Blindingham Hall, January 25th 1861

Such a cold and gloom-ridden start to the year. Villiers took to his bed soon after the festivities were over, declaring himself to be exhausted and possibly infectious. My view is that neither of those conditions should prevent him from carrying out his servants’ duties, but apparently the fashion these days is for employers to accommodate illness in their staff and release them for a day or so to recuperate. I attempted to keep him upright long enough to remove the decorations and store them away but he resisted me. Quite vocally.

‘Ma’am’ he said ‘I trust that you know me to be an assiduous man. I have served your family to the best of my ability and take great pride in my work. However, I simply must be allowed to tend to my own needs on occasion. Surely, Ma’am you will do me this courtesy, if not I am really not sure I can……’

I held up my hand, hoping to stop him before he burst into tears.

‘Villiers, you know how greatly I prize your service. Indeed I showed my appreciation just days ago when offering you the remainder of our Christmas supper. Whatever it is you wish to say to me must be said in the knowledge that I am satisfied with your work here. I hope you can believe that.’

‘I do believe it, Ma’am and am thankful for your kind words. But I pray you will allow me some time to address this fever, for I am quite put aside by it.’

He did look a little hot, and his eyes were shining.

I asked him to complete the rearrangement of the Hall before abandoning me to the vagaries of the Boy, the Cook, and whoever else. He stared a little wildly at me and fell against the Blue Room door, with a tiny scream.

So, I had to allow him to go to his quarters. I had no notion of how long he would be hidden away there. Four days, it turns out. Four days! Four days when I had no help bar the provision of my meals, arranging of my clothes and the lighting of the fires. If he is ill again in the summer I shall be unable to ride, I shall not take tea on the terrace and my letters will go unposted. I can’t allow this to endure.

Mrs Cornbench called over, bringing with her one of her frail and ghostly children with a basket of jams they had gathered from their kitchen. The child was learning to make marmalade, she told me, and I was to be the lucky recipient of her first batch. I accepted the basket – freeing up her bony wrists as I thanked her – but I do not intend to taste the jam or the marmalade. I shall send her a note soon to give the impression that I am grateful, but in need of no further supplies.

On learning of my plight due to Villers’ incapacity, Mrs Cornbench told me that it is becoming harder these days to find people willing to serve and that for a person to choose to join one’s household one has to offer inducements over and above a rate of pay.

The Cornbench servants, I learn, have half a day off each week, and a full two days in August to do with as they please. Their physician’s bills are paid for them, and they enjoy the same meals as the family, although not at the same table of course.

What nonsense!

Villiers will not be enjoying that level of luxury in my employ – not while I am still mistress of Blindingham Hall!