Blindingham Hall September 1863

I have met a monster. A small, young, pretty thing in truth, but a monster nonetheless.

I had received an invitation to dine with the Cornbenches. This is a disturbingly regular act of neighbourly disposition on their part, and one which I choose never to reciprocate. Villiers knows better than to suggest I might sit at my own table with them – Lord forbid. I asked Villiers which reason I had given for declining the invitation the last time, and the time before. Alas, I had to conclude that illness and family bereavement was not a suitable excuse again so soon. The Cornbenches would be sending doctors to my door, and those of my non-existent distant relatives, fearing some terrible hereditary disease for them to wring their thin hands over.

So, at 7pm yesterday evening, I presented myself at their door. Waiting for me was their rib-shivering dog, Romulus, and a shiny new house-keeper. I had expected the former, but the latter was the most unpleasant shock, I can not lie. The dog whined and wagged its tail as I entered the atrium, causing me to take a step back. It moved towards me, I dropped my gloves before I could place them on the salver and I uttered a plea for it to approach no further.

The House-keeper smiled – not in welcome I swear, but to see my distress. And then she spoke to me in the most condescending of tones.

‘Oh, has the dog upset you? I was not told that Romulus was unacceptable to you. He is the mildest of creatures but I see that My Lady is fearful of him. Had I known that, I would have made sure he was kept in the kitchen’ she said. ‘I am new in this posting and Mrs Cornbench thinks highly of me, I know. But if those who have worked here for some time do not do their jobs properly, how am I supposed to do mine?’

She pulled the hall bell rope as if she was sending a gallowed man to his death, then shouted ‘Cora! Cora – come here immediately and take the dog downstairs! You should have told me Lady Hatherwick is one of those people who dislikes dogs!’ Poor Cora shot out from the understairs door and swept the dog away, whispering her apology and berating it for breathing.

‘I don’t think I have met you before, you say you are new?’ I asked ‘I am indeed’ she said, ‘ I was brought into Mrs Cornbench’s employ but three weeks ago. My name is Judith. I was recommended for this position by a previous employer, one who I understand is also about to take up a post here, as estate manager. Would My Lady like to wait in the Library? Madam will be down forthwith.’ She motioned towards a chair by the window and whisked herself out of the room.

As I waited – surrounded by unread books behind unopened glass doors – I considered my first impression of Judith. She had shiny brown hair and smooth skin, with a small waist and a soft voice. To write her characteristics down one would be forgiven for thinking I was embarking on a romantic novel with a sweet heroine. Not so. This Judith had steely eyes, hard fingers and lips which could never curl upwards. Within seconds of meeting her I knew I had seen the worst of us.

If I could have seen Judith’s heart I am sure it would be small, dessicated and as cold as the consomme she served me at dinner.

I feared for Mrs Cornbench’s judgement, and even more for her welfare. I will wish illness and death on myself and everyone I know, if it spares me from another evening under Judith’s gaze.