Dear Diary,A dark, dull and damp day and, I suppose, the appropriate weather for a funeral. No one made mention of it at breakfast and I doubt they were aware it was taking place at all. They were all busy with their own vapid lives. I walked down through the undressed wood, the bare branches seemingly shedding tears upon the ground as I passed. The Chapel bell summoned the mourners but none must have heeded it or cared for the Chapel was empty, except for the Parson, Sam, the comely blacksmith, his plain workmate and I. The service was very simple and, under the circumstances, rather rushed. We sang no hymn. The Parson spoke briefly about this woman I scarcely knew and, quite obviously, he scarcely knew and then Sam and the other fellow carried the simple coffin outside. It was raining lightly as we stood around the graveside that Sam and his unattractive friend had prepared. They did not seem to have much difficulty lowering the coffin into the ground and inappropriate thoughts entered my head such as ' what magnificent arms Sam has' and 'I wonder how much of Old Collette is left after being semi devoured'. The Parson spoke a few more words of parting and we all stood silently with our heads bowed as the rain made our faces run with false tears. Suddenly from the wood beyond the churchyard there came a horrendous howling sound. The Parson's head shot up and he shrieked with fright. As the sound came from behind where he was standing he involuntarily leapt forward. He tottered on the edge of the grave before falling forward into it with a further cry of horror. I rushed to his aid and held out a hand, but as he grasped it and pulled upon it in his panic to get out, he pulled me in on top of him. Luckily Sam and his crude companion were on hand to assist us. I pushed as they pulled the Parson out and then held out my hand to Sam. What a firm grip he had and he lifted me out with ease. I confess I might have held onto him for a moment longer than was necessary as I said " Tell me Sam, what do you know of magpies?" "Magpies!" snorted the Parson " I think we should be more concerned with wolves!" He staggered back to the Chapel and Sam started to laugh. I hope Old Collette will forgive us for the laugh was rather infectious and we stood beneath the weeping trees and the tears rolled down our faces.
Dear Diary,How strange! A missive arrived today for an unknown person but addressed at this place. I dare not open it for fear of finding intimate contents. The sender appears to be from Scotland, in a place known as Torphichen, but I have never heard of it. Who would have thought that someone so far north could communicate let alone write? Will wonders never cease? I have wracked my brains today to try and recall my acquaintance of any such Scottish fellows. I can only remember two. The first was a Donald Oswald Tobias-Scott. Indeed his name could be said to be longer than our acquaintance. He was a charming fellow who tarried, briefly, with my heart before departing for France on business. I have never heard of him since, though I had heard rumour of some involvement of a Les Cargot. The second was a sorry fellow whose name escapes me at the moment. After some amusing communication by post he arrived, only to state he believed he had the pox and I quickly bundled him back again from whence he had come. Is it not a wonder then , that I view such fellows with caution? However I am intrigued greatly as to whom the sender is and am hoping that some light may be shed upon this mystery.
Dear Diary,After Chapel this morning I spoke to the Parson and enquired about the arrangements for the Fairfax funeral this week. I was shocked to hear that no arrangements had been made. I directed the Parson to make all the necessary arrangements and made it clear that I would, anonymously, cover all costs. I enjoyed some brisk exercise after lunch and passed the remainder of the afternoon reading. As the light began to fade I began to feel the chill and noticed that the fire was dwindling and there was no fuel left. I noticed that Ned was passing outside so opened the window and enquired of him, " Ned, do you have wood?" "No, Mr Austen" he replied " It's just a hammer in my pocket."
Dear Diary,'One for sorrow, Two for joy, Three for a girl, Four for a boy, Five for silver, Six for gold, Seven for a secret Never to be told.'....such is the well known rhyme related to the sighting of magpies. I do not pretend to be superstitious but whenever I see a magpie, and in general, it is often just a solitary bird, the rhyme comes back to me and I find myself wondering what misfortune might befall me. For sometime now I have contemplated a simple means of entrapment and then tying two magpies together thus increasing my chances of happiness and that of others. However, today, while out on a lengthy constitutional upon the Knob, I chanced upon four of the birds frolicking in a bush. I wait in anticipation.
