Diary of Margery Blake

Diary of Margery Blake

The following is my own account of my life, as it is. For those reading my pages, I ask only this, that you do not judge me harshly. For am I not the creation of this society that has deemed women, inferior? I have fought against such constraints for so long. In my youth, it was tolerated, now, aged eighteen, it is no longer voiced and an un-spoken truce has been declared. I was never granted leave to voice my own terms of this truce between myself and my parents; it was merely understood and accepted that I, Margery Rose Blake, would endeavour to become the lady expected of me and achieve a husband worthy of my status. It seems my father has made his choice, and thus my own life has ended, and another chosen for me.

February 1st 1853

I have kept diaries of my childhood, but they were a mere scribbling of a youngster and not of much interest to anyone, including myself and so they were thrust into a drawer for many years, before finally finding their way to the fire. Now in my eighteenth year, I felt a compulsion to re-visit my old habit and have decided to make notes of my life, for my own interest; to look back on such writings in many years to come, and see my own history written in my hand. I shall also attempt to convey what is happening in my surroundings. For should this diary survive, then surely it would be an interesting, historical piece for those yet to be born, and they can discuss the history that I have portrayed.

Yet, I am jumping ahead and that will never do, though I cannot lie, I feel a small shudder of excitement at moving against what is expected, a tiny victory at best, but a victory none the less. For in my circles, it would be considered rude and dishonourable to move at such a pace, when it is expected that the pace shall be done at the ‘proper’ measure. Though in truth, I doubt anyone truly knows who decided on such a thing, or why, but there it is. All things must be done accordingly, and so in true Victorian style I shall endeavour to write my diary in such a way that you the reader will not be offended, and my honour, such as it is, will not be questioned.

My name as is already obvious is Miss Margery Rose Blake. I have recently been informed that I am expected to marry a man almost twice my age, though he has not asked my father’s permission as yet. His proposal is expected at any moment, and it is hoped that I shall be married and Mrs Margery Rose Harrison by the spring. My mother confided in me after dinner this evening that Captain John Harrison of the 4th Queen’s own regiment of light dragoons would be dining with us tomorrow evening, and it is hoped by both of our parents that he approaches father afterwards.

I confess, my mouth was open, I had formed the words of distain in my head, but they never left my mind. I quickly closed my mouth and turned away to allow Betsy, my maid to help me remove my dress. I barely listened to my mother’s excited chatter about weddings and bridal gowns and whom to invite; it meant nothing to me. This would be their wedding, not mine. I was merely a pawn, nothing more. I was a daughter to marry off into another prominent family which would in turn relieve my father of the burden of paying for my upkeep. It seemed eighteen years was long enough to live under his roof and if all went to their plan, I would be away on my honeymoon for my nineteenth birthday. Wed and a woman in the true sense.

Perhaps I should say a little regarding my intended. Captain John Harrison or Captain John as he had always been known to me was not a particularly unkind man. He wasn’t ugly or fat. He was tall, perhaps nearing six feet and was apparently considered quite a catch in our circles. Many a young girl had commented in secret on his fine looks. Not I, for he wore a moustache, which I despised. My opinion went against the common thoughts on moustaches; to me they looked like hairy slugs that hid a man’s smile. My parents had attended his thirtieth birthday a few months ago but I had declined feigning a headache. The truth was I had no intention of taking his limelight on his birthday when the entire county were expecting a proposal shortly. It seemed improper to have all eyes on me, and ‘us’ if he’d talked to me. The gossip was hard enough to bear; I refused to endure it during his celebration.

The Harrisons had been family friends for years, though I barely knew them. My father and Sir George had gone to war together, fighting in the same regiment and returning in one piece, before I was born. Whatever they had endured, had made them friends for life apparently though father rarely spoke of his past ‘adventures abroad’ he called it. John, their youngest son had followed his father’s example and had fought in the Afghan war which he called ‘The Auckland Folly’ for some dreary reason I hadn’t cared to know. Having survived with only a few scrapes, he’d made Captain of his regiment.

His brother Richard, three years older, was something to do with finances though in truth, I cared very little. He had been married these last five years to Anne, his second wife. His first had died in childbirth eight years before. I don’t remember her well. Long dark hair and mournful eyes, but I was a child, running around the gardens, taking little notice of our guests.

