Lady's Maid

by Margaret Forster

  ‘Miss Henrietta told you about Miss Elizabeth, I expect?’ Minnie finally said, getting up.

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘You’ll know, then, about her situation?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘She’s had a sad life, poor Miss Elizabeth, a lot of illness and disappointment.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Crow could tell you the weeks and weeks she’s wept, never sleeping.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Well then, you’ll feel for her.’

  ‘Oh yes, ma’am.’

  Minnie nodded, evidently satisfied. She told Wilson that Miss Henrietta would see her presently and meanwhile Charles would bring up her box. She asked Wilson if there was anything she wanted to make her more comfortable and then she left. Wilson flew to the window and pressed her face eagerly to the glass: chimneys. That was all she could see, a field of chimneys of every size and shape and brick colour, sticking up from the roofs below like squat trees. No real trees, no greenery. Carefully, Wilson opened the window and peered first to the right and then to the left. She was not quite sure but fancied she saw a hint of green, far, far to the right as though there might be a tree of some kind on the horizon. She closed the window, stood with her back to it. The room would do very well. Just then there was a knock, making her jump. Her heart thudded a little as she opened the door. A youth was standing there with her box, staring at her boldly. He went on standing there, saying nothing, staring, holding the heavy box, clearly waiting for her to give him an order. Tongue-tied, knowing she was not behaving as she ought, as a lady’s maid ought, a London lady’s maid, she pointed at the floor. He put the box down, slowly. She thanked him. Still he stood there. She had no idea how to get rid of him. She put her hand on the door knob and said thank you again and at last he backed out, never smiling, never speaking.

  For the next hour she unpacked her box and arranged her things – three dresses, two petticoats, three nightgowns, two chemises, four pairs of drawers, two nightcaps, four pairs of stockings – and then she moved the jug and basin from the washstand and used it as a desk to write to her mother. When that was done, she could not think what to do next. Should she go down? Should she wait until sent for? She dreaded meeting people she did not yet know on the stairs. Should she change her dress to be ready for the summons from Miss Henrietta? She was full of doubt, weak with the strain of not knowing how to behave. All new places and people and routines were an ordeal to her – mother could not know how she suffered every time she had to face moving. What she loved was the familiar, the well tried and tested. There was no pleasure for her in change.

  An hour later, Wilson stood trembling outside Miss Elizabeth’s door, Henrietta beside her. The landing was gloomy on this turn of the stairs. The thick, dark maroon carpet blended into the skirting board and then seemed to continue up the walls in heavily embossed wallpaper of a similar colour. There were pictures on the walls, huge things in gold frames, but Wilson could make none of them out. Miss Henrietta had her finger to her lips. Gently, she turned the knob of the door and pushed it open. Wilson’s heart beat wildly. She did not know what she expected to see, nor why the idea of a poor invalid lady should frighten her so, but she could hardly bear to enter that room. There was the faintest of growls and she saw the eyes of a dog staring from right across the room at her. A voice said, ‘Sssh,’ and the dog lowered its head. Miss Henrietta moved swiftly across the room and was adjusting a blind, saying, ‘Really, Ba, a little light will not hurt, surely. It is such a beautiful day.’ There was no reply. Wilson was afraid to move unless bidden and went on standing just inside the door, her hands clasped in front of her to stop them trembling. She could see very little in the room. It seemed crowded with furniture and belongings and the only clear silhouette in the gloom was that of the chaise longue where the dog sat on a coverlet.

  Miss Henrietta, a flash of light in her pretty yellow dress, flitted over to the chaise longue and bent over it. ‘Darling Ba,’ she whispered, ‘I have brought someone to see you. Come, sit up and be introduced, do.’ Wilson saw the coverlet move and a dark head appear over its rim. Miss Henrietta bent over and lifted the reclining figure to a half sitting position. The pillow fell from behind the head and Wilson saw her chance. She crossed the room, eager now there was a task to be done, and lifted the pillow, shook it, and placed it with great care and tenderness behind the head. She saw a pair of great, black eyes set in a face so thin and wasted that they seemed indecently large and heavy. She dropped her gaze instantly and retreated a step, giving a half-curtsey. ‘This is Wilson, Ba,’ Miss Henrietta said. Miss Elizabeth said nothing. Wilson kept her eyes lowered. ‘Wilson,’ Miss Elizabeth said, ‘you have come to look after me?’ ‘Yes, miss.’ Miss Henrietta, who seemed always to move quickly and energetically, was gone in an instant, saying from the door that she would return presently. Wilson half turned, beseechingly, terribly afraid to be left alone but it was too late. A rustle of silk and Miss Henrietta had gone.

