She wondered how Timothy managed with Mr Octavius, whether he too saw this ‘friendship’ as suspect or had means she did not have to measure and judge it. But she would never ask him, never.
Chapter Five
TO WILSON’S DISAPPOINTMENT, it was as Miss Elizabeth had told her: once September ended, her mistress did not venture forth. The outings to the park, taken only rarely in any case, stopped. Twice in early October Wilson pointed to the deep blue sky, visible from the window over the chimney pots, and exclaimed how mild it was, how like a summer’s day, but her mistress shuddered and claimed to feel a nip in the air in spite of being insulated in her room. Instead, she reclined on the sofa, reading French novels, while Wilson sat sewing, wishing they were out in the park admiring the autumn leaves. Sometimes, if Flush was very restless and succeeded in annoying his mistress by constantly pushing his nose into her book, she would be told to ‘take him out, do, dear Wilson.’ Then she would get the lead and put on her coat and walk to Regent’s Park alone, letting the dog run wild once they had passed the flower garden.
She knew, of course, that she must be careful at all times and hardly needed Miss Elizabeth’s reminders to be on the look-out for dog-snatchers. Wilson had never seen a dog snatched but tales of how it was done were often repeated by the other servants and Timothy had held them all spellbound describing how he had once foiled an attempt to snatch Mr Kenyon’s pug – the animal had been in the very bag of the snatcher before Timothy caught up with him and knocked him out cold. Well, Wilson knew she could never knock anyone out cold and also that she could never, in her long skirts, chase and catch such a scoundrel as Timothy had, so she was extremely careful with Flush. She always put the chain on before she opened the front door and never took it off until she was back inside and the door shut. In the park, she let Flush off the lead only in the wide open grass area where no dog snatcher would be able to run as fast as he. Luckily, Flush was surprisingly obedient for such a lively, spoiled dog – she had only to shout once and he would come instantly.
On her walks in the park, Wilson never met anyone she knew, though there were people in plenty around. It made her wistful, brought home to her most forcibly that this was the real difference between Newcastle and London. Even after six months she never saw a friendly face, was never hailed with pleasure and called upon to pass the time of day, which she would so have liked to do. Then one mid-October afternoon she did hear her name and wrote of it delightedly to her mother that evening.
Dearest Mother
You will not believe what a happy afternoon I have had and just when I know I had sounded Despondent which I should not have written of and hope did not cause you anxiety for you know I cannot always be Cheerful no more than you can and I do not expect it. Well, I took Flush to the park about two o’clock Miss Elizabeth having said if he did not stop Kissing the pages of her book, for Kissing was what she called it, I should have said licking, she would be driven distracted. It was a very Fine day mother so warm and sunny as you would not believe up in the dear North and me only wearing a coat for the date’s sake and no other. The trees are beautiful all reds and yellows and Flush went near mad with joy rushing among the fallen heaps of leaves and rolling over and over in them as he loves to do and which means a great deal of brushing and combing when we get home before he is fit for Miss Elizabeth’s bed. I sat on a bench and watched him for you need not fear I dare not take my eye off him and presently a woman with a baby in her arms comes along and smiles and says I believe there is room for another and I said there is room for three never mind two and indeed I was glad of her sitting down because it is Prominent to sit alone and I try to avoid it for fear of being importuned though in truth you will be glad to hear it has never happened yet. Now as the woman spoke I had a feeling I knew her but reasoned it was impossible knowing no one except the folk at Wimpole Street and a few visitors there and a few faces as I see weekly at chapel. So I said nothing. But the woman turned to me herself and said excuse me but I believe we have met are you not Mrs Wilson as is maid to Miss Elizabeth Barrett. Indeed I am I said and I had a mind I knew you but I cannot recall how. Oh she says I am Mrs Treherne, Crow as was. Well, I was astonished mother to find someone I knew in any manner of speaking. I am sure I would have known her at once and said so only her face was different since we met that once in Minnie’s room and then she was big with child too. She said it