From Fitzroy's Private Diary (Extract 76)

“Get off Jack!”

My dog jumped off the bed and crouched on the ground whimpering. I don’t shout at animals, or children, so the raising of my voice was something new to him. I shout a lot at Euphemia, but she shouts back. There is nothing like a strong woman to pull you into line when you’re wrong. Of course, I am so rarely ever wrong that it can take me a few barks, as it were, to realise my mistake. I don’t think it’s ever bothered her. She’s always liked that I treat her as an equal. Jack, however, is not my equal, and now he’s frightened and unhappy.

I called for Griffin and told him to make me a bacon sandwich. He naturally protested as we were already late. I tersely agreed but told him to do it anyway.

It was three days before Christmas, and I was heading to White Orchards for my second Yuletide there. I would be spending time with the Stapleford’s, then they would hold a large party, where the great and the good would come to talk off the record. Then, of course, Bertram would have his bloody duck shoot. It was the only way we could get him to agree. Although, I pointed out to Euphemia, he is becoming a recognised columnist for the newspapers, and making contact with our select invitees can do his prospects no harm.

I am especially grateful to Euphemia for including me in their family celebration. It means I have an excuse not to go anywhere near my own family this season. I believe she told Bertram that we required the time to plan for the upcoming grand Christmas event. I could almost kiss Morley for coming up with the idea. Almost.

Griffin returned with the sandwich, which I immediately fed to the dog, much to Griffin’s annoyance and my amusement. While Jack was busy stuffing himself, I managed to select which dress shoes I would wear and stow them in the valise. The only thing Jack likes eating more than bacon is my finest leather shoes.

Griffin hovered in the background until I sent him away. I’d told him that I wanted to do my own packing, as I had to prepare for every eventually, given that we couldn’t be absolutely sure of the intentions of all the people attending. This was, in part, true. I didn’t particularly want him, or anyone else, to see the knives, small gun, and various other paraphernalia it has become my custom to carry into potentially volatile situations. However, the real reason is lodged in one of my shoes. A jewellery case, of evident quality, and its contents that once belonged to my mother.

I have all her jewellery, and I have, for some years, wondered what to do with it. I am unlikely to ever marry, so will have no wife or daughter on whom to bestow it. But I’m damned if the jewels will go to my half-siblings, or their offspring. Then it occurred to me, I’d rather like Euphemia to have them. Goodness knows, Bertram doesn’t have the money, or doesn’t choose to use his money, to buy her decent jewellery, and she had none of her own.

My problem is the jewellery in question is worth a substantial amount of money. I couldn’t care less about that, but I know Euphemia would worry about upsetting Bertram. Again, I couldn’t care less about that. However, I don’t want to cause Euphemia strife. Last year, I managed to get her to accept a small amethyst, diamond and platinum broach in the shape of flower. I told her it was silver and paste. A trifle, in all truth. This year I am upping my game and attempting to get her to accept a ruby and gold necklace that will suit her admirably. I am prepared to accept that she can hide it from Bertram, until he is in a good mood (I am supplying copious bottles of brandy), and in good health before she tells him about it.

Then, one day, I hope to get her to take the prize of the collection, an arrangement of diamonds that hang on the end of a thick platinum chain and are arranged in the shape of a star. She does get it, and all the other jewels, in my will, but I would prefer to see her wear them while I am alive. The star alone is worth a small fortune, and I fear I will have to work up to that for some time. But she deserves it - almost as much as Jack deserves his bacon.

At last, I am done. I am leaving my diary behind. I want no worries about it falling into the wrong hands, so I shall recommence in the new year.