The minute the Hedleys arrived, Wilson saw what life in a normal London household might be like. All was noise and confusion and constant calls for assistance of one sort or another and for once she was glad to retreat to the calm of the back room on the second floor though the bustle penetrated even there. The Hedleys brought their own servants, including a French maid, but seemed to have need of the Barrett ones, too. Minnie hated it but the other Wimpole Street servants enjoyed the chaos and liked the house ringing with shouts and laughter in spite of the extra work. And Wilson quite liked it too, to her own surprise, writing to her mother that
— Mr Hedley is a hearty kind of man quite unlike Mr Barrett and dotes on his wife and daughters. He is most genial and generous with his tips and no one can do enough for him. Mrs Hedley dresses very fine and could not do without her French maid who is called Thérèse. She speaks good English and though at first I found her too voluble for my taste she has grown on me and we are friends. She is driven distracted with all the ironing she has to do especially of the Misses Hedley’s frills and flounces of which there are an abundance and Miss Arabella, the eldest, is most particular and likes her hair dressed elaborately too. Miss Elizabeth, seeing her cousin Arabella’s French plait, took a notion to try it and bid me imitate it. Well of course I could not do it and was laughed at for my pains though in truth I laughed myself. Then Thérèse said she would teach me and I stood at her elbow and paid attention and afterwards made a creditable job of it only to have Miss Elizabeth declare she preferred her old style and that was that. I have plenty of free time since Mrs Hedley likes to sit with Miss Elizabeth and I am not required at all in the afternoon so Flush and I have very long walks and enjoy them with the weather being so fine. Miss Elizabeth has promised me that when her aunt and uncle are gone she will begin again going out in the chair and I am to see it is ready which I will.
On the day she went down the river with Timothy, Wilson succeeded in putting to the back of her mind everything to do with her mistress which pleased her companion very much. Everything pleased him, everything was right. The sun shone, the river sparkled (though Timothy wondered darkly how it could when he knew for a fact what awful things went into it) and because it was a weekday the boat was not too crowded. They sat in the prow and though the wooden seats were hard and uncomfortable they had room to spread themselves and change position. Wilson was glad she had worn her new gown although she had worried that a boat trip was not the right occasion for such a light blue sprigged cotton and that her dark red stuff would have been better. But Timothy admired it at once and said the colour matched her eyes and was his favourite colour, one his mother wore when she was younger. They chatted about families all the way to Richmond, with Timothy breaking off every now and again to point out something of interest.
When the boat stopped they got off and climbed Richmond Hill to the deer park and Wilson, who had no idea such country existed near London, exclaimed at the vast expanse of greenery and the huge number of trees. They walked towards a pond and stopped just above it. Timothy took off his jacket and spread it on the grass for her to sit upon and then he opened the bag he had been carrying all this while, producing with a flourish a pie and some cold ham and bread and a bottle of what he said was Mr Kenyon’s cook’s elderflower wine. She could not get over the fact of a man going to such trouble and though she did not like wine of any kind it seemed churlish to refuse to drink a little. It struck her, seated beside Timothy and tucking in to the pie and sipping the wine (Timothy bid her drink first if she was not too proud to drink from a bottle) that it was very comfortable to be so looked after. Never, in her own personal experience, had she seen a man cherish a woman to the extent of preparing food for her. And Timothy, she knew by now, did cherish her and the idea was not unpleasant. But was it anything more? Covertly, still nibbling the pie and wishing it did not have quite such a strong crust, she watched Timothy from under her lashes. He was drinking from the stone bottle now that she had finished. His head was thrown back, his throat working away to swallow the liquid, and she noticed how muscular he was, how powerful his neck and shoulders. She remembered Miss Elizabeth saying once that she did not care for very masculine men. It surprised her, and made her shiver in spite of the heat, to discover as she watched Timothy that she disagreed with her mistress – she did like masculine men, she was attracted to strength and a certain toughness. Men like Mr Browning the poet, though pleasant, hardly seemed men to her. She had a sudden vision of Timothy picking her up and carrying her with ease, keeping her in his arms however much she struggled, and though she wanted to be at no man’s mercy the image gratified her. She doubted if Mr Browning would be able even to lift her off the ground, small though she was. But then, as Timothy put the stopper in the bottle and turned to eat the bread and ham, there was a certain wolfishness in his eating that faintly repelled her. She liked manners and men of Timothy’s class were not famous for elegant manners. Such speculation and reflection tired her. She wanted her response to be instinctive. As Timothy finished and smiled at her and lay back in the sun, patting his jacket to indicate she should do the same, she allowed her real feelings to take hold of her. She lay beside him and did not refuse his hand and allowed her own to be squeezed and was quite breathless waiting for the next approach, knowing what it would be and resolving to do nothing to prevent it. For a powerful man his kiss was gentle, a mere flutter on the lips, and instead of being masterful he was hesitant. Slowly, he raised himself onto his elbow and, looking down at her, he smiled and said, ‘We suit, don’t we?’
