(AN: This was written as an English assignment- A creative response to Oscar Wilde's "The Importance of Being Earnest". Disclaimer: No, I do not own this. I'm 16.)
Friday, 8th of May 1895
As you know, Aunt Augusta and Gwendolen arrive for tea tomorrow. I have a great desire to run off to the country and take care of our dear Mr. Bunbury again, but I fear his coincidental failing health, if used in this frequency again, will become apparent to our Dear Aunt. I am already quite certain Gwendolen is beginning to suspect something strange about our Bunbury, but thankfully she has very little interest in my affairs.
Lane is at present in Convent Garden, buying white bread, butter and cucumbers for those delicious little cucumber sandwiches Aunt Augusta is so fond of. I briefly considered asking him to add a great deal of things to the list, just to keep him out longer, but decided against the idea at the last second. Heaven knows he can be such a bore sometimes, I find myself revelling in the time when he is out.
Onto other matters, now, Journal!
Do you remember when I told you of our dear friend Ernest's rather interesting cigarette case? Well, he has still not come to collect it. I doubt he remembers he left it here in the first place, but I was sure he would have come by again by now, regardless. It has been over a week since he last dined here and I am growing impatient. I have seen far to less of him and far to much of Aunt Augusta and Gwendolen in that time. Perhaps Gwendolen is the reason? Perhaps his affections have melted for her, his eye now laid upon another and he simply cannot bare the awkwardness of seeing her again after all their disgustingly boring flirting. If that be the case, then I will be glad for it. They are becoming much too interested in one another for my liking and their behaviour is quite simply sickening. But still, I grow impatient with this. I have too many questions to be kept waiting.
But, I am afraid I have gotten quite off what I was going to say. Last night, I had Lane bring me the cigarette case again, so I could inspect it (When I confront Ernest about it, I want to have memorised it, in order to show him I truly need a proper explanation). Now, as you, dear Journal, know, I have considered many possibilities about just who this Cecily is. And, for that matter, her "Dear Uncle Jack". I find it utterly bewildering why Ernest would have something clearly marked for another. I have considered theft, but I am quite certain Ernest is capable of affording his own cigarette case. In fact, I would assume he is quite capable of purchasing a great many cigarette cases, all of which of a greater quality that this one. Not that "his" current case is of a poor quality, no, no. On the contrary, I quite like it.
Excuse me, for I have gotten off task again. But, then, what fun would this dreary world be if we all stayed on the straight and clear lines set out for us by the unseen powers of "morality"? Exactly! We must all stray from our points once in a while to keep things interesting.
Anyway, back onto the case of Ernest.
As well as theft, which I am quite certain is out of the question due to the reasons listed above, I have considered that perhaps he has it by mistake. Perhaps, he left it on a table somewhere, looked away at the same time another gentleman put his case down, and without meaning to both left the gathering with the wrong case!
But, no. Many a time have I seen him pause while retrieving a cigarette to read the inscription. He would have realised the mistake, if there had been one, and gotten his own case back. He is overly cautious with his things, it becomes quite boring.
But, dear Journal, one idea has plagued me. What if Ernest has his own Bunbury? I have dismissed the idea, of course, but the idea just keeps...popping into my brain. What if? What if his Bunbury is named Jack, and the "Little Cecily" has heard of "Dear Uncle Jack's" ...something, and so wrote him his very own inscription on a cigarette case. Ernest, then, knowing there to be no Jack, takes the case for himself! Yes, considering our dear Bunbury, that seems perfectly plausible. Except that Ernest is a perfect bore and much to unimaginative to have such a useful invention as a Bunbury. So, once again, we are back to the drawing board.
I think it is plainly obvious the inscription was written by someone hansom. It is in her writing, you can simply tell she is a great beauty. Young, too. Perhaps small, as well, as denoted by signing "Little Cecily".
One can ponder this arising mystery for hours. I, however, must leave these questions to you, Journal. Lane apparently has arrived back and must speak with me about something or another. Which reminds me, I really must ask him about the number of bottles of champagne he has entered into the book as being consumed last Thursday.
Until next time, old friend.