was of no consequence I did not know her and she would not expect I should. Then she showed me her little baby and oh mother you never saw such a beautiful child indeed you never did. She is nearly four months of age and so Rosy and with eyes so Blue as to take the breath away and the prettiest thatch of yellow hair like down mother. Well, I held her and she looked up at me and smiled as if she knew me and Mrs Crow I mean Treherne said she smiled a great deal and was no trouble and she was going to bring her to see Miss Elizabeth if I thought it fitting and I said indeed I did and it would gladden Miss Elizabeth’s heart to see such a lovely baby. Then we talked of Miss Elizabeth’s health and I said I thought it seemed moderately good but that her spirits were often low and it was not always fathomable why and Mrs Treherne sighed and said that was always the trouble and she could tell me things that would explain it somewhat but it was not the time or place. I asked her how she fared herself and she said very well and her husband’s bakery in Camden Town showed a profit but that she missed Miss Elizabeth indeed she did and if it had not been for being away at her mother’s at Caistor for her lying in and then, being ill after, for her own health and only returning to London a month since and having much to do then she would have called at Wimpole Street. I said I was sure she would be welcome and I would tell Minnie and Miss Elizabeth and we would look for her coming as soon as she was able. She said it was not often she could get away but for the good of the baby she tried to get out if the day was fine for soon it would be foggy and too dangerous to expose her to such evil air. It was very pleasant to have a companion mother as you can imagine and to nurse the baby a little though Flush did not like it. When he saw me holding the Little Creature and smiling at it he barked and jumped up and Mrs Treherne said Oh Duke Flush you are jealous are you and the dog heard her voice and you can be sure recognised it and jumped on her knee and licked her face and we both laughed. The baby is called Mary Elizabeth, Mary being for Mrs Treherne’s mother and Elizabeth for herself. I said my name was Elizabeth and she commented how strange that Miss Elizabeth should have maids of the same name. I said I was known as Lily at home but had heard it only from Minnie for six months and missed it and she said she knew how it was and was Lizzie to her family but never heard it all the years in Wimpole Street even Minnie addressing her as Crow because she fell into the habit early and could not get rid of it. So I begged her to call me Lily and she begged me to call her Lizzie and that is how we left it. I hope I see her again and have made a friend.
As soon as Wilson got home and had gone through the ordeal, for both of them, of cleaning Flush she hurried to Miss Elizabeth’s room with news of her encounter. Her mistress lay in the same position she had been in two hours before, her book still held close to her face, the only difference being that she had nearly finished it. Flush jumped up and was hugged. Wilson pulled up the sofa table Mr Kenyon had sent before he departed – a pretty piece of furniture with a rail to stop Flush jumping on it – and began to lay out the tea things, telling Miss Elizabeth about Crow as she did so. The news was received with great interest and Wilson subjected to a veritable interrogation. The drift of it was quite clear to her.
‘Did Crow, for I cannot call her Treherne, did she look well, Wilson?’
‘Indeed, miss, though her face was much thinner.’
‘Ah yes, with overwork no doubt, poor Crow, it cannot be easy. Her face was never thin here.’
‘It was after having the baby I should think, miss, for it does thin the face in women.’
‘Is the child pretty?’
‘She is beautiful, she has eyes as big as ever
you saw and so blue – ’
‘Like her father’s. Billy Treherne has big, blue eyes, to which Crow succumbed. It was his looks that trapped her and he is good looking, I can see that. Does his business flourish?’
‘I believe so. Mrs Treherne said they were very busy – ’
‘And she most of all, she will work her fingers to the bone, you can be sure of that. She wept when she left me, Wilson, wept and wept and it was not just because of me, it was because she knew the life that lay ahead, the hardship that such marriages bring.’
Wilson said nothing but felt troubled. Was it something she had said, without realising, or how she had said it which gave Miss Elizabeth this strange idea that Mrs Treherne was a miserable, unhappy wretch instead of the blooming mother she had sought to describe? Tilly knocked and handed in the tea tray. Wilson put it down on the table and poured the tea. Miss Elizabeth was not done yet.