The rest of the day passed in a daze. To Wilson’s relief, Timothy did not seek further intimacies, seeming content to kiss and hold her hand and be beside her. She could sense this was not what he wanted to do but what his intelligence dictated and dictated correctly. If he had attempted to press himself upon her or engage in one of those embraces she could see others enjoying further off in the bushes, then she would have been obliged to get up and request to be taken home. Nobody needed to tell her the importance of respect and she knew that, however severely she was put to the test, however strong her desires, she would never sacrifice it. Any man who presumed to overwhelm her would be given short shift. But there was no need for such a struggle. Timothy made himself content with the minimum of contact and she relaxed as she realised he was no threat. They talked, they walked, they idled the afternoon away and by the time they caught the last boat back she was willing to admit she had a sweetheart. It was dark when she let herself in to 50 Wimpole Street and she was glad to get to her room without seeing anyone though she had nothing to be guilty about – it had been arranged by Miss Elizabeth herself that, in order to make her day off complete, Arabel would act as her maid at bedtime – she felt as though she had somehow deserted her post. Lying in her bed, unable to sleep, she wondered what she had started and where it would end. Not in this house, of that she was sure.
It was difficult, next morning, to hide the true state of her emotions from her mistress whose perceptions were so quick. ‘Why, Wilson,’ she said at once, ‘how pretty you look this morning. The river air has given quite a bloom to your cheeks.’
Wilson blushed. ‘The weather was fine, miss,’ she said hurriedly, ‘and the breeze strong. I fear I have burnt a little and ought to have worn a bonnet.’
‘It suits you very well,’ Miss Elizabeth said, staring at her. ‘And did you enjoy the deer park, Wilson?’
‘Oh, indeed ma’am. It is very pleasant out there, almost like the real country.’
‘I have never been, though invited to make an expedition by Mr Kenyon often enough. Perhaps I should go and see if the Richmond air can do for me what it has clearly done for you.’ The tone of voice was light and teasing but Wilson did not mistake the underlying meaning. Miss Elizabeth had not asked with whom she had gone to Richmond but the very fact that this information had not been volunteered had been noted as significant. She would have liked to tell her mistress that discretion was not merely
one of her characteristics, one from which Miss Elizabeth knew she herself benefited, but a part of her nature. Under no circumstances did she wish to share that part of her personal life. If this caused offence, then so it must. She would describe the park and tell of the boat trip and in general give her mistress some amusement from her day out but she would not widen this account to speak of Timothy. That was private and, for the time being, would remain so.
She mentioned Timothy only to Lizzie Treherne, and Lizzie immediately warned her of what she already knew. ‘Miss Elizabeth dislikes servants’ followers,’ Lizzie said. ‘She is always afraid of them for they are a rival to her. She may wish you well, indeed she does wish us well, and she may declare herself your friend and intimate that confidences can be safely given but on that subject, Lily, do not trust her. She will seek by all manner of cunning ways to discredit Timothy and half the time you will not even know she is doing it, I know.’ Lizzie finished, nodding her head. Wilson at once agreed she was right. ‘It is nothing as yet in any case,’ she protested, ‘there is nothing to it. I like him, I am sure, as he does me but I see no further.’ ‘I do,’ said Lizzie, smiling. ‘One thing will lead to another and then what will you do? What Billy and I did, without a doubt, and it was the best thing I ever did in my life. To think I nearly told my mistress, not wishing to deceive her, how foolish that would have been and oh the scenes it would have led to. As it was, Billy begged and pleaded with me to keep it quiet and he was right. She could not have abided knowing I was to be married to him and she will not be able to abide you marrying Timothy.’ ‘Oh heavens,’ exclaimed Wilson. ‘No one has said anything about marrying, Lizzie. You jump ahead. Marriage is not part of any of my plans.’ But Lizzie would not leave the subject alone and it gave her such clear delight to talk of it that Wilson gave up, only swearing her to absolute secrecy.
But things moved swiftly. The walks in the park were no longer enough after that day in Richmond. Timothy urged her to meet him in the evenings, too, and though at first she swore it was impossible she found herself conceding that on certain evenings, when Miss Elizabeth retired early, she would walk down Devonshire Place at ten o’clock precisely and if Timothy would always, on the off chance, do the same then sometimes they might meet. The uncertainty as to whether it could be managed only added to the excitement and on many a light summer’s night Wilson slipped out of Wimpole Street with her heart thudding at the prospect of finding Timothy waiting. The nights she did not go, and these were the majority, seemed dull. She was no longer content to sit in her room sewing or writing to mother. Indeed, her letters home grew less regular and shorter and, though mother never complained, Wilson was ashamed. It was not the time Timothy took which prevented her writing so much as her dislike of concealing what he was rapidly coming to mean to her. She did not want to tell her mother any more than she wished to tell her mistress. If it came to anything, then mother at least would be overjoyed but, if not, she would be worried.
Of course, there were those in Wimpole Street who had strong suspicions that Wilson was romantically involved. Minnie Robinson knew of Wilson’s evening excursions but said nothing. She liked and trusted Wilson and what she did outside the house was her own affair so long as it did not get back to the master. Wilson so far had met with his entire approval and she did not like to think of this being forfeited. So long as no one saw anything and reported it then Wilson would be safe but, if she were seen walking with a follower in the vicinity of Wimpole Street after ten at night, then there would be trouble, the kind of trouble which in this house led to instant dismissal. So Minnie watched and waited and kept her own council but apprehensively, fearing what the summer would bring before its end.
