Lady's Maid

by Margaret Forster

  — he is not an angry man, mother, as Mrs Graham-Clarke’s brother who came to visit, do you remember, and made me tremble with his why do you do this and why do you not do that and his rapping on the chair backs with that stick of his. No, mother, Mr Barrett has Dignity and does not interfere and I am not afraid of him as others here are. And he loves Miss Elizabeth, mother, it is a sight to see him with her, him so straight and tall and her so small and weak and he holds her hand and reads to her and in the evening they pray together for he is very religious mother being a chapel goer and pleased that I am too. I did not know where to go to chapel when first I came and asking Minnie she said why there is a fine chapel in Regent Street which is but a step away and the master goes there. It is a new chapel and many Fashionable folks go there so I feared at first to go myself and be Noticed and looked for somewhere else to go but not finding another Chapel directly I was obliged to go to Regent Street or not go at all and indeed it is a splendid place mother, all white and clean and the pews of shining wood and the floor too and the folk are not all Fashionable there are modest folk too. I walk there in ten minutes and I have never seen Mr Barrett yet but he said to Miss Elizabeth he had seen me though I know not how and that he was pleased. The sermons are very powerful mother such as make me shake sometimes with their promise of Hellfire I do not like to think of it and always remember it. But the singing is stirring and a happy thing and a good deal of comfort.

  Coming back to Wimpole Street on Sundays after Chapel was the worst time of the week for Wilson. The time when she wondered what she was doing here in this big house in this big city when at home mother would be cooking the Sunday meal and all of them would be gathering round the table and enjoying the baked apples and the other Sunday treats and most of all the talk, the going over of the week and what they had all done. In Wimpole Street she was lonely on Sundays, would even have welcomed spending the extra spare hours she had with Miss Elizabeth, but she was not needed, her sisters did everything for her on Sundays. Minnie Robinson kindly invited her to eat dinner in her room but Wilson knew Minnie’s sister and her niece joined her then and did not want to intrude so she said she was determined to spend Sundays taking walks. She found Regent’s Park quickly enough and it delighted her. She sat beside the pond and fed the ducks and watched the families go by and felt lonely still but not so sad. She tried hard to persuade Miss Elizabeth to think of an outing to the park with Flush but her mistress sighed and said she had not the energy, she could not think of it; but Wilson might make enquiries about a chair and she would see, one day. Minnie Robinson said the chair was in the boot room and was in good readiness and that, should Wilson succeed in tempting Miss Elizabeth, then Charles could take it to the front door any time and he and Simon would carry the mistress into it at her command.

  The day came towards the beginning of June, when it had been so hot and sunny for two weeks that Miss Elizabeth was gasping for air and had her window thrown open as far as it would go. Wilson watered the nasturtiums in the window box twice a day and even then pronounced the soil bone dry. ‘As dry as my poor throat,’ Miss Elizabeth said, ‘there is no air here at all.’ ‘There is in the park,’ Wilson said cunningly. ‘Under the trees it is very cool, miss, and the grass being so fresh and green and the water so blue it seems even more so.’ ‘You overdo it, Wilson,’ said Miss Elizabeth, but smiled. ‘Yet Flush tells me the same, he talks constantly of that grass and the glinting water. Well, if I had the strength I might go, just to see which of you exaggerates most.’

  And so she did, at three in the afternoon. Occy and Sette carried her down with so much silliness about the Queen of Sheba that they had to be admonished and told to be sober and careful and then they made such a case of sobriety and carefulness that Miss Elizabeth laughed and threatened to cough and they had to be warned again. But at last Miss Elizabeth was in the chair and a rug, even on that hot day, placed over her knees and Flush placed on top of it, as proud as Punch. It was such a great event that Minnie came to wave them off as though they were to go round the world for a year. But as Wilson wrote that night:

  — it was a great Adventure, mother, you can be sure and for me too since I was not certain I could manage the chair being so small. Charles was directed by Mrs Robinson to keep me company until I saw how I went on and only turned back when I was accustomed to the gait of the chair. It is a little stiff but with practice I became proficient and Miss Elizabeth said I pushed it very well and a good deal smoother than any of her brothers. I made as much haste as I could till we reached the Park and then I found a pretty path near the pond that lay under the trees and we stayed there a good while Miss Elizabeth being delighted with the shade and it did her good to be cool and have so much to see that was different. She bade me sit on a park bench and she sat beside me in her chair and it was companionable mother. Then at last she said she thought she might walk a little with my assistance which was a very daring thing mother and my own heart beat a little faster with anxiety for if she had fallen what would I have done? But she did not fall and we walked up and down a short distance and she was pleased with her progress and only when she was back in the chair said she was very tired. Now was that not encouraging, mother? If it goes on we will make a well woman of poor Miss Elizabeth yet.

