards, he told me a bit of his adventures abroad. He was quite chagrined at having been rescued by one of his rivals– but that was why he was only bruised and not more damaged. We try not to go into much detail about our respective work but it does seem that his is the more difficult and dangerous since he often works alone. Of course, he is much more subtle in his work than I ever could be, and likely more effective as well.

Our guests left us on Sunday. The Frazers and their dependents to return to London and James to return to Scotland to take up his teaching position for another year. I will miss them. However, I will see Mrs Frazer again soon, for I intend to return to duty at Lady Cowperthwaite’s side in early November. She has been most gracious to allow Mr Salmalin to remain with Octavia and me for such an extended time and I will beg her indulgence for a few more weeks, as it would not be entirely fair to saddle Ravvi with all my cares and not then spend time sharing with him, our joy.

I do not know what intelligence has passed between my husband and the Cowperthwaites during my, for lack of a better word, illness, but his presence has been a balm to me, and at long last, I feel invigorated and ready to return...

...

... as much as one can with a child in tow, to my duties!

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