Chapter Ten
EVERYONE VOWED IT was the hottest summer in London for years. Wilson could well believe it. Every June day began with a blue sky and by sunset, splendid sunsets, not a cloud had been seen. She walked to Regent’s Park in the thinnest of dresses and without even thinking of carrying a wrap of any sort and once there she and Timothy sat at the water’s edge trying to feel cool just by looking at the lake and wishing they could swim in it. Flush hated the heat and was bad tempered but Wilson thrived. Used as she was to the north she had never expected to enjoy a hot climate but she found it greatly to her liking and felt twice as lively. Timothy, remarking on it, suggested they went at once to live in Italy and to hang with England. Wilson laughed and asked if they could eat the sun for food and sleep under it for shelter and Timothy said he did not see why not. Life, he swore, was easier abroad and both of them would find employment – Wilson stopped him by putting a hand over his mouth, a hand that was at once grabbed and kissed and then a tussle began and she told him to desist at once for someone might see. ‘Someone might see, someone might see,’ Timothy chanted and would not listen to her rebuke and the reminder that this was a public place. ‘Tomorrow,’ Wilson swore, ‘I will not even hold your hand if you will not behave.’
But there was no opportunity to deny that privilege which Timothy now took as a right. Miss Elizabeth, of her own volition, said she thought she might try the chair if tomorrow was as warm and lovely as today. Tomorrow was. Professing delight, she hoped convincingly, Wilson got her mistress ready and two of the Barrett brothers carried their sister down to the chair and off went mistress and maid. A hundred yards away Wilson saw Timothy waiting and began to frown and shake her head when she was still a long way off. To her relief, she saw Timothy slowly begin to walk in the other direction. The wheelchair had, after all, made them prominent enough for him to spot and act accordingly and she was glad he did not choose to make a fight of it. By now, she knew Mr Timothy well enough to be acquainted with the strong streak of stubbornness in him. It would have been perfectly conceivable that Timothy, out of sheer rebellion, would choose to stand his ground and greet her and her mistress as though there were nothing to hide. Miss Elizabeth would need only to see Timothy look at her and, no matter how distantly she returned his greeting, all would be obvious.
So there was no meeting that day nor that evening. The Hedleys were still staying and were entertaining and Wilson’s help was required. As she dressed her mistress for the rare event of receiving visitors after dinner Wilson felt a faint resentment, realising that she would not get out by ten o’clock. She was far from being a free agent, that was the trouble. Her whole life, as Timothy never tired of pointing out, was circumscribed by the code laid down for servants. What she wanted was so simple and innocent, only to meet her sweetheart and enjoy his company – but she had no right to claim this. Thinking about this as she adjusted Miss Elizabeth’s collar she qualified it: it was not only being a servant which hampered her freedom of conduct but being a woman. Earlier in the day she had passed Miss Henrietta rushing upstairs in tears and Molly had told her that Surtees Cook was not allowed in the house at the moment because the master was displeased with Miss Henrietta. She had gone to visit a female friend, unchaperoned, while Surtees Cook was also visiting and her father had called this outrageous. She was to stay in her room during this evening’s socialising and was not to leave the house without her father’s express permission hereafter. It was, Wilson decided, very little better to be a lady than a servant.
All of that last week in June and the first two weeks in July Wilson did not once meet Timothy in the park. Miss Elizabeth, from sitting in the chair, progressed to a few faltering steps unaided and, though feeling her own loss acutely, Wilson was delighted to see such evidence of recovery. Everyone in Wimpole Street exclaimed at Miss Elizabeth’s progress, commenting freely on the weight she was gaining and the beginnings of some colour creeping into her cheeks and the increase in her appetite. Another extraordinary thing had happened but of so private and intimate a nature that only Wilson knew of it. One morning she went in to her mistress and found her looking confused and alarmed. ‘Wilson, my regular health has returned,’ she whispered and when Wilson did not immediately understand she repeated, ‘My regular health, my womanl
y health.’ Wilson nodded and went off to procure the necessary cloths. Her mistress seemed pleased and, though all that day and the next she remained prostrate, she was not depressed. The bleeding was slight but definite and Wilson wondered what the connection with an improvement in general health could be. Even then, during the days Miss Elizabeth stayed in her room, she could not escape to meet Timothy for her mistress did not wish to rely on anyone else in her delicate condition.
By the end of July, when the daily habit of meeting Timothy had been so completely broken that he no longer waited by the gate, Wilson was quite desperate. She had managed to slip out on a few evenings but never for long and always with an increased feeling of apprehension. ‘This is no way to carry on,’ Timothy protested and she knew it was not. She had to decline his pressing invitation to go down the river again nor could she get away to visit other places with him. As her mistress grew healthier so she grew more demanding and Wilson could hardly remember the long, long hours spent sewing for the sake of something to do. This at least was a suitable topic to write of to mother who loved to hear:
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