Sunday, April 22, 1900

         Again, it is very late, and all my room-mates are sleeping.  I have my candle and my diary, and I am the happiest girl in Scotland.  Angus loves me, he told me so a dozen times today.

         I met him at usual in the little tea shop  and he took me to a little inn some distance away from Thurso.  He took me in for a wonderful lunch. I couldn’t help but wonder what my Mam would have thought of such a place.   I could not tell you what we ate, it’s all a blur.  When the waiter brought us a bottle of champagne Angus said it was just the thing to finish off such a grand meal.  He coaxed me to drink it, and it tickled my nose.  I have never had such a delicious drink, and had two glasses before I began to feel dizzy and light-headed.  “Poor wee lassie, you need to lay down,” was the last thing I remember. 

         I must have slept for a little while, for when I woke up it was afternoon, and I was laying on a bed.  Angus was laying beside me, and his arms were around me.  “I am in love with you, Jean,” he said, and kissed me.  Then he sang “My love is like a red, red rose, that surely blooms in spring.”

         I was absolutely powerless to move.  He made wonderful love to me.  I knew what it was like between a man and a woman, but it did not know how it could make a body tingle, all the way down to my toes.  It certainly was different from the way I have seen the farm animals in their mating!  I think we made love three times that afternoon.  By the time I returned it was way past tea time, and barely escaped being locked out. 

         What is next for us, I wonder?

Friday, April 20, 1900

         The family has been away for a few days, visiting relatives in Inverness, so the house is very quiet.  We are not needed to do much upstairs, simply make sure everything is fresh and clean when they return tomorrow.  Martha and I gave the Still Room a good cleaning this morning and after our mid-day meal she said we both needed a good rest and sent me off to my room until tea-time in the Servant’s Hall.  Don’t let Mrs. Burn see you go, she told me with a wink.  Mrs. Burns never comes up to the attic where we maids sleep.  I brought the newspaper with me to have a good read.  

         Now here is a phrase I have never seen before – concentration camp.  It seems that in South Africa the British Army have been destroying the Boer farms and forcing thousands of women and children into camps.  Over 20 000 have already died because of  the overcrowding, and poor food supplies.  I don’t understand how the papers can praise the military the way they do.  I hope Angus only has to fight the Boer soldiers, not have anything to do with all those poor women and children!

                  I also read that in New York they now have electric buses!  We have some electricity in Abbott House, but only in the family’s quarters.  I wonder how a bus would run on it?

          I almost wish the family would stay away.  As much as I want to see Angus again I don’t know if I want to know what might happen between we two.

Sunday, April 15, 1900

         What am I going to do?  I can’t tell anybody, I can’t ask advice of anybody.  Not even my cousin Heather.  I would be sacked for sure if anything ever got out. 

         A few days ago I was getting ready to return to the Still Room, late in the afternoon.  I saw Master Angus and his brother coming down the hallway, and just as we had been trained to do I turned myself to the wall, seeking to be invisible.  As they passed I felt him slip something into my apron pocket.  No one else saw, for Angus’ brother was looking in the opposite direction.  I did not dare let on I had noticed anything.  When I returned to the Still Room Agnes was busy, and called me to come and help her at once.  It was not until bedtime I had the opportunity to look in my pocket.

         The girls I share with are always so tired, poor things, they often are asleep as soon as they lay down.  Besides, they know I am a reader, and think I am getting out a book when I reach under the mattress for my diary.  I pull the little curtains that separate our cubicles, light my candle and spend a few minutes with my diary.  It is only on Sundays I have a chance to write in it, but reading a few entries makes me feel closer to my family.

         When I was sure they were all asleep I reached into my apron pocket.  It was an unsigned note.  It read, “I will be in town with my family on Sunday morning.  After church I will tell them I am staying to visit with some old friends.  I would be honoured if you would meet me and spend the afternoon with a lonely soldier.”  He had named a small tea shop tucked away on a back street.

         My head is telling me to ignore the note, forget I ever got it, be sensible.  But my heart wants to go!  Like my soldier, it is lonely.  What would it hurt to have tea with a young man in a chance meeting?

Sunday, April 8, 1900

         The second floor of the Abbott house is not just bedrooms and water closets!  Mrs. Abbott has her own sitting room off her bedroom, and Mr. Abbott has a beautiful library, lined with enough books to keep a person reading forever.  There is also a big room lined with hollow rods heated with steam. Comforters and towels are kept warm there, and we must place them in the bedrooms in the evening, ready for the family.  The children’s nurses collect the nursery supplies early in the evening for their baths.  Sometimes I hear the children laughing.  I love hearing that happy sound.