Dear Diary,Cheese? I fail to be aroused by it. Oh the times I have encountered folk who eulogise about its flavour and aroma and I stare in disbelief. I dare to fear what further 'delights' these fellows will open their mouths for. I find myself thinking of the very first person who discovered cheese. What possessed him or her on finding some old and foul smelling milk containing glutinous lumps to lift one out and ingest it? It seems more often in recent times that I find myself backing out of The Scullery with my handkerchief over my nostrils after my olfactory organs have been assailed by a stench that puts me in mind, well, of little more than vomit. Mrs Crutchlow is ever keen to find new varieties and I fear she is experimenting herself with left over milk from the farm. Was it not bad enough that after what has seemed like the longest week since the dawn of time itself, and one of the most dismal of days as far as amusement is concerned, that I had to suffer cheese and biscuits in the parlour at lunch? I would never have imagined that it could get any worse and yet this very evening Doctor Proctor called with the news that Old Collette Fairfax was dead. It seems that she was found in the woods earlier this afternoon lying with a protective arm over her faggots and he believed she had been dead for at least two days. He did not go into details, and frankly I am grateful for my stomach was still delicate after my close proximity to the cheese, but horrifyingly, it seems some woodland creature had feasted upon her corpse. The Doctor said the Parson is convinced she was killed by the wolf he believes he saw. I retired to my room and felt quite numb. Could I have been the last living soul she encountered in her life? Were the last words she heard, mine, branding her a liar? To think I had bemoaned this day which Old Collette may have been happy to endure. What an end to a life! And what could have feasted upon her? Whatever it were I am in no doubt that they probably would also be partial to cheese!
Dear Diary,Forgive my melancholy of late. I am out of my fug and my pecker is up once more. The great gusts of wind in the night have blown the cobwebs clear away and I rose in better spirit. So much so that at breakfast I hugged my elder sister and said " I apologise if I was of irritation the other day 'Jean'." She smiled and playfully banged me on the head with her latest reading material, a book of some weight, and replied, "I apologise also for besmirching your horse. It was spiteful of me as you were right, 'Persuasion' is a much less wordy title for my novel". I had never thought it could be so, my own sister had dirtied my Python. How wrong I was to blame the old woman and to call her a liar. Still, if my fortune continues as in recent days I would scarce be surprised to encounter her sat upon my water closet or ratching in Mrs Crutchlow's larder and then I shall be able to apologise for my misapprehension. I asked of Jane the meaning of the word she smeared upon my horse's flank. I am a Gentleman and therefore cannot repeat it here, in fact the very thought of it made me quite ill. I asked where she was privee to such language and she said she had read very widely and that I should not be so small minded. I am relieved to inform you that I did not encounter the old woman in my water closet or the larder during the day and I confess I did look under my bed before retiring tonight. I know that may seem odd but there is room for an old woman and her faggots to hide under there.
Dear Diary,I am in a dark mood. Sometimes it comes upon me. Is it the weather or the darkness of the mornings and evenings at this time of year? Is it loneliness and a craving for affection? I am unhappy and yet I know I have much to be grateful for and compared to many, I am blessed. However I still wallow in self pity and gaze out at the dullness of the day. Am I the only one without a hand to hold? Am I the only one who has not laughed these past hours? I know the root of all this, if I am honest. It has nought to do with weather or darkness. I also know the cure for my ills but it is so far from my reach and I fear the distance between, widens. I am an incomplete puzzle and the final piece, having a mind of it's own, does not wish to complete me and runs and searches for a puzzle of it's own. In the darkness and solitude of last night I contemplated a complete and final disassociation if only to stem the ache I feel inside. I held my pillow so tightly and prayed for the comfort of sleep and my prayers were granted. I find ,today, my resolve has weakened and that is not because I am a weak man but more likely, no doubt, down to stupidity. It is not easy for a man to cut off one of his own limbs and I fear that is how it would seem. Today I still breathe and the ache has numbed slightly.I took some air, walking the woodland paths and encountered Old Collette Fairfax humping faggots homeward. How she has haunted me recently. I turned around to avoid confrontation but then my mood made me continue onward. I was not to be cowed by a frail old woman. As we met I spoke, " I deeply apologise Miss Fairfax for the dangerous encounter the other day but I feel it did not warrant your attack upon my horse and I trust that in future you mind my property." " Ah, niver touched yer 'orse" she spat back, " now leave me be!" "I believe you to be a liar and if I never see you again Miss Fairfax, " I replied, " it would be far too soon". The evening is wild and my casement is rattling. The sky weeps. I know how it feels.
