There could be little doubt that summer was on its way as June turned gently into July, just as softly as a winter snowflake brushing past a small child’s face.
It come quickly so no one really noticed. They just went about their business… So I’m sat in my study waiting for some inspiration for the new book I am working on when there comes a knock at the door. This had better be important because the staff know I am not to be disturbed whilst in my private writing room. A letter from London… ah Finally I am to be accepted to a meeting of the Royal society. May 30th. I shall look forward to immensely and wonder what to wear. A new dress must be made for I must make a statement. The people expect nothing less from me, Lady Margaret, the Duchess of Newcastle.
They are going to show me some interesting experiments which I hope will add weight to some of my theories which I am currently working on.
There is a gentleman, for want of a better word, who does disapprove of my being there. Quite a popular man who is partial to cheese, so I am told and goes by the name of Samuel Pepys. Writes in his journals that although I am a good and comely woman (rude), I had nothing worth hearing, my attire was abhorrent, and no one wanted my presence there to begin with.
I care not for what he says, and I highly doubt anyone will read his diaries anyway since they speak of nothing of interest to man nor beast.
I find the experiments to be of little interest to not myself or my work on nature and philosophy, however I am grateful for the opportunity to be there and hope that my doing so is the beginning of the society allowing women of good and healthy mind to join them .
My dress was a thing of beauty, as is befitting a Duchess. A rather long train billowing gently behind with a number of my ladies in waiting to help me. My usual Cavalier hat with a large blue feather and a few small adornments finished off my outfit quite spectacularly I believe.
I was surprised to see a good many people waiting outside who I am told were there just to see me. It is nice to be noted, although I care to think that they simply wanted a glimpse of a Duchess and her outfit rather than my wit and mind. For in the end I care not where my dust and bones remain, but where my works live, the labours if my brain.
By Lynsey-Louise Yeardley
Storyteller at Bolsover Castle