  Wilson stood in front of the chaise longue like a penitent, head still bowed, hands still clasped, body shivering very slightly. ‘Do sit, do rest,’ Miss Elizabeth said, her voice light and whispery. ‘On a chair, miss?’ Wilson managed to say. ‘Here, on this stool.’ Gratefully, Wilson sank down onto the stool at the side of the chaise longue. She noticed the coverlet was not even and deftly put it right. ‘Thank you. It is Flush, you know, he disarranges everything.’ Encouraged, Wilson dared to look up again and this time noted the weight of the black hair, thickly ringletted and parted into bunches either side of the pale face. She saw the mouth was wide and generous and, like the eyes, appeared too dominant for the size of the face. Miss Elizabeth sighed and closed her eyes. ‘You are tired, miss?’ Wilson managed to ask. ‘I am weary, weary,’ Miss Elizabeth murmured, ‘always weary.’ Wilson kept quiet. She tried desperately hard to communicate her sympathy silently. Every muscle in her body now went still, a great calmness took hold of her. The dog, Flush, sensing it first, lifted his head. He inched across the coverlet cautiously and when at last on the very edge extended his tongue and licked Wilson’s hand. She patted him on the head respectfully. Flush retreated, satisfied.

  ‘Well, that is a miracle,’ Miss Elizabeth said. ‘What power do you have, Wilson, to entice Mr Flush so? He does not easily give his friendship I assure you.’

  ‘None, miss. I like all dumb animals.’

  ‘And dumb humans?’

  ‘Pardon, miss?’

  ‘Do you like dumb humans, Wilson?’

  ‘I don’t know as I’ve known any, miss, not properly dumb. If I did, I expect I would feel the same for them.’

  The silence was so complete and lengthy Wilson feared she had given offence and was compelled to look at her new mistress, to search her face for reproof. But Miss Elizabeth was smiling, a strange, almost mocking smile though the eyes were kind. There was no hint of anger. ‘It is time for my tea, I think,’ Miss Elizabeth said and just then there was a knock at the door and Tilly entered bearing a tray. Wilson was on her feet to receive it at once. It seemed to her that Tilly, whom she had not yet met, thrust the tray towards her at an awkward angle, deliberately sloping it down so that the teapot threatened to capsize, and that she knew what she was doing. Wilson saw the jeer in Tilly’s eyes and the turn of her lip but she ignored both and concentrated on bending her elbows in such a way that the tray was levelled. Tilly would learn. She may be new and North Country and insignificant but Wilson knew all about impertinent housemaids and how to deal with them.

  She set the tray down, taking care not to bang it on the table. Equally carefully, she poured tea into the tiny cup beside the pot. It was such a small cup it was hard not to overfill it but she managed to stop just short of the rim. There was neither milk nor sugar on the tray so Wilson did not need to inquire how much of each was taken. Keeping her eyes on the cup, she brought it over but immediately there was a problem: Miss Elizabeth was not sitting up sufficiently to
take the cup and Flush was in the way. Wilson blushed and faltered. She ought to have helped her mistress up first and moved Flush. She made to turn back with the cup but Miss Elizabeth stopped her, saying, ‘I am an expert at taking refreshment lying down with a dog on my stomach, Wilson. Give it to me.’ The hands that came from under the coverlet to take the cup were delicate, long fingered and startlingly white – Wilson had never seen such white, spirit-like hands before. They looked as if they did not have the strength even to hold such a tiny cup.

