The threshing is finished.
My wife continues [to appear] at the window. The maid threatens me and I must silence her with 6d a week. The infant grows apace, well in health. I have considered allowing the maid to retain it after [suckle?] but she will have none of [this]. The Chapel is roofed, and the stone in place. My cousin came by and he has hired a winnowing machine at cheaper rate, the threshing finished, [for] the next year.
I have sketched my pump for the irrigation of dry fields, and am well [pleased?] with its design. The Chapel members wish to enscribe my charitable action upon a further stone, but I have desisted. This day I counted my profits, [which] have come to £40 and 5s. I walked about the yard, and propose to replace the cow-stall and barn with new [buildings in] brick.
This day I smelt [spring?]
4. Leeward, 1743
— NO, DO NOT think me unhappy. I scratch by candle tho’ ’tis sunlight outside — but this endurance is for benefit. I hear the rooks loud as in that poem by Mr Pope. Old aunts not yet. O William, return quick and halloo under my window. Your position with Norcoat is secure, I hope. I do not have the stomach for your loss of a few days — more would kill me. Charles does well. He suckles regular, the wet-nurse tells me, and his swaddle is ripe with healthy excretions. You shall see him anon.
’Tis cold here too — my fireplace is not built for coal — I prefer the blazing faggot tho’ they have fallen for coal.
My husband is in London also. If you should pass him, and he should recognise your appearance, do not flinch. Be open. Rub your hands and laugh for he will be witty at someone’s expense, if not your own, my love. ’Tis strange, but my knowledge that he is visiting women goes hard with me. I think this is because ’tis the fashion to think a man that is married can lack fidelity without scandal, yet a wife must be quartered for it. I bear the weight of this house upon my meagre shoulders — I am its reputation.
I cough from the puffs of my fireplace. ’Tis a veritable vapour in here, but not the medicinal sort. There is no egress for the poor smoke. We are prisoners both.
My mind starts then grows weary: ’tis the effect of the delivery –
Nurse Fieldhouse has been in here a minute past. I concealed this letter ’neath another, part written, to mine uncle at Stagley. She has eyes very small but sharp as diamonds. Ten to one she will recover our secret from its hiding place or I be less careless.
I give this to the maid tight-sealed as usual, but I daresay thumbs will at it. Check the seal is not broke. I spread powder on my desk so fingers may not fiddle.
Our love is a well — ’twill draw forever.
Dearest, I am,
yr eternally loving,
A.C.
March 8th.
Most dearest William, –
The clock pit-a-pats or it may be my heart, but ’tis certain there is no pebbles upon my window-glass yet. I waited upon my canapé half the night. Owls — my mantel clock — a single horse upon the lane that took my heart up to my lips — but no signal. I turn the pages of Crébillon but with half an eye for it. Come across the lawn, my stag, your doe weeps bitter tears. ’Tis half of February you were gone, and you said you were certain back yesternight. I will wake the neighbourhood and set the swans flapping out of the lake if you don’t come.
Charles is a dear sweet little thing. He is brought twice a day and I know he has your eyes. My husband returned and handled him like a book, opening and shutting his limbs. Charles gave a tiny sneeze at the snuff. My husband’s nose is Chalmers beaked, and it seems my Lord is a little outrageous that his son is not the picture of those ranged along the gallery, with such dismal looks, and so severe a snout to every one. My own retroussée has escaped capture also. He has such a dear sweet little nose, that is all his own. Blue blue eyes — tho’ they tell me that will change — ’twill be your mahogany brown, dearest love, for he has your chin, exact as if he had stole it. ’Tis certain he is yours.
This room grows so tedious and fusty. Because I have a slightest of fevers I am to be confined a further week upon the end of the month. I tie this with a red ribband that is the bleeding of my passion. Real blood flowed when I was delivered of our son. Did I say before that Dr Mackernes was caught in the mud on his way from town, and ’twas a woman still odorous from the field that served me? Her hands were large and chapped and red, she had come straight from her delving. Bint it was who called her. Bint is the man you encountered at the wall that night. He would kill his own mother if enough guineas were rubbed in front of him, but my Lord will have none other as a valet.
I did not like the poem you sent. ’Twas too indecorous for my taste, tho’ I daresay my dreams shall tease me more if you do not arrive quick. I grip my bed-post and think only of your member, tho’ I still hurt under from the birthing.
I am, sweetest love,
thy sweetly loving,
A.C.
March 25th.
Dearest William, –
Your letter came with others from aunts. I am sorry to hear of young Norcoat’s scarlet but more sorry that it means your absence still. Scarlet is in the village this month very severe, Oadam tells me, and Charles is not taken the village side of the house, for tho’ we be high up and the village below, the wind does now prevail this way — it is east and bitter. I always hear the clock strike from the church as if it is ours, and malodorous tendencies must be borne likewise upon the wind. Tho’ my constitution is not as delicate as my sister’s, yet I am surely prone. Charles will be inoculated against the pock soon as he is ready — after two years. I could not bear his loss. My sister has borne four and all have lived. I pray it is the family way.
The fat angels above me vex with their smug smiling. ’Tis the painted ceiling I talk of, that looked down upon our lovemaking that night, tho’ ’twas screened from their innocence by the bed. I will forget what constitutes daylight soon. Do not drop a word about me with your friends in London. Show no interest if anyone serves you a question concerning Ulverton Hall, for all are ears and wicked tongues.
I would like to hold your tongue with my lips. Press it ever so gentle. Take liberties with it.
My Lord sat upon my canapé and held forth this morning upon the Election. He will be chose, of course, but he must brag like all men. He is showing an uncommon tenderness to me, and I fear he will be fiddling my buttons before long.
I hold myself in the nights and think of you. I have no secrets from you.
Dearest,
I am,
thine ever loving,
A.C.
April 4th.
Dearest sweetest William, –
The woods bloom & the fogs cluster upon the river. I have a cold that clings, for I let the breeze at my bare shoulders when I let slip my nightdress and think of you.
How is this? I am not out from Confinement, my love — no. Let me tell. I have, in the middle night, taken the liberty to fold aside the coverings upon the east window and laid my cheek against the glass. I see naught of course of the moon or Nature for they have shuttered me in. But I felt the window loose and a nail was out. Two minutes it was lifted, and the shutter squeaked ope an inch. Thus it is that mine only hindrance is removed and I see the world through a chink. I dare not ope any further for the stable boys are always clattering about early morning beneath — you recall the stables are to one side — they will be telling on me or expostulate and thus give all away to the grooms who are honest but eager men and do anything for a crown in the palm. ’Tis very early morning I let the light in. I wish the shutter had been oiled. Nurse Fieldhouse is two floors direct above but I am certain her ears are the best.