‘Did Crow mention calling to see me, as promised, Wilson?’
‘Oh yes, miss, she said as how she meant to do it the first moment she was able – ’
‘When he would let her, she meant.’
‘She did not say as – ’
‘She had no need to, I understand. She is married now and has abrogated all her rights, as women do. Well, I would not, though all that is past now, thank heaven, and does not need thinking of. Poor Crow. She loved me dearly but made her choice, if choice it was, and there is no help for it.’
Perturbed, Wilson cleared the tea things away and put more coal on the fire though the room was stifling hot. Miss Elizabeth complained of feeling cold now that the sun had gone and would only be placated by the sight of a roaring fire – she lay huddled in a shawl on the sofa from which she had not now moved for some three hours. Her face, since speaking of Crow’s alleged desertion, was pinched and her eyes moist with tears that needed only the slightest provocation to fall. Settling down in her corner, Wilson applied herself to her needle and watched her mistress furtively. It was not her place to speak out, it would do no good if she advised a turn around the room, at least. Miss Henrietta, when she came in, might achieve this but Wilson knew she could not. The misery in the air was thick and sour and there was little she could do to relieve it except wait. She knew by now that one of two things would happen: either there would be a storm of crying resulting in a headache and a call for laudanum which would in turn induce sleep, or a book would be picked up and slowly succeed in capturing the reader until all pressing unhappiness was dulled. Today, to Wilson’s relief, it was a book. Miss Elizabeth reached for a new book lying on the table and turned onto her side. Though at first tears had to be wiped away as each page turned, soon they stopped and the pages turned more and more rapidly and the book was held closer to the face and Wilson knew the battle was won, for the time being.
The next day was another glorious autumn day but, not only was there no tempting Miss Elizabeth out, there was no escape for Wilson either. Her mistress had a cold. The sneezing began in the night and by morning there was a slight fever and Wilson was needed to bathe her forehead and give hot liquids every half hour. So Arabel took Flush. The spaniel was reluctant to go. He dug his paws into the bedcover and sniffled anxiously and whimpered when Wilson forcibly removed him and handed him to Miss Arabel. Wilson held out the chain and offered to put it on but Miss Arabel said she would wait until she was about to leave. Wilson said nothing but would have liked to point out how difficult Flush could be, once outside, if the chain were not already on – he was always so eager to get to the park that he could shoot off like an arrow from a bow. But Miss Arabel, who took him often, must know that.
The afternoon was long. Wilson spent some of it trying to remove a large ink stain made only that morning when Flush had knocked over the inkwell. Miss Elizabeth did not care about it and urged Wilson to leave the mark alone for a housemaid to deal with; but she was determined to try her own treatment. Watched with some irritation by her mistress, she rubbed the stain with salt of sorrel, obtained without Minnie’s knowledge from the kitchen, and then scrubbed at it with cold water brought up in a pail. Then she rubbed in some hartshorn, ignoring the advice to ‘leave it, Wilson, do’ and washed it again. To her delight, the stain was visibly paler. Her last trick was to soak the stain in skimmed milk, from which she had taken care to remove every vestige of cream, and then to wipe it with a dry cloth. For an hour she left it and then pronounced triumphantly that it was all but gone and no one would know ink had been spilled.
‘What a victory,’ Miss Elizabeth said sarcastically.
After that diversion, Wilson felt unaccountably restless and had to control her urge to walk about, for fear it disturbed her mistress who lay dozing and wheezing on the sofa without even the energy to read. Every half hour she applied a fresh cold cloth to the patient’s head and tried to persuade her to sip some hot lemon and barley water. Mostly, she failed to get any liquid at all through the cracked and swollen lips. Then, about five o’clock, there occurred a calamity which brought on a real fever. Flush had been stolen by dog-snatchers and Arabel was hysterical. A ransom was demanded and finally paid which brought the safe return of Flush. But the drama, concealed from Mr Barrett who would not have sanctioned payment, made Miss Elizabeth truly ill with a raging headache.
