Blindingham Hall April 1864

I fear that life, even provincial life, is passing me by. I have no material lack to concern me, I have Dauncy to love me and I have an acceptable set of servants to provide me with whatever I need. Villiers amuses as well as he serves, when he remembers his place. I am respected in the village and in the local towns – and I have my health.

I wonder, then, what fills me such misery as I feel this morning.

What difference would be evident in the world if I were to leave it? Who would receive news of my passing with anything other than a prurient desire to tell someone else of it? What mark have I made and what impression would outlast me?

When this veil has descended before, I have cheered myself up with a stroll in the herb garden, or played catch-ball with Dauncy. I find fresh air and exercise to be tedious when I am generally well disposed, but I do accept their benefits to the soul when darkness threatens it.

Today, my mood is so low I must act quickly to dispel it. I must not allow it to worsen, and must slough it off entirely by nightfall, there is nothing worse than being sad by candlelight.

I think I shall call for Moss to take me to the village – I can look at fruit for a while, see what fabrics have arrived from London and perhaps find cause to spend time in the post office, where the Welsh woman will no doubt be full of local talk.

If I am lucky, I will hear news of desperate straits for some poor soul and be forced to feel gratitude that at the very least I am not in their shoes. I do find the misfortune of others to be strangely uplifting – especially when the distress they are suffering can be attributed to their own actions.

That is decided, then! I shall send Villiers to the stables immediately and tell him to fetch my hat and cloak on his return.