Tuesday 13th September 1811

Dear Diary,
My vengeful actions have returned to haunt me!
The afternoon brought a tearful Mrs Crutchlow to my threshold.
She had been a reluctant ally in the presentation of the additional ingredient upon Cain's Sunday lunch platter.
"Oh, Mr Austen," she wept," I no longer work at the Grange."
"You have been dismissed?" I asked, aghast.
"Oh no!" She sobbed, "I have departed  of my own accord. I cannot work in that kitchen again whilst your brother is under that roof. He has been nothing if not nasty and rude towards me since Sunday and I shall not stand for it."
I was full of remorse.
"I shall, at once, make haste to the Grange and confess my part in this matter." 
"You are indeed a gentleman," said Mrs Crutchlow, drying her tears, "but my mind is made up. Your brother is a prick."
"Prig," I corrected.
"No, he is a prick!" She said determinedly.
"Then you shall grace my kitchen." I smiled.
"Oh no! Mr Austen, I did not come here to seek employment."
"No matter, I insist and shall be glad of it and perhaps on occasion, " I rubbed my hands in glee, " you will allow me to knead your baps!"