Oh, happy day! A lovely beginning to the New Year.
January 4th
Desmond Featherstone arrived today. I came in and there he was coming down the stairs.
I stopped short and stared at him. "So you are back," I said.
"What a nice welcome! You make me feel so much at home."
"It seems," I said, "that you have made this house your home."
"You are all so hospitable."
I began to feel that shivery feeling, as though—as Miss Bray used to say—someone was walking over my grave.
Why should I feel this? It was broad daylight—a bright frosty day. We have turned the corner and the days are getting longer. It is still dark early, but every day there is a little change. And March will soon be here.
What am I afraid of?
He is shocked. I saw that at dinner. He is so angry about something that he cannot conceal it. I know what it is, of course. It is due to Charles. He is angry because Charles is alive!
Of course, he has some plans for me. He thought the house was mine, the business was mine. No wonder he wants to marry me.
All that is changed now. The true heir is alive. Charles will come back and when he does he will be master of this house. I am sure that then there will be no place in it for Mr. Desmond Featherstone.
Come home soon, Charles.
I am feeling happy today. The days have started to get longer. I have my key so that I may lock myself in. Charles is coming home. And very soon March will be here.
February 1st
I cannot believe this story. It is incredible. How could there possibly be plague in Great Stanton? When I think of the plague I am reminded of lessons with Miss Bray. A red cross on the door. The death cart and "Bring out your dead."
That could not happen nowadays.
I went to the Shop today. I love going there. I try always to go at midday when they are stopping work. Mrs. Masters often sends over a tray. She is only across the road, but Mr. Masters says he doesn't always want to leave the Shop. He is always busy on some project or other—so the food is sent over.
And I go in often and join them. It is such a happy hour, that.
The main topic of conversation for the last week has been the execution of the King of France. We were all shocked about that. It seems so terrible and we have long discussions about what effect this is going to have in France ... and on England. Magnus is enormously interested, and coming from the Continent, he has a slightly different approach to every subject. He is a great talker and loves a discussion; and, I am discovering, so do I.
But now all that is forgotten. We have a local event which seems of greater importance.
The fact is that a certain Mr. Grant and his son Silas have just returned from Dalmatia bringing with them bales of cloth. They are tailors. A few days ago Mr. Grant senior developed a strange illness-severe fever, soaring temperature, sickness and delirium. The doctor was nonplussed, and when he was about to call in another opinion Mr. Grant developed dark spots and patches all over his skin. These turned into horrible sores and it seems that all these are the symptoms of bubonic plague, which has not been seen in England since the beginning of this century.
He died within a short time.
Perhaps the matter would have been forgotten but a very short time after the death of his father, Silas Grant began to show the same symptoms.
So now this has been definitely diagnosed as the Plague. There has been consternation everywhere, because when this sort of disease is brought into a country there is no knowing how far it will spread.
So we talked of this strange occurrence while we ate Mrs. Masters' excellent chicken.
Magnus as usual took charge of the conversation. He talked at length about the Great Plague of London in 1665 which quite devastated the country. We had suffered little from it since because, said Magnus, it had taught us a great lesson and that was that one of the main causes was a lack of cleanliness and bad drainage.
"Only twice in this century has it visited Western Europe," he said. "It was in Russia and Hungary and came as far as Prussia and Sweden; and when it arrives it is difficult to eradicate. Later there was an outbreak in Southern France ... rather close, you might say. During the Russo-Turkish war there was another outbreak, and that little more than twenty years ago. Then it appeared again in Dalmatia."
"Well, that is where the Grants came from," I said.
"People are taking this very seriously," said Mr. Masters.
"And so they should," added Magnus.
While we were talking, John Dent, one of our workers, came in and said that he had just heard that Silas Grant had died.
"Two deaths," said Mr. Masters. "This is serious."
"They are saying the bales of cloth they brought back may be infected," said John Dent.
"That," said Mr. Masters, "is very likely."
"They should be burned," added Magnus.
"Nobody wants to touch them," explained John Dent. "They are all together in one room at the top of the shop. They are going to burn all the bedclothes, but nobody will touch the bales of cloth. They are going to board up the room. They think that is the thing to do."
"How strange!" I cried. "I thought it would have been better to burn them."
"The room itself might be infected," said Mr. Masters. "They've got a point."
"Well, if that finishes it, it will be proved they have done the right thing," commented Magnus.
I could not stop thinking of it.
Over dinner I told my stepmother. Desmond Featherstone was there. They did not display a great deal of interest. It seemed to me that they had something on their minds.
February 4th
This is such good news. Today when I went into the shop Magnus was anxious to talk to me alone. I was aware of this as I am of all his moods; there is a very special bond between us. I do believe we know what the other is thinking.
He whispered to me: "Tomorrow I am going to London. Mr. Masters wants to call on one or two people and he thinks it would be a good idea if I went with him. While I am there I shall make enquiries about our journey and get the tickets we shall need, so that everything will be in order."
"Oh Magnus, how wonderful!" I cried.
"Not long to wait now," he said and kissed me.
I could scarcely listen to anything that was said after that.
When I came back to the house I went straight to my room. I must be prepared. I still had the rest of the month to live through. February—mercifully—is the shortest month of the year. Only by a few days, it is true, but every day seems an age.
But very soon now ...
I am so happy, so excited. I am even wondering if I betray my feelings and I realize that I do when Freddy said to me: "You're happy about something, Ann Alice."
"What makes you say that?" I asked.
"Your face says it." he told me.
I just squeezed his arm and he said: "Is it a secret?"
I said: ''Yes. You'll know in time."
He hunched his shoulders and laughed. He loved secrets.
"When shall I know?"
"Oh ... soon."
Then I remembered that I would be leaving him and I was sorry about that.
He did not say any more but during the day I caught him watching me; he smiled when his eyes met mine as though we shared a secret. We did in a way. The knowledge that there was a secret.
I was reckless. I should not have talked to anyone... not even Freddy.
Tomorrow morning, early, Magnus will set out.
After I had written that I put my journal away and prepared for bed. I was not in the least sleepy. I was full of plans, turning over in my mind what I should take with me. It was past midnight and still I could not sleep. Then suddenly I heard a board creak. Someone was walking about on the floor below. It must be my stepmother. Her room was down there.