***Misunderstandings***

Dear Diary

Horrible, horrible day! Lizzie and me had a big row.

It's a whole week since she told me about Ben so I thought I'd better say what was on my mind especially as Ben and Lizzie are carrying on like nothing has happened and I am the only one who notices them looking at each other when we sit down for meals, though that might be because I am putting the food out while everybody else is being greedy and eating it. Lizzie said they haven't had a chance to be together since they kissed and hugged, but I think that is a good thing, don't you? One baby at a time is enough.

She was asking me all last week why I was so quiet and I thought it best to wait for Lizzie to mention the baby first so I just said I was thinking about something and she thought I meant A Tale of Two Cities, which I am still reading because work keeps getting in the way, though I only have a couple of chapters left now.

Last Tuesday, the cottage pie I was making went all over Sydney Carton and the 52 prisoners on the carts so I thought it was only 5 prisoners covered in it until I wiped the page. Then Mrs Patmore saw and said, "For Heaven's sake, Daisy, put the book away before you ruin it!"

I said, "It's fine, Mrs Patmore, I've managed to get most of the minced beef and carrots off. The peas have left a green mark, but it's only a bit so I don't think Mr Molesley will mind too much."

She rolled her eyes at me and said, "I'm talking about the cottage pie. Good Lord, how many other cooks in England have a kitchen maid who reads Charles Dickens while cooking?"

I don't know why she asked me that because I really don't know. Some kitchen maids might, but others might prefer reading Sherlock Holmes like Mr Barrow (though he is not a kitchen maid) or Peg's Paper or Anne of Green Gables (which is very good, by the way). Or they mightn't like reading like Lizzie, who is not a kitchen maid either.

Which reminds me, I was telling you about Lizzie. We had just finished making up the last fire (I don't mean the fires didn't exist. They did. We had finished cleaningthe flues, black-leadingthe grates and lighting the fires in every room so they were ready for the lords and ladies when they got up. We don't have fires already lit when we get up, but the lords and ladiesmust feel the cold more than us. It is a good job they arenot kings and queens, though, because I have read royals have blue blood so they must be very, very cold.)

I was warming my hands a bit because I was freezing and Lizzie was putting the coal scuttle back and clapping her hands together to get rid of some of the soot as she'd already warmed her hands because she was freezing as well and I suddenly thought all that kneeling wouldn't be good for the baby. I gave a big sigh when I thought it and decided it was high time I said something. So I told her I was really worried about the baby and I wanted to help because I was her friend.

I expected her to be glad, wouldn't you? But instead she just stared at me and said, "What baby?"

"Ben's baby," I said.

She pulled a face as if she thought I was crazy. "What are you on about? Ben works in the gardens, not on a farm, in case you hadn't noticed. He doesn't look after any baby animals."

"I'm not talking about baby animals. I'm talking about your baby." I was getting very annoyed that she was being thick and trying to make out it was me, but I think it was because she was trying to pretend it hadn't happened.

"I haven't got any baby animals either. Blimey, Daisy, have you been knocking back the cooking sherry or what?"

"I'm not talking about baby animals," I said. I don't know why she kept pretending. She knew I knew they'd put their arms round each other so I knew she would be expecting a baby. And she wouldn't be able to pretend forever it wasn't happening because your stomach gets fat.

I was being very grown up about it but Lizzie was being very sarcastic with her hands on her hips and everything and said in a snooty voice, "Well, if you're not talking about baby lambs or baby pigs or baby chicks what ARE you talking about?"

"A real baby," I said patiently.

"I think you need to see a doctor, Daisy. As soon as possible. Nobody's got any baby. You're seeing things."

I lost my temper then. I know you probably think I should have been more understanding, but can you blame me when she was being so annoying? l yelled, "You can't pretend you're not having a baby when I already know you and Ben kissed and put your arms round each other!"

I thought she would finally admit it, but she just laughed and said, "I can't believe you don't know anything, Daisy, when you're always reading and you have two big sisters as well! Didn't they ever tell you anything about having babies?"

"Of course they did. They told me I wouldn't have time to read books when I got married and had babies." I was getting really mad at her talking about our Sal and Beattie like that and talking to me like I was a silly little kid.

"If you ask me, Daisy Parker, it's reading that's the problem," she said in a snooty voice. "You need to stop reading those daft magazines Madge lends you all about ladies swooning and needing smelling salts when they see a gentleman."

"I don't read those," I lied. I do, even though I agree with Lizzie the romance magazines Madge buys are daft. I prefer Wuthering Heights. It's just I can't help reading everything. I've twice missed the tram back from the village because there was new advertising to read on the side of the trams going into Leeds and I didn't notice mine had moved off without me. And Mrs Patmore asked me once was it really necessary to study the packet of self-raising flour before I decided whether or not to bake the scones for the ladies' afternoon tea, but I was reading what is said about Henry Jones.*

"Yes, you do! You're always reading them!"

"I am not!" I said back.

We didn't realise we were shouting, but next thing we knew Mrs Hughes burst in looking really stern and said she could hear us arguing about reading all the way down the landing and it was not the way to behave if we wanted to stay working in Downton Abbey.

It's lucky she didn't hear about Lizzie's baby, but now Lizzie keeps being funny with me because she says it's my fault we got told off and nearly got the sack. I don't know why I bothered to offer to help. I can't write any more tonight because I am going to pretend I'm asleep when she gets back from the bathroom. And I'm crying a bit. I don't mind telling you, but I don't want Lizzie to know.

A/N: * Henry Jones, a Welsh baker, invented self-raising flour in Bristol, England in 1845. The packet Daisy was reading was self-promoting itself by advertising its origins.