Tuesday 25th December 1807

Dear Diary,

Christmas in the bosom of one's family is a great joy, but I fear when it includes Mrs Norris's bosom also, it is a bosom too far. I expect many a young lady would have been happy to wake up this morning with a small portion of the bosom that woman greedily possesses. It is a great shame and mystery to me why that awful pug that is permanently clasped to her breast, is not suffocated. She remained in her room yesterday and did not take part in the searching for, collection and lighting of the Yule log. She did not even accompany us to the Chapel to attend the Midnight service. Miss Lott was upon the Parson's organ and I surmise it was she who I overheard practising last week.

Mrs Norris ventured down this morning as we gathered around the tree to exchange gifts. Her nose was still quite swollen from the goose attack, and I do declare my gift of a lace handkerchief was a joyous and delightfully inappropriate gift under the circumstances. Not even her gift of hand knitted stockings, (and I trust it was not by her hand), could dampen the glow I felt inside. Mrs Crutchlow lay on a magnificent feast, although Mrs Norris did not partake of the goose. I write now upon my bed and I ache from mastication. My final thoughts of the day are of Mr Fairweather, wherever and whoever he is with. I hope he has had a Happy Christmas and can only hope that his final thoughts might be of me.

Sunday 23rd December 1807

Dear Diary,
I have had an early Christmas present sent by the happy and joyous fates who have smiled down on me today. I rose reluctantly and descended to face a day in close proximity to Mrs Norris and her rodent. By noon my face was aching through maintaining a fixed smile whenever she discovered my various hiding places. I am certain there is Blood Hound blood in her and I can only surmise as to how it got there. Whilst she was "entertaining" me, this afternoon, with her thrilling tales of ' Cushions I have embroidered', we espied Titty Clamp approaching up the drive, fetching the goose for the Christmas feast. Mrs Norris was keen to examine it at close quarters and so we ventured into the Scullery. Mrs Crutchlow bristled as Mrs Norris swept in and I noticed she tightened her grip on the cleaver she was brandishing. Mrs Norris approached the bird lying limply upon the table top and prodded it's breast and let out a disappointed tut! I cannot say whether it was the prod, the tut or the bark of the beast clutched to Mrs Norris's expansive breast that did it, but at that moment, to everyone's amazement, the bird came to life and began to flap frantically. Mrs Norris stepped back with a scream , flinging her arms wide and I saw the pug fly through the air and land in a large pot of onion soup upon the stove. The bird had regained it's feet and flew at Mrs Norris and latched onto her nose with it's beak. I have never heard such a commotion, Mrs Norris's screams, the yelps of her pug swimming in the pot, the goose and a variety of new and interesting words that emanated from Mrs Crutchlow's direction. At that moment the outside door opened and Ned stepped in upon the scene. He quickly jumped back out closely pursued by Mrs Norris, who had seen a means of escape, and the angry goose and then Mrs Crutchlow and her cleaver. How I have laughed since at the sight of Mrs Norris, skirts hitched up hobbling across the lawn being chased by the goose and Mrs Crutchlow with a cleaver. They passed poor Titty, returning home, who stood aghast at the sight. The evening has been dull in comparison, and Fanny, Jane and I have had to avoid each others gaze for fear of erupting into raucous tittering. Mrs Norris is retired to her room and Mother is comforting her. The Pug is abed also and as subdued as I have ever seen it. The goose is plucked and hanging in the larder. There was no soup at dinner.

Saturday 22nd December 1807

Dear Diary,
We are returned from Netherton. Such an eve of thespic delights, the costumes, the scenery and the smell of grease paint, all brought back my desire to tread the boards myself once more. My Dick (Whittington) is legendary in these parts and is oft talked of amongst those who have been lucky enough to see it. I was able to acquaint my family with Mr Ashforth's Goolies who were also in attendance. Father had booked rooms at the Inn for the night but I scarcely slept due to all the unfamiliar creaks and groans that ensued throughout the night. I shall have to have to retire earlier tonight in compensation. The weather has turned milder and the frost that has been ever present this past week has thawed. As I sit now, I am watching a Robin on the ivy outside my window. He is singing a merry tune and no doubt overjoyed himself that the frost has gone....oh, he is away, panicked by the approach of a carriage. Heaven help us, Mrs Norris is come!