  But it did not go on. The weather broke the next day and it rained and was wild and Miss Elizabeth’s disappointment was visible. Wilson was surprised to see how low her mistress became, not even picking up a book all that day and leaving her writing untouched. She stared at the busts of her poets and wondered if any of them would have written a word if they led the life she was doomed to lead. Wilson did not know what to say – she thought of all the many spring days her mistress had refused to go out and was confused. She stayed silent, trying with gestures to soothe Miss Elizabeth, aware she did not understand the true cause of her depression. When Miss Arabel came to take Flush for a walk he would not leave his mistress. ‘Go Flushie,’ she commanded, ‘the rain will not harm you,’ but the dog was obstinate, stayed resolutely by her side. Wilson sewed quietly, only occasionally rising to fetch the scissors or tuck the coverlet more securely round Miss Elizabeth’s feet. She was troubled to see tears running freely down her cheeks – she sobbed as though some tragedy had only just occurred and Wilson was moved to overcome her shyness and put her arms round her mistress’s shoulders. ‘Hush,’ she whispered, ‘hush, hush,’ and stroked the thin back and held her tight. Flush, agitated, stretched up and licked the tears, making little whimpering noises of concern. ‘Oh, this is a nonsense,’ Miss Elizabeth murmured eventually and the tears stopped though her eyes were still full. Wilson let her arms fall to her sides, afraid that she had been too fulsome in her response, too embarrassing, and that her gesture would in turn have embarrassed her mistress but Miss Elizabeth smiled a little and took her hand and said, “Thank you, Wilson, you are very kind.’

  That night, she did not see her father, pleading a headache and general indisposition. Mr Barrett sent for Wilson – Tilly, delivering the message, was breathless with awe but Wilson went quite calmly to the master’s study. She had never been in the room before. It was Mr Barrett’s sanctum, as Miss Elizabeth’s was hers, and intensely private. He was standing with his back to the fire looking even graver than usual:

  — and mother for a moment I was a little nervous for he looked so Stern. But he bade me sit, though in truth I had rather not done, and then he asked me how Miss Elizabeth was and what had caused the headache. I told him I was at a loss and could only think disappointment.

  Disappointment the master says and why would that be? I said I did not know but that Miss Elizabeth had looked forward to another outing to the park and her spirits seemed to fall as soon as she saw the rain. Mr Barrett’s face cleared somewhat and he asked if that was all and I said I believed it was. I thought he would bid me to go then but he walked about a bit and returned to the fire and said abruptly that his daughter’s happiness was the most important thing in the wo
rld and that he believed her to be the purest woman that ever lived and I must remember that. I said that I would and he said I might go.

  Attending her mistress that night, Wilson found her exhausted, barely able to lift her arms so that her dress could be pulled off and her chemise slipped on. She said again and again that she was tired, oh so tired, and that she wished she could sleep a hundred years. Wilson, seeking to cheer her up, was bold enough to ask if she would like Prince Charming to wake her up at the end of her century of sleep but Miss Elizabeth shook her head and said she had no thoughts of Princes.

  ‘Do you, Wilson?’

  ‘Miss?’

  ‘Do you have thoughts of Prince Charming?’

  ‘Oh, Princes are not for the likes of me, miss.’

  ‘But you can dream, Wilson, anyone can dream, he does not have to be a Prince, exactly. Now come, do you not dream?’

  Seeing her mistress more animated, Wilson knew she must humour her and respond and so she said, ‘Oh yes, miss, I dream, but not of Princes. I dream more of children, ma’am, to be serious, and a home.’

  Miss Elizabeth was quiet and Wilson worried that she had gone too far but in a moment her mistress, much calmer and more serene now, said, ‘That is a better dream, Wilson. But there ought to be a father for those babies you dream of, ought there not?’

  ‘Yes, miss, but I don’t seem to see him.’

  ‘Have you tried, tried hard?’

