I keep hearing fragments of conversations I can’t quite place, with people I can’t quite see. I’ve tossed and turned so much I’ve been tempted to take some laudanum – but Robert says one can come to rely on it, so I’ve refrained. But it’s seven o’clock now, and I’m fully awake. In spite of my earlier misgivings, I can’t wait to take the diary from under my pillow, and immerse myself in it once more. But I can’t risk Robert coming in and finding me, with a repetition of yesterday’s embarrassing hunt-the-parcel. I wash and dress, not waiting for Minnie, and I’m almost completely ready when she knocks at the door. She’s aggrieved to find I have done without her, and insists on my sitting down by the dressing-table while she finishes my hair. ‘You’ve got such lovely hair, Mrs Constantine,’ she says, not for the first time, as she brushes it out. ‘Oh, there’s far too much of it,’ I say. ‘Sometimes I’ve a mind to cut it all off.’ She’s horrified.