         Along with making a dozen beds in the morning we must carry the chamber pots down the servant’s stairway and empty them at a spot well away from the house.  The bed linen is changed every week, although we are sometimes told to do it more frequently.  Each room must be dusted and aired, the carpet swept and flowers tended.  If the weather turns bad we must rush about and shut the windows. 

         Yesterday I was finishing the carpet sweeping and I heard someone whistling “Jeannie with the Light Brown Hair” at the door.  I knew without turning around who it was. 

         “Master Angus,” I whispered, keeping my head down and dropping a curtsey, “Is there something you need?’

         “I just wanted to look at your pretty face, Jean,” he said, “Besides, I’m bored and looking for some company.”

         “Sir, I must get back to my duties.  Please excuse me.”  He was gone whistling down the hallway.

         I’ve never thought of myself as pretty.  Seeing no one else about I looked in the big mirror next to the dresser.  Light brown hair to be sure, braided and wound around my head, blue eyes like the rest of my family, nothing special.  I suppose I am tall, more tall than many of the maids here, but he is taller than me.         

Sunday, April 1, 1900

         On Thursday Mrs. Burns the housekeeper summoned me to her sitting room.  I went with shaking knees, you can be sure!  She asked me if I knew how to make up a bed and tidy a bedroom properly. 

         “Yes, ma’am, I did all the bedrooms for my last employer,” I answered. 

         “Good.  I am taking you off the stillroom for the next month while our visitors are here,” she told me, “We will need extra help.  I want you to help the upstairs maids.  You can still do the fetching from the stillroom for anyone who wishes you to.  If there is time in the day you can return to the stillroom and help Martha.”

         Tomorrow the family arrives, and I will get to see some more of this grand house.  Maybe working upstairs will keep me so busy I will be able to keep my mind off a certain handsome face!

Sunday, March 25, 1900

         After that nasty business with Mr. Conner I thought I would never again want anything to do with a man.  Now I can’t get the handsome face of Angus Abbott out of my mind.  Yesterday he rode past the Still Rom window and waved to me.  I didn’t dare wave back, and luckily Martha didn’t see.

         Now what am I thinking?  If any of the family ever found out he was paying any attention to me I would be sacked, no question.  But he only waved at me; I didn’t do anything in return. 

         Heather and I walked into town again this afternoon.   One of the lads hanging about the square caught her eye, and she excused herself to go and have a word with him.  I walked over to the large statue and was surprised to find it is of Sir John Sinclair, and the plaque lists his accomplishments –dry-stone walling across Caithness, crop rotation and “the arrival of sheep to replace people”.  That one puzzles me.  Why should sheep replace people?

         When Heather joined me she was blushing.  Seems the lad has been watching her for a while now, and asked to see her again, perhaps to take tea with him next Sunday.  Well, Heather is certainly old enough to have a beau.  She just turned seventeen.  I suppose I will be old enough soon, too.  I’ll be sixteen in a couple of months.  A lot of girls are married and mothers by then.  

Sunday, March 5, 1900

         I found a copy of the Illustrated London News from Christmas, in the pile of rubbish the housemaids brought down from the family’s bedrooms.  Thinking to simply look it over, I took it into the Still Room to read when I had a minute to spare.

         What struck me were the advertisements for some of the things we make so painstakingly by hand.  Medicines and soaps I could simply go to the chemists and buy, if I had the money. 

         I love the flowery way the preparations are shown.  For instance, Eno’s Fruit Salts.  This is what it promises – There is no doubt that where it has been taken in the earliest stages of a disease it has, in innumerable instances, PREVENTED what would otherwise have been a SERIOUS ILLNESS.  The effect of ‘ENO’S FRUIT SALT’ upon any DISORDERED, SLEEPLESSNESS, AND FEVERISH condition is SIMPLY MARVELLOUS.  It is, in fact, NATURE’S OWN REMEDY and an UNSURPASSED ONE. 

         Bovril ‘makes the weak strong and the strong stronger’.  Neaves’s Food is ‘admirably adapted to the needs of Young Persons’, Carter’s Little Liver Pills will ‘cure all liver ills’, and Pear’s Soap is ‘matchless for the complexion’.

         Martha and I were fascinated by the adverts for the products we work so hard to create.  We were reading them over when there was a rap on the door.  A tall young man wearing a military uniform came in.  “Hello Martha”, he said, “Have you any liniment for a sore muscle?”  Martha dropped a curtsey.  “Master Angus,” she murmured.  Then, to me, “Jean, get the muscle liniment for Master Angus.  When I passed it to him he clicked his heels together and winked at me.  I must have turned thirteen shades of red.  “Jean,” he smiled at me, “Jeannie with the light brown hair.”

Then he was gone.  “Watch yourself, Jean,” Martha warned me, “He’s not for the likes of us.”  Of course I know that, but I can dream.  He’s the handsomest man I ever saw.