  The tea drunk, Miss Elizabeth sank back onto her pillow, stroked Flush and said, ‘You may go now, Wilson. Until five o’clock. Thank you.’ Wilson curtseyed and left the room as quietly as she could. She stood outside on the landing uncertain what to do. In her hands she had the tea tray which decided her. It was the housemaid’s job to take the tray but at the Graham-Clarkes’ she had always taken the tea tray, there had been no strict rules there, and now she found herself with it, it seemed silly not to take it to the kitchen. So she descended, only hesitating again when she heard laughter and voices down below. Both stopped as she entered the kitchen and put the tray down. Wilson kept her eyes lowered but took in that there were two men there – Charles, who had brought her box, and the imposing man who had opened the door – and Tilly. Tilly, who was very pretty, had taken her cap off and her blonde curls tumbled about her shoulders. Wilson was gone before any of them could say a word, fairly rushing out of the kitchen to escape interrogation. Tilly giggled as she fled.

  Miss Henrietta had told her five o’clock was an important time in the house. At five o’clock Mr Barrett returned from the City. He would go straight to his room and change his coat and wash his hands and then he would go to see Miss Elizabeth. She, Wilson, should be there, ready. She should have Miss Elizabeth sitting in her chair, composed and comfortable, and when Mr Barrett entered she should leave, returning precisely half an hour later. Miss Henrietta stressed the importance of good timekeeping over and over. Her papa, she said, was most particular and the sooner Wilson appreciated this the better. Wilson had been surprised to be warned in such a manner when she had not yet had the chance to demonstrate her punctuality or otherwise, but Miss Henrietta had no need to worry, she was never late, she was renowned for her reliability.

  She did not look forward to meeting this new Mr Barrett or indeed any of the men of the house, and yet until she had met them there was no knowing if she would be happy in this new situation. At old Mrs Graham-Clarke’s the men in the house had hardly impinged on her life; they had no power at all and made themselves scarce. And at Mrs Barrett’s the men were nicer than the women and she had no fear of them – but here, at 50 Wimpole Street, there were so many men and she sensed they were dominant from the attention paid to the time when they would all return. As five o’clock approached it seemed to her that there was an air of not entirely pleasant expectancy in the house. The laughter and noise below stairs stopped, there was much running up and down and she could hear peremptory orders being issued by Mrs Robinson. Later, writing to her mother yet again before she went to sleep, Wilson tried to describe the change that came over the place:

  —and, mother, no one trifles with him, be sure of that. I was half scared out of my wits when he first came into the house though I did not see him, being with Miss Elizabeth. I only heard his voice, very deep and strong since I could hear it two floors up though I could not make out the words. And Miss Elizabeth sat up straight and took hold of Flush (her little dog, mother, that is always with her) and said to him that he was to be good, very good, and not bark or dash about and if he behaved there might be a cake at the end. You would have laughed, mother, to see that animal, how he looked at her and put his paw out and seemed to promise. Then we heard Mr Barrett’s step on the stairs, heavy and slow, and he knocked and came in and I was never so surprised in my life for he is young mother and handsome and not a fierce old gentleman such as I had thought. He is tall, but not over tall, with a fine noble face and a good head of dark hair and such a carriage as you never saw. I curtsied and made to leave but he ordered me to wait and Miss Elizabeth said as how I was her new maid, come to care for her and he asked my name. I tried hard to be Plain and Honest mother and I lifted my eyes and tried to meet his mother when I said Wilson sir, though I fear I faltered. He was not angry or unkind but held my gaze steady and —

  Wilson was forced to pause. And what? She could not think how to convey what she had felt, the shiver that had passed through her, yet not a shiver of fear, more of knowing, recognising this man whom she had never known. It was as though he knew it, too, as though he was satisfying himself that she was who he thought. There was complicity in the look he gave her and an instant approval which astonished her:

  — and nodded. He said he trusted I would look after his daughter well, that she was most precious to him and her welfare his first concern. I thanked him and left. When I returned, as bidden, he had gone and Miss Elizabeth was right flushed and how her eyes sparkled mother. She said to look and see what her papa had given her and laid in my hand the smallest book, a tiny thing, prettily covered in red silk. Miss Elizabeth said I should take it up and open it and I did and it was a psalm with pictures on one side and the words on the other and all so Delicate and Cunning. She said her papa was always kind and brought gifts often and that he had brought a cake for Flush too. She was so happy, mother, the change in her was great and I could not help marvelling at it. Later, when I had got her ready for sleep, she said her papa would come and pray with her and that it was a great comfort that he did so, no one knew the comfort.

