***Settling In***
Dear Diary
I know it's been four weeks since I last wrote, but I am so wiped out I feel - and probably look like - a wet mop at the end of every shift. I am so glad today is my half day at last. Can you believe I get two a month? Everybody says they are very generous with time off here.
I had a lovely walk down to the village and bought myself some chocolate that I'm eating now and Peg's Paper to read later. It was cold, but I didn't mind, you can't imagine how good it was to be outdoors in the fresh air after being stuck in a hot kitchen all the time except for when I have to go up to the yard to collect a delivery or Mrs Patmore says I can go for a breather.
I got back just before the Heavens opened and Mrs Patmore said I could have a cup of tea and a couple of the biscuits she helped me bake this morning for the other servants, though Old Winnie pulled a face when she saw me sitting there. Have I told you about Old Winnie? She works in the kitchens with me and has been here for donkey's years. She is always saying servants never got away with half as much when she was my age and us young ones don't know we're born.
Most of the other people here are nice, though. I really like Anna, who is lady's maid to Lady Mary Crawley, but she's not in the least bit snobbish about it. She noticed how red my hands were with all the washing up and cleaning and stuff and gave me some cream for them, which has helped a lot. And she never minds being called Anna. You would never dare call some of the snobby senior servants by their Christian name, but Anna prefers it.
I am quite happy here although I was dreading it after the terrible tales I'd heard from Mam and Auntie Alice about servants being treated like skivvies and never allowed lives of their own. But they never worked at Downton Abbey and of course things are more modern nowadays so everything is much better. I would hate to have been in service in the olden days.
I am sitting relaxing in my room, all nice and cosy, with a blanket round my shoulders and watching the rain lash the window and thinking how lucky I was to get back before it started. The blanket is a bit itchy but I shouldn't mither*, at least it's keeping me warm. I remember when Mam had to put our sheets and blankets in the pawn shop. It was just after Dad died and it was nearly summer but it was still bloody cold with nothing to cover me except an old second-hand coat someone gave Mam. I was so excited when I found a quarter of cough drops they'd left in the pocket, though I had to share them with our Sal and Beattie when they found out.
Did you wonder why I suddenly stopped writing last time? Well, it was because somebody shouted, "Girls! Time you were asleep!" and rapped on our door as well as the door opposite that Betsy, Madge and Carrie all share because it's bigger than ours. I was sitting at our chest of drawers writing - we have one and a half drawers each - and I dived under the covers like lightning in case I was for the high jump and Lizzie was laughing so hard, but quiet like so they wouldn't hear. We never did find out who it was.
Lizzie told me Mrs Hughes the housekeeper worries about us young ones getting enough rest so sometimes checks we're not staying up too late. I think it must have been someone she sent, though. It can't have been Mrs Hughes because whoever shouted didn't have a Scottish lilt and Mrs Hughes has a lovely Scottish kilt. I meant to write lilt, of course, but I'm leaving it in because I don't have a rubber and I don't want to spoil my diary with crossings out.
She comes into the kitchens sometimes to talk with Mrs Patmore and the other day I was wondering if she sang as lovely as she talks and I was a bit too long wondering about it and forgot I was meant to be washing the pots so Winnie called me Daisy Daydream.
Everybody was laughing and what made it worse was Bill, who helps with the horses, had just come in for the vegetable peelings for them and I always feel my face burning when I see Bill, but so far I've managed to keep my head down looking at the sink or peeling the spuds or something. I swear I would die on the spot if Bill saw me blushing.
He is like a film star with his black hair and the way he smiles and he even talks to Mr Carson like he's a real person, though Mr Carson is the butler so in charge. He always reminds me of Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights with his dark hair and eyes and his being so tall and everything. Bill, I mean, not Mr Carson.
I am going to stop writing now and read my magazine. I wish I could have been Cathy roaming the Yorkshire moors and being in love with Heathcliff. I am in love with Bill. He is so handsome!
A/N: *mither – complain (Northern English)