Of course, Flush was thereafter spoiled even more than usual for at least a week. Wilson did not begrudge the little dog his extra cakes and the cream from the milk (for Flush preferred milk to water) but she found it hard to go along with giving him best chopped breast of chicken. Though she could have sworn none of this disapproval showed in her expression as she cut up the chicken and fed it to Flush, her mistress commented, ‘It is not every day Flush is returned to us, Wilson, now is it? And he has suffered so, you must not begrudge him a touch of luxury.’ Wilson protested she did not begrudge the little dog anything and that indeed her mistress was quite mistaken to imagine she did but it came into her head how, when her sister Fanny had a stomach ailment that went on and on until a doctor had to be found and paid, how he had said breast of chicken would be the best nourishment for such a delicate stomach and how the procuring of the chicken every day for a month had been almost beyond their resources. And now Flush gobbled it down and after all it was no great thing: chicken was not considered an expensive morsel in this house. Breast of chicken was ordered every day all the next week for Flush and, as she carried the dish up the stairs, preferring to do this job herself rather than entrust it to those whose preserve it was, Wilson marvelled inwardly at what she was doing and how she accepted it. She was a servant and did what she was told and that was that. If the mistress’s dog wished to have finely chopped breast of chicken with just a touch of cayenne pepper on it then, why, she would chop it and pepper it and serve it to His Lordship.
‘Chicken for the Duke, is it?’ Timothy asked her one day, meeting her on the stairs and knowing what she carried in the covered dish. He smiled but she did not. She looked, she supposed, a trifle grim, enough to be remarked on though she said nothing, only nodded politely. That night, when she took Flush down to the yard, Timothy took him out for her and they stood there in the doorway watching the dog relieve himself in the furthermost corner, away from Catiline’s kennel.
‘He has a good life, for a dog,’ Timothy observed.
‘He has a good life for anyone,’ Wilson said, more tartly than she had intended.
‘Ah well,’ Timothy said, ‘there are penalties to be loved so, even for a dog. He does not have much freedom, for all the petting, nor much company.’
‘He is warm and well fed and safe,’ Wilson said, ‘and there are many out there tonight as would settle for that.’ And then, greatly daring, and wishing, the moment the words were out that she had held them back, she added, ‘Have you read Miss Elizabeth’s poem as is about poor children starving and cold?’ Timothy looked startled, shook his head. ‘It is a beautiful poem,’ Wilson said, ‘but I cannot help thinking, when I read it, as I did again last night, I cannot he
lp thinking of Flush eating breast of chicken.’ She stopped abruptly, her face hot, glad of the darkness in the yard and the light behind and not in front of her. Timothy coughed. Was he embarrassed? She did not care if he was, but if that was the reason for his coughing, a sound false to her ears, then she had misjudged him and would not do so again.
Timothy stepped out properly into the yard and beckoned her to follow him. Wilson did so, shivering, though it was not yet truly cold. She could not see Timothy’s face and he was speaking in a voice so low she had to go right up to him to hear. She felt like a conspirator, bending towards him, straining to catch his words. ‘It will not always be thus,’ he whispered ‘things will change, they are beginning to change. You will see, the poor will have their day.’ Wilson recoiled, frightened, alarmed that he had misunderstood her harmless reflection for an incitement to some kind of revolution, or so it sounded. She turned and rushed back into the kitchen, not even waiting for Flush to be given to her, and Timothy, following, had to touch her arm to restrain her and hand over the dog. ‘Now what has offended you?’ he asked, his expression, which she could now clearly see, anxious and confused. ‘For whatever it was I do beg your pardon most humbly, Mrs Wilson, indeed I do so.’ She said nothing, only turned away and holding Flush so uncomfortably tightly that he yelped, made for the stairs. Timothy pursued her, repeating that he begged her pardon humbly though he knew not for what. Finally, to get rid of him, she said she accepted his apology and there was no need to speak of it again. Then she fairly rushed up the stairs and into Miss Elizabeth’s room, banging the door in her haste in a way she would always take care not to do.
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