  Wilson finished the letter and blew out the candle. She was glad of the lock on her door. She still did not know who was to the right nor who was to the left and it was a long way to the other side of the landing and the safety of Mrs Robinson. She lay for a long time thinking of home but not as miserably as she had expected. She liked Miss Elizabeth and she liked Mrs Robinson – that was double good fortune, to like both mistress and housekeeper. Her head was full of questions to which she badly wanted answers – what had happened to Mrs Barrett, why was Miss Elizabeth ill, what was Crow her predecessor like – and she found herself looking forward to the next day more than she had thought possible. One thing was certain: there would be a great deal to write home about.

  Chapter Two

  THE DAILY ROUTINE was as Miss Henrietta had described. Miss Elizabeth slept late, though in fact she did not actually sleep, only rested. She had her morning coffee brought at eleven and then Wilson helped her to wash and brushed her hair and changed her nightdress for a gown. Until two o’clock Miss Elizabeth wrote and read. Wilson for a long time was not sure exactly what this writing and reading meant, whether it was letters Miss Elizabeth wrote and newspapers she read, because her mistress liked to be alone when she was busy. But gradually, as she became more familiar with the books and papers in the room, she realised this was a more serious occupation than she had thought. Miss Elizabeth did write letters, many letters, but she also worked at her poetry and wrote articles for magazines which made such an impression on Wilson that she could not help rushing to write to mother about how

  — she writes and writes, mother, on such small pieces of paper, ever so fine and neat until she has a great collection and then she scores through her writing and writes it out again until it is Right. It is Clever stuff, mother, such as you or I cannot rightly understand but I mean to try presently. All morning up to dinner Miss Elizabeth applies herself and none must interrupt. Then there are the books, mother, so many of them and all so Thick and Heavy she scarce has strength to lift them. There are books in tongues I have never seen but she makes light work of them, never pausing, the pages turning and turning. It is so strange to see a Lady working thus, I cannot believe it. Miss Henrietta scolds her and Miss Arabel, her other sister I told you of, pleads with her not to work so hard but she never heeds them. They say she will injure her health further and never be well. And, mother, I fear they are right for wha
tever ails Miss Elizabeth it is not helped by the little she eats and the lying up all day you would not like to see how she lives, hardly stirring from her room which is kept close —

  Wilson could hardly bear how close. She sat remembering home and the Graham-Clarkes’ where, for different reasons, fires were never lit before noon unless the frost was hard and even in summer the house never felt warm. In Miss Elizabeth’s room it was summer all the time and Wilson found it stifling, found it a relief to step out onto the landing and feel the cooler air. The windows were kept tight shut and in the afternoons, when the sun came through them, the temperature rose even with the blind down. But Miss Elizabeth never felt the heat. She had a fire on all night unless it was very warm and on the days when it had to be cleaned out she lay under a pile of furs, shivering, until it was laid and lit again. She told Wilson she could not bear the cold and feared winter above all else for it meant she was entirely confined to her room.

  So far as Wilson could tell, she was in any case entirely confined. It was spring, with many sunny, mild days, but Miss Elizabeth did not venture out. Wilson was with her three weeks before she saw her go into the drawing room at all and had almost come to believe this was something of which she was incapable. It had come as a shock to her, the second day she attended Miss Elizabeth, to find she was not a cripple at all – seeing her stand and walk to the work table of her own accord astonished Wilson and Miss Elizabeth had laughed and asked her if she had seen a ghost. So Wilson knew walking was possible, under certain circumstances, and had wondered why it was not practised more. But that day her mistress descended to the drawing room for an hour, she was ill in the night. Miss Arabel, who often slept in Miss Elizabeth’s room, on a sofa, told Wilson her sister blamed the exertion of the stairs. She said she would not risk it again for a while. Wilson found it hard to explain all this as she continued with her letter: