a few exceptions, loathe one another. The only one rather removed is Sir Arthur, who is preoccupied by his Polytechnic, but good old George (which is what I call young Baron Covington) does not like Sir Arthur and considers him a parasite.
The family gathers every evening for a meal. Good old George sits at the head of the table, trying to be pompous, with Lady Covington—the real head of the household—at its foot. The various other members—Miss and Mr. Morris (Harriet and Jonathan, Lady C.’s daughter and son) sit on one side with Mrs. Hume (Erica, the stepdaughter), Sir Arthur Maddox, and me on the other.
I face Jonathan, who needs to be watched. He’s the very devil. Dear Jonathan is up to his neck in schemes and scrapes, lending friends money that is never seen again. He will not admit who these friends are or what the money is for—highly suspicious.
The maid, Jepson, distrusted me entirely at first, but I think she is warming to me. That means she carries me a cup of tea without such a severe frown. The frown is still there, but it has softened a small amount. Lady Covington puts her well-being into the hands of Jepson, which I also think is highly suspicious.
Lady C. believes Jonathan can do no wrong, suggesting the strange sort of maternal blindness that afflicts some women. On the other hand, her poor daughter, Harriet, can do no right. Lady C. mimics my parents in her adamancy in finding a husband for Harriet, but there is some difference. My parents have no idea what to do with me, while Lady Covington is determined Harriet shall marry none but the best.
Harriet has a hard time of it, not coming from a titled family herself—being a baron’s stepdaughter takes her off the lists of the most finicky families. Her own father was no aristo, but I gather quite wealthy in his own right. One of these railroad magnates. Lady Covington met her second husband via her first—they were both on the board of the same railway company. I gather Lady Covington’s first husband died in some tragic circumstance, but I haven’t been able to find out what happened to him. The subject is abruptly changed whenever the man’s name comes up (he was also Jonathan Morris).
No one has taken sick thus far, but there was a near thing. Lady Covington yesterday afternoon said her stomach ached slightly. Jepson was about to mix her a large glassful of some powder from an unmarked packet, but I happened to be passing the bedchamber and jumped in to offer a set of powders I’d found jolly good at passing off indigestion. I managed to foist them onto Lady Covington, who was willing to try them, before Jepson could grab them and throw them in a rubbish pail. I mixed the powder—which was bicarbonate of soda I’d procured at the local chemists for just this circumstance. Lady Covington drank it up, with Jepson hovering like a disapproving bat, and after the lady belched heartily, she declared she felt much better. She continued in roaring good health all night and continues this morning. It was after this episode that Jepson’s frowns grew less fierce.
This makes me wonder: is Jepson on Lady Covington’s side or is she not? Surely she’d be less happy with me for curing her mistress’s dyspepsia if she were trying to murder her. Then again, she might be buttering me up so that next time I do not interfere.
It is difficult for me to read people, Mrs. H. I am not certain how you do it so well.
I will continue posting you my observations of the family, which so far have shown me that they are spoiled and ungrateful. Makes me ashamed of my own pique with my family, but then, my family can be overbearing.
Erica has been disappearing from the house often, I gather, but where she goes, I have no idea. Neither does anyone else. She takes a maid, but the maid is always sent home with the excuse that Erica is meeting with a friend and doesn’t need her. Erica returns in a hansom and is vague about where she’s been. I suspect a liaison, but with whom, I do not know. Erica is not a beautiful woman and is rather stiff mannered, but perhaps with her paramour she is sweet and loving. I have difficulty imagining it though.
The whole lot of them are keeping things from Lady Covington. Good old