"I daresay if you are staying here you will meet my family sooner or later. People here seem to get to know each other quickly and many know each other before they arrive."
"Ann Alice."
He had come close to me and gripped my arm. I shrank from his touch as I always do.
"Better not tell your stepmother... that we met like this, eh?"
"Why not?"
"She er... she might not approve."
"I don't have to get her approval before I speak to people, you know."
"I am sure of that, but on the other hand ... just don't mention it."
"It wouldn't have occurred to me to. I shall probably have forgotten it by the time I see them again."
He looked at me reproachfully and then laughed.
"I don't think you forget me quite as easily as you pretend," he said.
I flushed, for he was right. Even now I have those odd dreams about him and they could easily fill me with disquiet. Now there, even in the open meadows, he could make me feel uneasy.
"I must go," I said. "Goodbye."
"Goodbye. I wish..."
But I did not give him time to say what he wished for I hurried off.
I think about him a great deal. He had been very earnest when he asked me not to tell my stepmother I had seen him.
I thought then: She does not want him to pester me. She really is trying to protect me.
That was another reason why I should try to like her.
I was glad when the visit to Bath was over.
Almost immediately after we returned my father had one of his attacks—a little worse than before. My stepmother wanted to call in the doctor, but my father said it was not necessary. He had been told it was due to overdoing things and it was obvious that the visit to Bath had been too strenuous for him.
However she did call the doctor, but that was after my father had recovered slightly. She said she was anxious and wanted him to see a physician. So to please her he agreed.
Apart from the visit to Bath and my encounter with Mr. Featherstone there seems to have been nothing worth recording, and I suppose that is why I did not think of my journal until today.
So now I sit here biting my pen and thinking back. Have I missed something important? Events should be recorded at the time they happen. That is the only way of getting the real truth. But looking back, I cannot see that there is anything of any great significance that I should remember.
February 1st 1792
Another long lapse. I am clearly not meant to be a diarist. I suppose my life is really so uneventful and it is only when something unusual happens that I remember my journal.
Something has happened. Today my stepmother told us about Freddy.
I have noticed that she has been preoccupied for some little time. My father noticed too because he said to me: "Do you think your stepmother is well?"
He was quite anxious.
"Why do you ask?" I said.
"She seems... a little worried."
I admitted I had noticed it.
"I have asked her and she says all is well."
"Perhaps we have imagined it."
Apparently we hadn't because today it came out.
I was having tea with them which my father liked me to do. He wanted continual confirmation that I was fond of my stepmother. I have heard him tell people that we get along splendidly. "It was the best thing for Ann Alice as well as for me," he says.
He deludes himself and as I don't want to disillusion him when he mentions this in my presence I just smile and say nothing.
I wonder why she decided to speak of it in front of me. After all this time I am still suspicious of her and at times I think I look for motives which don't exist.
Then suddenly when she had poured out the tea and I had taken my father's to him and accepted my own, she burst out: "There is something I want to tell you."
"Ah," said my father, "so there is something."
"It has been on my mind ... for some time."
"My dear, you should have told me."
"I didn't want to worry you with my personal troubles."
"Lois! How can you say such a thing! You should know that I am here to share your troubles. When I think of how you have looked after me."
"Oh that," she said. "That was different. That was my duty and what I wanted to do more than anything."
We waited. She bit her lip and then she rushed on: "It's my sister-in-law ... she died... a month ago."
"Your sister-in-law! You didn't say ... I didn't know you had a family."
"Her death was rather sudden. I didn't hear until after the funeral."
"My dear, I am so sorry."
She was silent for a little while frowning slightly. My father looked at her tenderly, eager to give her time to explain as she wanted to.
"My brother quarrelled with my father and went off. He never came back and it was only when he died that we knew he had a wife. Now she is dead and she has left ... a child."
"That's sad," said my father.
"You see this little boy is an orphan and... well, he is my nephew."
"You are going to see the child?"
"That is what I wanted to talk to you about. I'll have to go up there, you see. I'll have to do something about my nephew. I can't just leave him. Heavens knows what will happen."
My father was looking relieved. I don't know what he had been imagining was wrong.
"Why don't we both go. Where is it?"
"It's in Scotland. I think I should go alone."
"Very well, my dear. As you wish."
"I've got to find some solution for the boy." She lowered her head and crumbled the cake on her plate. "I have wanted to talk to you for some time ... and I haven't really been able to bring myself to do it. It's worried me a great deal."
"I knew there was something," said my father triumphantly. "Well, what is it, Lois? You know I'll do everything possible to help."
"I—er—want to bring the boy here. You see, there is nowhere else. It might mean an orphanage ... and I just can't bear the thought of that. He is, after all, my nephew."
"My dear Lois, is that all! You should have told me before. This is your home. Of course your nephew will be very welcome here."
She went over to my father and knelt at his side; then she took his hands and kissed them.
He was very moved. I saw the tears in his eyes.
I suppose I should have been moved too. It was a very touching scene. But all I could think of was: How theatrical!
I had the notion that I was watching a play.
March 1st
Little Freddy Gilmour arrived a week ago. He is a small pale boy, rather nervous and very much in awe of my stepmother. He looks at her with a kind of wonderment as though she is some sort of goddess. She has two worshippers in the household now.
I liked Freddy from the moment I saw him. He is eight years old but looks younger. I said I would teach him and my stepmother is very pleased. She has grown quite warm towards me and it is due, of course, to Freddy.
I feel I have another brother—although he is so much younger than I. Charles was never a real brother to me. He always looked down on me because I was so much younger. I don't feel in the least like that towards Freddy. I am beginning to love him even though he has been here such a short time.
He seems to be very grateful to be in our house, so I imagine life was not very pleasant where he was before. When I speak to him about his mother he is noncommittal and clearly does not want to talk of the past. Perhaps it is because she is so recently dead. But when he mentions Aunt Lois he is really reverent.
Even morning when I awake I think of what I am going to teach him and it gives a zest to the day. He is very bright but I can see that few attempts have been made to educate him. He wants to learn and is always asking questions.
My father is absolutely delighted—with me, with Freddy, and of course, he is besotted about my stepmother.