Thankfully, we barely saw Richard or his wife, to which I must admit to some relief. Richard made me feel all the more uncomfortable than Captain John. I’d catch him staring at me with a strange smile on his face. He had no moustache to hide his full lips; mores’ the pity. Whenever we had the misfortune to meet at parties or dinners, I found him false; as if he were playing some secret part in a play, and we were his characters, though we had no idea of his folly.

Captain John was always courteous to me, but he was nothing to me. I felt little if anything towards him when he called; I felt nothing when he left. I exchanged conversation with him, but never on any intimate terms, and never alone. He remained a gentleman throughout, and had never expressed his affection to me; of that I was glad, but still, my heart remained beating the same and I experienced no fluttering in my stomach or lady parts. (I check that my bedroom door is closed after writing such lewd words) but it is true. My older sister Katherine, Married three years and already carrying her second child confided in me when Sir David Edgeworthy courted her that she’d felt a strange sensation in her unspeakable and wondered what it had meant. After her wedding, we’d spoken briefly on the subject whilst giggling into our cups of tea one sunny afternoon.

“I believe it’s our womanhood telling us that we’re in love and David is the right man for me.”

I had blushed, a deep red, and hid my face behind my cup but still felt a strong urge to hear more on such a forbidden subject. “Do you still feel this sensation ... down there ...?” I’d asked meekly.

Katherine, all grown up and married less than a month had merely smiled, nodded and clamped her mouth firmly shut as David walked in from his shooting party.

I felt none of this for Captain John. Nothing in my body reacted, even on the few occasions he’d kissed my hand, nothing. It was like he didn’t exist, but a mere shadow to be indulged during our frequent dinners and occasional parties. He never invaded my dreams or my thoughts whilst awake. Ever since my parents broached the possibility of a marriage proposal I admit, he has entered my head, but only as a conundrum. He’d shown no obvious affection towards me, and yet my parents who knew more about it than I were convinced of his intentions.

I could see nothing in my appearance that would ignite his affection; save that I am a graceful dancer, if I may permit a small indulgence and many a man has fought for my card which is always full at every ball. I am neither good looking, nor plain. My bosom is small as is my waist, but it could be better and I work with Betsy every morning to pull my corset tight. My brown hair has a slight wave in it but is thin and the ends break easily but once it is styled, it looks like everyone else’s but once loose and down my back, it looks like a mad fox’s tale!

I look up into the oval mirror that is attached to my dressing table. My hazel eyes look back at me. Not ugly eyes and my lashes seem longer than Katherine’s. I press my nose this way and that, small and petite, thankfully I didn’t inherit my father’s large nose. I purse my lips and blow myself a kiss. My top lip is fuller than my bottom but neither has felt a man’s touch, especially one with a hairy slug on top of it! I slowly trace my neck and down to my collar bone which is a little protruding, but no more so than other girls my age. My fingers travel down to the top of my small breasts and I shiver with the sensation. If I marry Captain John, I would become his, meaning he would own me and everything on me, and anything owned can be touched. I suddenly felt something for Captain John. Revulsion.

February 2nd 1853

Last night’s revelation disturbed me enough to keep me awake for the majority of the dark hours. I fell into an exhausted slumber some-time around dawn as the birds began to wake. Betsy was punctual as always and brought my cup of tea a couple of hours later with her usual polite chatter about another lovely day intermingled with a tiny bit of gossip regarding one of our gardeners and a local girl from the village. All of which I ignored as best as I could as I forced my eyes to open and pushed my sensitive body upwards into a seated position to accept my tea.

Betsy stopped her banter and finally looked at me. I must have looked awful as she quickly came to feel my brow and fret over me until I bat her away like an annoying fly. I cannot recall what I said to her, but it was rude enough to stop her from fussing and went instead to gather my clothes for the day. I felt remorse and debated calling her to apologise, but etiquette stopped me and I firmly shut my mouth. My head ached and my eyes felt sore. I yearned to return to any slumber that was available but if I did not show to breakfast, my mother would have ventured upstairs to question my absence and it becomes more trouble than it is worth.