Friday 21st December 1807

Dear Diary,
I am quite moist with excitement and anticipation. Mother and Father have surprised us with tickets to see some travelling Thespians in Netherton. We are to leave this afternoon and return tomorrow. Adieu.

Thursday 20th December 1807

Dear Diary,
I remained abed for much of the morn and took great pleasure from my indolence. When I finally arose, I went to my water closet to refresh myself and returned to my bedchamber removing my nightshirt as I went. It was only when it was completely off that I noticed the face peering in at my casement window. It transpired that Father had asked a fellow from the village to clean the windows. I know not, who was the more surprised, but I saw the fellow trying hard to suppress a smirk as he looked askance. Later this afternoon, whilst out taking some air, I became aware of the unmistakable sound of someone tinkering with the Parson's organ as I approached the Chapel through the naked trees. I was not aware he was so free with his instrument and my dander was up. I contemplated sneaking through the vestry to peek upon the instrumentalist but returned home and found solace in Mrs Crutchlow's larder.

Wednesday 19th December 1807

Dear Diary,
I thought I was going to have to forego my weekly practice upon the Parson's organ as Ned informed me, after breakfast, that Farmer Clamp had asked him to assist in, dare I write it, inseminating a couple of ewes and he was unavailable for pumping. I was quite melancholy at the news but by some great fortune I chanced upon Mr Fairweather in the woods, whilst I was exercising Father's Willie. He was glad to pump whilst my fingers made merry and indeed Mr Fairweather said he had never seen such nimble fingers or seen an organ played so. I must confess it was not only my chest that swelled with pride but my head also. I did not think it appropriate for Willie to accompany us into church. I am sure The Lord loves all his creatures great and small but I doubt he would be amused if a small creature urinated by his altar, thus I tied Father's Willie to a gravestone outside. ( No one of note, I might add, just some old fellow from Cobbler's Bottom who died of the plague). Imagine then, if you may, my great consternation when we emerged to find Father's Willie vanished with nought but a steaming cluster of dottles to show he had been there. For a moment I felt quite faint but Mr Fairweather girded his magnificent loins and set off following the puppy's tracks which were faintly visible upon the frosty ground. We had not gone far when we came upon Farmer Clamp's daughter Titty, and there was Father's Willie nestled at her breast. It was a great relief and I thanked her most kindly. Mr Fairweather could not accompany me back to the Grange and so I alone, enjoyed Mrs Crutchlow's hot muffins. Such a day! I feel quite exhausted at the drama of it.

Tuesday 18th December 1807

Dear Diary,
How festive the house is looking and Mrs Crutchlow is busy most of the day creating all manner of sumptuous seasonal delights. I make the most of every opportunity and create false justifications for venturing into the scullery to sample her wares and nibble when she is inattentive. Ned brought in a fine brace of Woodcock whilst I was there this very afternoon. There is nothing finer than the taste of Woodcock to my mind. Father has begun to train his delightfully playful Willie to follow simple commands, though I must disclose little success thus far and I fear there is still a certain amount of random leakage about the house. The little mite will insist on teasing Fanny's Tuppence. Miss Noring and Miss Lott called this evening to thank Fanny for her help in preparing for their soiree yesterday. Their guests had remarked on their fine baps, and they were all in the parlour engaged in serious social intercourse when Father appeared and boomed "Leave Fanny's pussy alone!" Miss Lott screamed and Miss Noring and Fanny leapt to their feet in surprise and both were extremely flushed and red faced with shock, but laughed with relief when they realised Father was referring to his bothersome Willie which was needling Fanny's cat.