I'm speeding up the process by putting a few days at a time up. Previous bits are in my memories under "my Fic" or the prior post if you can work that green triangle (and I know you can). Here's the next bit:
December the Seventeenth
It is madness. There is no other word for which to call it. First thing this morning came a ring at the door. Miss Maggie rolled up her sleeves and prepared to stare down whatever was brought to our home. As soon as the door was opened, the sound went rolling through the great hall like thunder. THESE birds had cards attached. If I wasn't so angry with the thought behind the gift (or rather, the abject loss of thought) I would think they were lovely - muted colors of the forest. But once they open their mouths, the squawking caused a ringing in my ears that is just now beginning to recede. And the damned partridge, doves and hens were all back as well! Father says ladies don't swear, but I feel as if I could cry or fly into a rage at the drop of a hat.
The delivery boy visibly cringed when the door was opened. "Gov'nor, whassat about not killing the messenger? You'd not have me off just for doin' me job, would ya now?"
I did steal a glance at Father placing a well deserved kick in the seat of his pants. He's marching down the street to speak to Mrs. Haugh. Finally. I'm having Cook mix me a sleeping draught.
December the Eighteenth
It appears that Father hasn't left the large bowl of Wassail in the great hall all night. I'm tempted to tipple a bit more ale and sherry into the mix. I'm not allowed to drink sherry as of yet. At least today brought no NEW birds. Oh, the filthy buggers (horrors! whatever has gotten into me?) from the days past are back, but today brought the new extravagence of bangels of gold! William, who couldn't be bothered with but one suit. Who walked everywhere instead of taking a cab like a sensible gentleman. Whoever heard of someone wanting to "connect with the night air?" Whatever can that mean? Senseless.
The rings are quite lovely, and of a stunning quality. How such a wretch was able to purchase things of such luxury is beyond even I. I asked Father about it (he didn't seem to notice that he was holding the cage containing the hens from France - I'm concerned.) and he got a wild look about him. He told Mother and I that we were simply to find a place to keep them.
He smells of drink and rubs his neck in a most confusing manner. Having pears in winter is a lovely idea, but what on earth shall we do with the fool birds? I can't in good conscience release them to the elements... Perhaps someone has a dovecote and will take them all in.
December the Nineteenth
Bloody Hell! I don't care. These are my thoughts, and if I wish to swear, well, then... The absolute bastard has sent more birds 'round the house today. Our holiday is completely ruined. Beatrice came to call and asked "if it was true." Oh, I could die! I am utterly ruined for society, and all because of that sodding, simpering, sad sack of a dolt who cannot seem to take "no" for an answer. It will be everywhere after this.
The doorbell rang, and Beatrice chose that exact moment to "see herself out." I believe the heathen natives of Africa refer to it as "guano." Six great birds, tied together and held by some naif who curtseyed at me, handed me the rope, then proceeded to walk off! Such a honking, and in my home! I called for Miss Maggie to take them away, and I believe I may be afraid to eat tonight, so great was her wrath. At least they are laying geese, so perhaps Cook will not be so cross with today's "gift?"
The cacophony of squawking, honking, chirping, and chittering in the back sun room will surely drive me mad. The butcher is due this later afternoon.