  ‘Sometimes, miss. On Hallowe’en. Where I come from, in the North, ma’am, we have games, they are just silly games, we peel an apple and throw the peel over our shoulder and it is said to fall in the shape of a letter, the first letter of your future husband’s name. And if it is done in front of a mirror and there is only a candle in a far corner of the room then it is said he will come and look over your shoulder at you if you call his name right.’ Wilson was startled to have her wrist gripped firmly.

  ‘Does it work, Wilson? Have you done this? Did you see anything?’

  Wilson hesitated. Was it wise to continue? But Miss Elizabeth’s eyes shone and she sat up straight with excitement.

  ‘Not exactly, miss, but once I saw a shadow and felt a presence but when I turned there was no one there.’

  ‘Do you believe in ghosts, Wilson?’

  Again, Wilson hesitated. She had not meant to start this kind of conversation. But before she could reply Miss Elizabeth had said, ‘For I do, Wilson, I believe in a spirit world, I feel it, often, there is something there, some actual life beyond the grave. Of that I have no doubt.’

  Wilson saw her eyes were bright now and her pale cheeks flushed and feared that though this animation had rescued her mistress from such misery it was now almost dangerous and would result in a fever. She insisted on bathing Miss Elizabeth’s forehead and hands and stayed with her, watching anxiously, long after she had taken the laudanum. She is suffering, Wilson thought, this is suffering I see, and when she was at last in her room, when Miss Arabel had come to prepare for sleep in her sister’s room, Wilson found she could not settle to rest. She paced up and down, troubled at Miss Elizabeth’s distress, disturbed by her insistence that there was a spirit world. Mother believed there was. Late at night, sitting crouched over the fire, mother had seen and heard spirits but they had not frightened her. Wilson, sitting with her, straining to see and hear what mother did had been disappointed. She saw shadows thrown by the flames but they were not spirits and she heard rustlings and cracklings from the wood that burned but they were not voices, not the voices mother could hear so distinctly. Mother had a smile on her face and her head was tilted back as though raised to greet someone. When the trance – for it seemed to Wilson a trance – when it was over, mother’s smile faded and her head drooped and sometimes there was a tear or two. Spirits to mother, were a comfort and Wilson would have liked that comfort for herself.

  Far into the night Wilson lay awake, her curtains open so that she could see the stars. She thought about home, as she always did, and about Mrs Graham-Clarke’s and her life there and how different it was. Here, she was needed in a way she had never expected. Her duties were not so very different but Miss Elizabeth and the household were both dramatically so. Miss Elizabeth seemed to want something from her which she could not yet define – she felt all the time a sense of inadequacy though she knew she gave satisfaction and was meticulous about her tasks. Each morning, when she went in to her mistress and began to help her wake up she would find, looking into the great dark eyes, an awareness of some strange panic there, a panic she passionately wanted to soothe. Nothing was said. Miss Elizabeth said nothing, and she herself said nothing but for a moment or two she found she was overwhelmed with pity, moved very near to tears and yet she did not know precisely why. There was so much she did not know, so much she did not understand and before she finally drifted off into sleep she vowed that she would try to cast off her crippling reticence and go towards whatever it was about her mistress which stirred her.

  Chapter Three

  TWICE IN THE following week Wilson pushed Miss Elizabeth to the park and twice her mistress got out of the chair and walked a few yards beside the lake. There were no ill effects. Miss Elizabeth, a little irritated by the exaggerated remarks as to how well she was looking, remarks made by everyone at 50 Wimpole Street from her father to Tilly, told Wilson that doubtless in time her likeness to Hercules would be complete. But she was pleased, Wilson saw that. It was the first indication that her mistress did not positively want to be an invalid but had such a state pushed upon her. She ate better, though in truth better did not mean a great deal more substantially, only that she managed a whole boiled egg instead of a spoonful of the yolk, and did not send away the mutton without toying with it instead of shuddering and averting her eyes.

