Gibbous House 52

Having recovered myself sufficiently, I made my way up the stairs to the concealed entry leading to the blue-doored bedrooms. Naturally, I lingered at the teal blue door. It was only a shade or two distinct from her unsuitable skirts. It pleased me to a large degree that she evinced a taste for the unsuitable. I put my eye to the keyhole on the tarnished brass plate and was thwarted by the key in the other side. It may have been fancy but I discerned the song of Sheba, faint but urgent from behind the door.

Surprisingly, at the other end of the corridor there was no such aural evidence of the solitary vice emanating from behind the Professor's door. Perhaps he was indifferent to the tableaux on his chamber walls, or merely treated tham as objects of academic interest. Alone behind the navy blue door, in my monkish cell, I noted that although the bourdeloue remained in the centre of the rough floor, Miss Arabella Coble's journal was now upon the window ledge with a tall candle burning beside it.

Although still troubled by the passions aroused by my adventure on the hill by the pond, I did not indulge them as a lesser man might. It has long been my experience that gratification deferred is all the more pleasurable, for the most part. Moving the candle to the side of the window ledge nearest my cot, I picked up my late wife's juvenile scribbles, let the journal fall open where it chose and lay down to read it.

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Friday 13th May 183_
Today, Great Uncle Septimus visited the 'schoolroom'. Though it is found amongst the blue-doored bedrooms, it always puts me in mind of a gaol. Especially in the presence of my tutor. He is a most vile drunkard, and his hand lingers too oft upon my person. Mr Snitterton had this day the misfortune to be asleep upon my Great Uncle's arrival. That forbidding man merely nodded once at me and said but one word : 'So!' He received only a snore from the tutor for an answer, though his back was already turned. I am at a loss to understand how the man sleeps so well in the straight backed and frankly spindly chairs we have brought from the library to this room. I think perhaps Mr Snitterton is none too long for employment at Gibbous House.

Saturday 14th May 183_
It is late and I write in my room by candlelight. Today is yet another Shabbos gone; Gentiles are so lucky, how I wish I might do something on the day of rest. Visit Alnwick, try the wares in the market. Buy a hat at the milliners, waste the day at a coffee shop. I often think we persecute ourselves as much as the Gentiles do oppress us.

Sunday 15th May 183_
Mr Snitterton cut a tragic figure as he boarded the farmer's cart before the house this morning. How can anyone travel with so few possessions? I was summoned to the library at eleven of the morning. A rare occurence, though I do not complain; my uncle is so serious a fellow, he quite intimidates me. It was not so important a matter; he merely wished to inform me that my new tutor would arrive tomorrow. A Heathfield Cadwallader, such a mouthful of a name. I wonder what sort of man might own to it?

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I had read enough to know that my former wife – the woman who stepped down the cutter's gangplank in the East India Docks – was of quite different character to the silly girl who had written that journal.