April 2, 1895
I have been in England since the end of March, and it seems a continuation of the greyness of the seas. Upon docking, Papa and I left the vessel with great goodwill and enthusiasm. It has been a tedious, long journey and we were glad to feel our legs on steady ground once more. I feared I had forgotten how to walk for quite a few moments when I wobbled in a most undignified manner down the quay. I am now comfortably and snugly ensconced in a hired carriage (Papa would not stoop to ask Uncle Peter for one), and am waiting for Papa’s return as he has just gone into the bank and then intends to call in at one of the government offices. So I am sitting here taking it all in, patiently waiting for his return. I know there is a lending library quite close by and I am wondering if it would be proper for me to dash in quickly and perhaps choose a novel to while the hours away… dare I?
Goodness! I am now writing this on the floor of our carriage!! Some wretch has just thrown a handful of dirt at the window! I am trying to catch the eye of our driver but he is lolling about and taking tobacco with nary a care in the world. I wonder if this act is because someone has seen that I am a stranger??
I shall brave a peek and perhaps give this shabby perpetrator a piece of my mind!
***
Later
Upon the feather in my cap, I was never so startled in my life!! After screwing up my courage, I peeked out of the corner of the carriage window and was nonplussed to see that it was a girl in a pale pink bonnet (and very flushed cheeks, I ought to add) gathering up another handful of dirt from the road. At this, outrage overtook me, and I was about to do something rash and ill-advised when her eye caught mine, and she began gesticulating wildly.
I was intrigued. She didn’t seem to me to be similar to the scores of girls I’d met before who were too fine and prim to speak to me. In fact, it looked like there was nothing more she wanted at that moment than to exchange a few words. Glancing back at the entrance to the bank, I decided that Papa was quite likely to take a while. The driver was still quite absorbed in his own doings, and so I betook the opportunity to alight from the carriage and walk slowly toward the madcap vision in rose, saying to her, “What on earth?!”
At this, the girl (who had light brown hair with golden flecks throughout, and I must own I am rather envious of it) leapt forward of a sudden and hugged me. I was startled and barely comprehended that she had been expecting my arrival with great excitement and that somehow we were connected and to follow her into the library, quickly, so that we could have a good chat before Uncle Edward –Papa– returned.
At any rate, as I had previously considered visiting the library, I linked hands with her and we ran swiftly up the steps.
Once inside, she stuck a hand out in a gesture of friendship and said, “I’m Irene Hamilton!”
“Maud Grenover,” I said, smiling. It was the first time someone had been so warm and friendly to me, and I thought she had a sisterly sort of spirit about her. I was determined that we were going to be the best of friends.
“We’re cousins you say?” I asked. That seemed to be the most important bit that I needed to have confirmed. She nodded vigorously.
“Indeed, and you are staying with us, of course!” At this, my mouth gaped in a most improper fashion.
“Your parents are Aunt Alice and Uncle Peter?!” I uttered, all astonished. She hastened to tell me that they were rather a good sort, only it took a bit of getting used to them, and she wasn’t sure she had done that herself as of yet.
Our tête-à-tête was brief, because my dear cousin Irene had to rush back –she had snuck away you see! I marvelled at her audacity. I had to return posthaste to the carriage as well, for I had no idea whether Papa would be displeased to know that I had already made the acquaintance of my cousin in such an unorthodox fashion.
Before I turned to go, Irene slipped a kerchief wrapped ‘round something warm and soft. “To keep you full while you’re waiting!” she whispered.
After I found myself back in the carriage again, I took a peek. Inside it was a light, honey-golden roll brushed with butter. I found myself rather famished at the sight and immediately devoured the whole. I know Papa says it is wicked to read only the bits of the Bible that speak of food, but I was distinctly reminded of the manna that the Hebrews ate, and felt as if I had entered the land of milk and honey.
I had a friend.
