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really get up to in Cambridge?
    I don’t have to justify myself to you .
    She sank into a chair and to my surprise said in a mild and even affectionate tone: Richard, I don’t think you understand what Mother has been through in the last few months. You weren’t here when it all happened. She wanted to protect you .
    What was she shielding me from? I asked. Why didn’t she let me come to the funeral?
    She didn’t want you to hear the cruel things people were saying about Father .
    What were they saying?
    She shrugged impatiently. You know how the other clerics envied him. You can imagine what they said. That’s not the point. She lost everything within just a week or two: her husband, her household, her position in the town, and her so-called friends. I’m desperately worried about her. And I don’t want you to increase her anxieties .
    I was really affected by her words and even more by her manner. I said I’d try to do nothing to make the situation worse. And we parted on good terms.
    · · ·
    Rustication. How is it that Euphemia knows the word? (It should be called rusty-cation . I feel myself becoming unusable like an old lock.)
    · · ·
    Dear Uncle Thomas,
    I am addressing you now in order to lay before you in a manly and frank way . . .
    · · ·
    It’s after midnight. Betsy hasn’t come up yet though she did bring up the bath earlier. She should be here very soon.
    [This is the first of several passages written by Richard in English but using Greek letters—presumably on the assumption that if either his mother or sister found the Journal she would not be able to read the entries since women rarely studied the language at that period. I have simply transcribed them in Roman letters. Note by CP .]
    I wonder if she has ever seen a man’s thing. I wonder if I dare offer her sixpence to put her hand on it. I’d be in the bath and she’d pour the water in and it would rear up out of the water and she couldn’t help but notice it and I’d look at her and she’d blush and I’d say: Would you touch it? She says: Oh sir, I couldn’t do that . I say: I’ll give you sixpence, Betsy. Just to hold it for a while . She says: Sixpence, sir? Then she reaches down and her small rough hand closes around it and . . .
    Δ
    [The passage in Greek letters ends here. Note by CP .]
    ½ past 1 o’clock.
    By ½ past midnight I knew Betsy wasn’t coming.
    [A passage in Greek letters begins here. Note by CP .]
    I can’t stop thinking about her somewhere near me in that little room. She takes off her clothes and wriggles into a nightshift. I can see the shape of her little bubbies through it.
    Δ
    [The passage in Greek letters ends here. Note by CP .]

 
    Tuesday 15 th of December, 3 o’clock.
    T hank heavens the rain has stopped today though it is still too muddy for the cart to bring my trunk.
    I went into the parlour for breakfast and found Mother and Effie finishing their meal.
    They had been talking about our visit to Mrs Paytress and Mother said: We are trying to think of an explanation for that letter of Mrs Paytress .
    What letter?
    While she was showing you her escritoire, Euphemia noticed a letter to an individual in Salisbury that was addressed to someone else. Why would she have such a letter?
    To whom was it addressed? I asked.
    To “Mrs Guilfoyle” , Euphemia said.
    Mother said softly: Lord Thurchester has a house in Salisbury .
    Mother , I protested, surely you’re not suggesting some sort of improper relationship?
    Well, why has she come to live here?
    Euphemia answered: She told us it was on account of her old associations .
    Mother pursed her lips. I could see what she was thinking.
    I said: If you have any doubts, you have the opportunity to raise them with Mrs Paytress yourself on Wednesday .
    If we go , Mother said.
    Why shouldn’t we? I must have said quite angrily for they both looked at me in surprise.
    Mrs Quance . . . Mother began.
    Oh well, if you’re going to take her opinion into account!