| Sunday:
What a day! I had to go to the infirmary at Trinsic to collect my medicine for my nerves, and never did I need it more than I did today. When I arrived, Irvyn was in one of the beds, looking even pastier than normal, and claiming to have been attacked by some men from Cove. A very impertinent young girl was guarding him and actually had the temerity to wave a sword at me in a very alarming fashion, inferring that I was some sort of threat to him. Irvyn made absolutely no attempt to put a stop to her rudeness, and indeed it seemed to amuse him. No wonder our marriage did not last, when he shows so little respect to the woman he once claimed to love. No wonder his second wife is never to be seen, she probably has to take second place to piles of paper, now that she has done her duty and produced an heir.
I took the opportunity, since I had a captive audience, of telling Irvyn that I needed more money, since the paltry sum he gave me as my divorce settlement, is not enough to keep even the poorest peasant in tolerable comfort. The ridiculous man seemed to think that such a meagre amount was more than satisfactory, and flatly refused to discuss it any further, claiming weakness and fatigue, as usual, what a sluggard he can be at times. Really, you would think he could at least speak to me about it, since he has nothing better to do just now than loaf about in bed while others do all the work. Still, that is Irvyn all over, completely spineless and selfish. I am well rid of him.
I left the infirmary in the company of a lady who claimed to be the Trade Minister. For some reason, she seemed to think I was in need of a room for the night, but I certainly would not spend a moment in one of those rancid, flea ridden rooms at the Trinsic inns. I rode out of the city but then remembered that I had forgotten to pick up my medicine, so had to go back.
On entering the infirmary, I was confronted with an extraordinary sight. Some female with a very silly voice and the most unfeasibly large bosom I have ever seen, was there speaking to Irvyn in the most familiar terms. She seemed to me to be acting as if she was one of the family, calling Isidore her little angel, or some such sentimental nonsense.
She introduced herself to me as Lady Gwyndolyn Faintly, or Saintly or some such silly name, and actually tried to pass herself off as a Countess, which was quite laughable, since she is clearly another one of Irvyn's floozies. Goodness me, how does he do it? He is the dullest of men, with very little interesting conversation, and yet women of the lower orders flock to him like moths around a flame! He has certainly lowered his standards since we parted.
I wonder what the red headed trollop thinks of THIS new interloper. I'll wager it has wiped the smirk off her face, at any rate. |