  Wilson felt a great sense of pride, feeling that it could not be denied she had a part in this happy improvement. Success made her a little bolder and in becoming bolder she was astonished to be approved of. ‘May I have the window closed, Wilson?’ Miss Elizabeth would ask and Wilson, with many if-you-please-ma’ams, said she thought it better that it should stay open while the day was so mild since the room felt uncommonly close. Miss Elizabeth merely said, ‘I expect you are right. Thank you, Wilson.’ And when, after Miss Elizabeth had worked all day and protested her head ached abominably and she thought she might take a little laudanum Wilson had said she thought that would not be wise, it being the close reading and writing which had brought on the headache so fierce and that if her mistress were to lie still and have eau de cologne pressed on her forehead this might serve a deal better than an extra draught of laudanum. She soaked a soft cloth in cologne and sat beside Miss Elizabeth, holding it firmly against her forehead and in no time at all was told the headache had all but gone. In such small ways Wilson began to make her mark and worried less about the shadow of Crow. She even ventured to suggest remedies other than laudanum for the various ailments from which her mistress suffered, begging her to try an infusion of chamomile flowers for her dyspepsia. Mother had gathered the small, fragrant flowers herself and prepared an infusion to mask their natural bitter aromatic taste but Wilson, without access to these flowers, purchased powder from the chemist and mixing thirty grains of it in water induced Miss Elizabeth to try it. It worked wonders and her stock rose accordingly.

  So she had made her mark but Miss Elizabeth made hers too. Wilson slowly became as devoted and anxious about her charge as the rest of the household and was no longer puzzled by their excessive devotion. To hear Miss Elizabeth criticised, or suspected of malingering, or not accorded her due, was painful to her and roused her to an indignation of which she had not thought herself capable. Her lips tightened when Jane, lady’s maid to her mistress’s great friend Miss Mary Russell Mitford, ventured to remark that some people seemed to think they had no legs. Wilson wrote furiously:

  — oh mother how I boiled up to hear it! She is a sly miss, that Jane, never calling anything nor anyone by name but always hinting and if
I ask to whom she may be referring sniffing and saying she meant nothing to be sure. But she does mean things mother and not pleasant things and it was a trial to me to have her in my company the three days of Miss Mitford’s visit. She is not even civil about her own mistress but forever saying she is a Fool and her father a Drunkard. Then her sharp tongue turned to telling me wicked things about Miss Henrietta and her dalliance and I begged her to stop for I have no wish to hear such evil gossip. Oh she said it is not gossip and that is not all for I have heard master Henry is not what he should be and at that I got up and said I must leave the room if she would not and she said I could leave if I liked but it was all true and THINGS went on in this house which everyone knew if I did not. I did not know what to do, mother, and thought what would you do and back came the answer to myself that you would keep your own counsel and no more. So I tried not to listen to anything this Jane suggested. It is a pity Tilly did not follow my example. I heard Jane tell Tilly who loves such things that Miss Mitford was so fat she had burst two pairs of stays and so stupid she paid a gardener who took some of her produce and sold it and kept the money and got her last maid with child into the bargain and Miss Mitford knew nothing. And she told Tilly such coarse things about Dr Mitford which I would not write mother —

  Coarse things which Wilson could not and did not write down but about which it distressed her to think. She could not quite forget them however hard she tried. There had been such shrieks of laughter from the kitchen as Jane described old Dr Mitford begging her to hold his hand and do him a service, an intimate service and how the voices had dropped and then once more the shrieks, the yelps of laughter and Tilly saying it was disgusting for an elderly gentleman to carry on so and Jane saying they were safer elderly for last night as she was going up to bed Mr Henry – and then the voices dropped again and there was no laughter but sharp intakes of breath and Tilly with something to add. Minnie Robinson had come out of her room then and said something sharply and thankfully that had been an end to it. But Wilson could not forget what she had heard, especially what Tilly had said. She had seen Master Henry with Tilly and even then, knowing nothing, had felt troubled. She had come round the last bend in the stairs and there was Tilly leaning against the wall and Mr Henry in front of her, one hand braced on the wall either side of her, so that she stood trapped between his arms. That was all. Wilson approached, as she had intended to do, as she felt it was right to go on doing, and Mr Henry took his hands away and clattered down the stairs and Tilly turned and scurried off into her room. But Wilson had seen her face and seen his face and felt disturbed. Tilly was so excited, so flushed, not at all frightened. Her eyes had sparkled and she had tilted her head back so that she looked through her eyelashes at Mr Henry and her mouth was slack and open and her whole body, lounging against the wall, provocative in the extreme. And Mr Henry’s face as he dashed down the stairs had been contorted with rage at the interruption. He frowned and bit his lip and glared at Wilson as though he hated her. Later, Tilly had even referred to it.