Forcing the lukewarm tea down my dry throat I allow Betsy to help me wash and dress. The only part I enjoy is when she does my hair. Her fingers are so light and quick over my scalp it feels like a little massage and she brushes with long strokes that massage my hair from within. I smile kindly and thank her, hoping that is enough of an apology for earlier. Although Betsy smiled back, I am never sure what she thinks or feels and although my mother pounded into Katherine and I that relationships with the staff must be kept at arm’s length and proper, I couldn’t help but wish sometimes that Betsy could be more than my maid.

Perhaps I should write a small description of Betsy to help you ‘see’ her in your mind’s eye. I believe that she is four years older than myself and has brothers, one of which works in the stables, as does an older cousin. Betsy Wainwright has been with us since she was about thirteen, working her way up the kitchens from scullery to parlour maid until the housekeeper Mrs Martin’s considered her hard-working enough to be trained up as a house maid and eventually, a ladies maid. As the youngest daughter, it seemed that I was lumbered with her as she moved upstairs. As it happened, we got on, at least as well as one can with a maid.

When my courses began five years ago, Betsy was the one who explained what they were and why they happened. She then went to tell Mrs Martins to explain the dirty laundry who then informed my mother, who hurried upstairs and planted a kiss on my forehead as I lay in bed feeling dirty and shocked by this new turn of events. The following day, Betsy had been allocated to me as my own ladies maid that gained her an extra two pounds. I only knew this as I’d had the audacity to ask her one evening how much a ladies maid earned and was shocked to hear the mere amount of twenty pounds a year. I considered this to be a terrible fault of my father but Betsy assured me that she was happy considering she got a bed and was fed three meals a day.

Since that night, we had been on fairly good terms. Betsy told me everything that happened downstairs, and any gossip she heard from the village, whilst I shared occasional discreet gossip that I heard during parties that I considered in good taste, and nothing that would demean the name of those involved, besides, the servants hear of it sooner or later. I’d become aware through Betsy that the servants gossip line was far and wide and downstairs was usually a party of conversation regarding someone or other.

Yet I digress. This morning I knew was going to be a difficult morning to get through. I was on edge, exhausted and my courses were due which always left me feeling out of sorts with anyone who I perceived as an annoyance. Spending the day with my mother was not going to go well.

Betsy had just finished doing my hair when mother strode in beaming. Dismissing Betsy she came to me, took both of my hands and told me the news I dreaded, Captain John Harrison had sent word that he was coming for morning tea, and had asked to speak with father beforehand. It seemed that waiting for our evening dinner was too long for him to wait.

Mother’s excitement was overwhelming and I let her babble on about how wonderful it will be and what a beautiful bride I’d make with a man from the regiment. In her excitement she didn’t notice my hands become hot and sweaty. Mother didn’t notice that I merely stared at her and showed no enthusiasm whatsoever. Mother noticed nothing other than the great possibility that both her daughters would be married to well established families and she had done her job as our mother.

I should point out at this time that growing up Katherine and I barely saw our mother. Our nurse brought us up and then a governess took over for a while until she left under strange circumstances last year, but as I was nearing eighteen, they decided not to advertise for another, besides, it was expected that I would marry and the search began for a suitable suitor. Captain John Harrison had apparently shown an interest and the game began, at least, I’m told it did, but I was not a player, merely a pawn in my family’s chess game.

I fled to the large gardens once I’d endured breakfast of which I barely ate. Mother put it down to nerves and she was correct in her assumption, but not correct in why. It was accepted that I should not refuse Captain John, why would I? He was expected to go far within the regiment. He had shown great valour in the Afghan war and had saved many of his men giving orders that showed a good head for battle strategies. He had received a slash to his torso, or so I understand. He came from a prominent family of the county who had connections to royalty and he was considered the best option for a second daughter. If I refused him, it was doubtful I would have many options left, and I would dishonour my family by becoming an old maid, a burden or worse, a governess. The options were preferable to me whilst they caused my mother to have fainting fits when she considered them.

I paced the immaculate lawn, aware that eyes followed my route and whispers behind the glass windows, though unheard by my ears, were shouting loudly in my head. “Where is she going? Keep an eye on her whereabouts so that we may inform Captain John when he arrives. A proposal in the garden on such a glorious day is so romantic.” I hid from prying eyes behind a cluster of thick rhododendrons and caught my breath as my corset only allowed short breaths. I glanced around me like a caged animal and found myself moving towards the narrow, hedge-lined lane that ran beside our home.