cars â two of them Rolls Royces. Tim enchanted with the garage. Point out to Tim with heavy sarcasm that we could drive round and round the garage in Cassandra when too wet to go out. Tim does not reply.
Manage to drag Tim away before he has actually signed the lease of âRose Lodgeâ and demand, as we trudge wearily down the drive (now ankle-deep in mud) what he can be thinking of to consider the house for a moment. Tim replies that he could not be rude to the old thing and that I am always so ruthless with people. I point out that he has raised false hopes in the ancient ladyâs withered breast, and that it is sometimes kindest to be cruel.
We argue half-heartedly as we plod through the rain until we reach the next house on our list. This proves to be a minerâs cottage in an incredibly sordid row with an unlimited view of a red mountain rather the colour of underdone beef ) which we learn later is called a âslag heapâ. Fat women with wizened babies appear at the doors of the other cottages and watch us silently. Dogs bark and half-clad children follow us and ask us for pennies. The rain comes down slowly but relentlessly. I can feel it trickling down my back. We escape from this delectable neighbourhood by boarding a tramcar which sets us down at a row of villas of moderate size. Tim says this âlooks more like usâ, and I agree gloomily.
âThe Laurelsâ stands back from the road and has a pleasant garden. We are shown over it by a tall thin woman in black with blue nose. She does not seem very anxious to let it and enquires if there are any children and dogs. Assure her that we have no dogs and only two children, one of which is at boarding school. The house seems quite hopeful, and we are on the point of taking it for six months when it becomes known that Tim is an officer in His Majestyâs Army. This immediately precludes any possibility of the house being let to us, and we are shown out of the door with all possible dispatch.
I am too cold and wet to be really angry, but Tim is boiling with rage. Conversation too lurid to record.
Return to Brownâs Hotel and find a note from Richard who has come to Westburgh unexpectedly on business and proposes to dine with us; but not even the thought of seeing my only brother can raise my spirits. I retire upstairs and peel my wet stockings off my numbed legs.
Richard arrives in a dinner jacket which causes a mild sensation in Brownâs Hotel. We drink our watery soup and proceed to order three whiskies and sodas â Richard assuring me that this is the correct thing in Scotland, and Tim adding that it may possibly save me from pneumonia. Discover that Brownâs Hotel is Temperance, and that anyway it is After Hours for Drink.
So funny to sit and watch Richard and Tim drinking lemonade that I start to laugh and find that I canât stop. Horrible feeling gasp out that I canât help it that I am so awfully tired â that I shall be all right in a minute â and continue to laugh helplessly. Consternation in the dining room â the manager is fetched and brings a bottle of brandy which he proceeds to pour out for me with his own hands. Am told to drink it quickly â try to do so and choke â all the same it seems to have the desired effect and I manage to stop laughing. I drink my brandy with the disapproving eyes of the whole room and the envious eyes of Tim and Richard fixed upon me. This done I am ordered to bed by my husband, and am quite glad to obey him for once.
Tenth February
Am astonished to find that I have escaped pneumonia and rheumatic fever, but feel that the seeds of some more subtle complaint may be dormant in my frame.
Spend the whole day looking at houses each one more hopelessly unsuitable than the last. Tim admires and praises all he sees, and inspires the owners with the hope that we are on the point of settling with them. Impossible for me to tell what he really thinks
Manage to drag Tim away before he has actually signed the lease of âRose Lodgeâ and demand, as we trudge wearily down the drive (now ankle-deep in mud) what he can be thinking of to consider the house for a moment. Tim replies that he could not be rude to the old thing and that I am always so ruthless with people. I point out that he has raised false hopes in the ancient ladyâs withered breast, and that it is sometimes kindest to be cruel.
We argue half-heartedly as we plod through the rain until we reach the next house on our list. This proves to be a minerâs cottage in an incredibly sordid row with an unlimited view of a red mountain rather the colour of underdone beef ) which we learn later is called a âslag heapâ. Fat women with wizened babies appear at the doors of the other cottages and watch us silently. Dogs bark and half-clad children follow us and ask us for pennies. The rain comes down slowly but relentlessly. I can feel it trickling down my back. We escape from this delectable neighbourhood by boarding a tramcar which sets us down at a row of villas of moderate size. Tim says this âlooks more like usâ, and I agree gloomily.
âThe Laurelsâ stands back from the road and has a pleasant garden. We are shown over it by a tall thin woman in black with blue nose. She does not seem very anxious to let it and enquires if there are any children and dogs. Assure her that we have no dogs and only two children, one of which is at boarding school. The house seems quite hopeful, and we are on the point of taking it for six months when it becomes known that Tim is an officer in His Majestyâs Army. This immediately precludes any possibility of the house being let to us, and we are shown out of the door with all possible dispatch.
I am too cold and wet to be really angry, but Tim is boiling with rage. Conversation too lurid to record.
Return to Brownâs Hotel and find a note from Richard who has come to Westburgh unexpectedly on business and proposes to dine with us; but not even the thought of seeing my only brother can raise my spirits. I retire upstairs and peel my wet stockings off my numbed legs.
Richard arrives in a dinner jacket which causes a mild sensation in Brownâs Hotel. We drink our watery soup and proceed to order three whiskies and sodas â Richard assuring me that this is the correct thing in Scotland, and Tim adding that it may possibly save me from pneumonia. Discover that Brownâs Hotel is Temperance, and that anyway it is After Hours for Drink.
So funny to sit and watch Richard and Tim drinking lemonade that I start to laugh and find that I canât stop. Horrible feeling gasp out that I canât help it that I am so awfully tired â that I shall be all right in a minute â and continue to laugh helplessly. Consternation in the dining room â the manager is fetched and brings a bottle of brandy which he proceeds to pour out for me with his own hands. Am told to drink it quickly â try to do so and choke â all the same it seems to have the desired effect and I manage to stop laughing. I drink my brandy with the disapproving eyes of the whole room and the envious eyes of Tim and Richard fixed upon me. This done I am ordered to bed by my husband, and am quite glad to obey him for once.
Tenth February
Am astonished to find that I have escaped pneumonia and rheumatic fever, but feel that the seeds of some more subtle complaint may be dormant in my frame.
Spend the whole day looking at houses each one more hopelessly unsuitable than the last. Tim admires and praises all he sees, and inspires the owners with the hope that we are on the point of settling with them. Impossible for me to tell what he really thinks
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