Countess Diaries, Chapter 29, An Intrusion Most Foul and a Songbird’s Lament

Diary of the Countess of Brighton and Hackney

"An Intrusion Most Foul and a Songbird’s Lament"

Greetings, my beloved subjects and gentle companions,

Tonight, I recount a tale of such nerve and villainy that it shall live in infamy within the annals of my court. As I recline now in my tub, the waters scented with lavender to soothe my frayed spirits, I must unburden my soul to you, my ever-loyal confidantes.

’Twas but last night, after the day’s labors and triumphs, that I retired to my chamber of rest and refreshment. My bath drawn, I did recline, washing my delicate person with the care befitting a Countess. The hour was late, and the night air still. Then, lo, a most dreadful sound reached mine ears—a ruckus, as though some brutish beasts had descended upon my palace unbidden.

At first, I thought it a mouse, for my abode, like any noble’s, is occasionally troubled by such tiny creatures. Yet no! The noise was heavier, angrier, and full of menace. I lay still as stone, listening intently, and then—oh, horror!—I heard footsteps, booted and heavy, ascending my fire escape. Voices followed, coarse and gruff.

I, your Countess, called out, “Who dares disturb the sanctity of my palace? Who treads so boldly where they have no right?” No reply came. Grabbing the nearest cloth—a towel so small it might as well have been a kerchief—I leapt from the bath, dripping and incensed, and flew to confront these intruders.

Up on my mezzanine I spied them—two men of ill repute, their figures shadowed but their intentions clear. I shouted, demanding their purpose. “Begone!” I cried. “Lest you face the wrath of my court!”

Hearing my voice, they muttered foul oaths and made to flee, clambering down the fire escape like thieves caught in the light. I pursued them, as any noble protector of their realm would, but they vanished into the darkness before I could seize them. Yet their escape was not the end of it. No, dear reader, for justice would soon be meted out.

This morning, with my court guards summoned and the fire escape barred with iron bolts, I set forth a decree to hunt the knaves. By midday, they were captured and brought before me, quaking and covered in filth, as they deserved. I sentenced them to a punishment both fitting and revolting—dunking in the slurry pits of my estate. There, their sins would be washed away in a tide of foulness most befitting their audacity.

But now, to other matters that weigh upon my heart. For though my spirit burns with righteousness, there is one criticism oft whispered beyond my court that wounds me deeply: the claim that my voice, my sweet and melodious song, is not in tune.

Can you imagine such gall? Within my court, none dare utter such falsehoods. Indeed, my loyal subjects clap and swoon when I grace them with a tune. “Like a nightingale,” they say, their eyes bright with admiration. Yet beyond my domain, in the murmurings of commoners, I am accused of shrieking like a crow or wailing like a banshee.

It is slander, pure and simple. Do I not possess the poise of a songbird? The grace of a lark? And yet, these unrefined ears, unfit for the delicacies of my art, spread their cruel assessments.

I shall not be swayed by their lies. When I sing, I bring forth the joys and sorrows of the soul, uniting heaven and earth in melody. If they cannot appreciate the beauty, it is because their own hearts are unworthy of such gifts. Still, I wonder—might there be truth in their jests? Could my pitch stray? Perhaps it is the fault of the chamber’s acoustics, not mine own.

I shall practice anew, for a Countess must always strive for perfection. Tomorrow, I shall sing in the grand hall and let my notes soar to the rafters. Let the critics come and hear for themselves, though I doubt they possess the courage to face me directly.

Ah, but enough of these trivial grievances. The day ends, and I must rest, my subjects. My bath grows tepid, and I find myself longing for a warm goblet of mulled wine to chase away the chill.

May your nights be peaceful and your dreams filled with grandeur befitting the loyal companions of a Countess. Until tomorrow, my dearest friends.

The Countess of Brighton and Hackney