Lady's Maid

by Margaret Forster

  ‘Indeed no, and they must not, they must not be part of it. Only you know, Wilson. I can trust no one else nor implicate them for fear they suffer if all is discovered. As it must be, sometime.’ She shivered and said she thought the silk dress not warm enough and that she needed a shawl.

  From nine thirty to eleven seemed an eternity. Miss Elizabeth sat not on her sofa but near the window on a straight-backed chair, motionless. Her coat lay in front of the fire, warming. Wilson ready in her own coat, hovered near her, wishing she could think of something to say. Later, looking back on the day, she wrote to her mother that

  — it was a solemn hour, mother, between ten and eleven for can you imagine my feelings as I was obliged to watch this poor creature suffer so? She was white, so white, whiter than I had ever seen her and held herself as though she might snap if touched. At eleven o’clock she stood up and said it is time and we must go and we left her room with a backward look at Flush who had been told he was not to come and consoled with a cake bought specially for the purpose. Now Wilson says Miss Elizabeth if we meet anyone I rely on you to address them for I do not trust myself to speak. We got to the bottom of the stairs and were about to cross the hall when the master’s door opened and I thought my mistress would surely collapse with fright but it was only Tilly finished doing the brass fender and we were out of the house without difficulty. At first Miss Elizabeth seemed revived by the air but then after we had gone a few yards along the street she clutched my arm harder and I felt her weight increase on me and I knew the worst had happened and she was about to faint so I began talking to her, all manner of nonsense about weather and flowers and anything that came into my head and all the time I was steadying her and encouraging her along until we reached the corner where there is a chemist. I go there regularly for the laudanum and the man knows me and indeed saw through his window that we were in difficulties and had left his counter before we reached the door and had a chair ready. Miss Elizabeth sank down onto it and I saw her lips were blue. I spoke quickly saying I was sure a whiff of sal volatile would be sufficient to bring my mistress to herself and if that did not work then I would indeed go for help so the chemist brought us sal volatile and I pressed the salts to my poor mistress’s nose and she took a deep breath and straightway some colour returned and she pronounced herself better. We made our way from the shop, Miss Elizabeth walking stronger. But no sooner were we in Marylebone High Street than the attack comes on again and she says Wilson I think I am done for. I could see the fly stand only a few yards down the street and I raised my arm and one of the cab drivers sitting on his box mercifully saw me and brought his cab to us and helped Miss Elizabeth in and took us the short distance to the church. The moment the cab stopped I saw Mr Browning on the steps of the church with another gentleman and I said to my mistress who was lying back against the cushions with her eyes closed why miss there is Mr Browning waiting for you and mother you never saw such a transformation. Mr Browning ran down the steps and she gave her hand into his and from that moment I had no fears mother. She smiled and looked up at him so trustingly and her eyes shone. We went into the church, which was empty as you would expect on a Saturday morning and we seemed very small in it and every sound we made echoed. I stood with Mr Silverthorne, Mr Browning’s cousin, who was the other witness. The minister read the marriage service in a low voice, so low that even though I stood directly behind Miss Elizabeth I had difficulty hearing it. Her response was very faint though she swore afterwards she had never shouted so gladly in her life but his was loud and clear and seemed to boom and echo round the church. Then it was deathly quiet while the ring was put on Miss Elizabeth’s finger and she became all at once Mrs Browning. When it was done and she turned to walk back down the aisle there were tears in her eyes but she smiled too and it was like sun and showers together. I did not know whether it was fitting for me to embrace her in public but she stepped forward and hugged me and Mr Browning took my hand and looked very directly into my eyes and thanked me for my part in all this and said he would never forget, never, and that if it were not for knowing his wife were in my hands he could not allow her to leave his sight. Well mother I was in a fair way to being overcome again but rallied and we went out and Mr Browning hailed two cabs and put his wife and myself into one and himself and his cousin into another and we went our separate ways. We went to St John’s Wood to Mr Boyd’s house and on the way my mistress took off her ring and held it in the palm of her hand where the diamond glittered and said it grieved her to remove it but she must. At Mr Boyd’s house the cab was kept waiting while I took Mrs Browning in and made her comfortable for suddenly all energy had gone again and she was trembling with fatigue. The housekeeper promised to see that she ate some bread and butter and drank some water and on that understanding I left. The cab took me back to Wimpole Street but not to our house it being agreed previously that it would look odd if I returned alone. I got out at the top of the street and walked straightaway through the park to Lizzie’s where I had a bite to eat and played with little Mary. Miss Elizabeth, I mean Mrs Browning, had made me swear I would tell no one so I could not tell Lizzie and it was agony to stay silent when I burst to tell —

  At three o’clock, when Wilson entered the house and began writing this letter to her mother, she thought what a relief it would be to share her knowledge with Miss Henrietta and Miss Arabel at least but the new Mrs Browning had been adamant that they were not to know even now. How such an event was to be concealed she could not imagine – one look at their sister and surely they would guess. But no. If they guessed, they did not admit it. Both seemed grave when they returned with their sister (who, Wilson thought, was far too suspiciously lively and talkative) but nothing was said. It appeared Arabel had forgotten what Miss Elizabeth had said and had been alarmed to find Flush on his own and had even said she had wondered if – but she was cut off sharply.

  When they were alone together that evening, Mrs Browning sank back onto her sofa totally exhausted. ‘Oh, Wilson,’ she whispered, ‘what a day, what a day. I am more dead than alive.’ She pressed a hand to her forehead and sighed and Wilson hurried to prepare the tincture of laudanum.

  ‘Now, ma’am, tonight you will surely take this draught for I fear the worst if you have another night like last night.’

  ‘Oh, indeed I will and I would hope to sleep for a week until this nightmare separation is over.’

  ‘You will feel differently, ma’am, when Mr Browning comes on Tuesday.’

  ‘He will not come, not at all. My husband refuses to demean himself by disclaiming our new status and besides it would be too dangerous. It is better we do not see each other until – ’ She stopped. She opened her eyes and sat up and motioned to Wilson to sit down beside her and took both her hands as she always did when she had something of importance to say. ‘Wilson, I have not told all, not yet finished asking far too much of you. Soon, as soon as it can be arranged, within the week I fancy, Mr Browning and I are going to Italy and, dear, we beg you to accompany us. Will you? Will you stay faithful and true? Will you leave your family and your country to risk all with us?’

  Wilson took a deep breath. She seemed to see Reginald receding in a mist but then he had been insubstantial in any case, more in the nature of a fantasy than a real thing, unlike Timothy. She felt no regret. And then to go to Italy, at last, was not the same as going with the Barretts to the country which she had dreaded as a kind of banishment. Nor did thoughts of her mother and sisters hold her back as once they would have done for she had felt remote from them for more than a year and the feeling had nothing to do with distance. So she nodded her head and said she would go and her mistress cried with relief and then laughed with delight and Flush barked distractedly, whereupon Mrs Browning said he was to come too. Then she made Wilson promise again to tell no one, not even her mother in a letter, at which Wilson did demur respectfully, saying her mother would suffer such shock if not told until after her daughter had left the country. Mrs Browning wept
and said she was the cause of much suffering and she knew it and would be the cause of much more before she was done and it was dreadful, dreadful, but she had to ask for this sacrifice or all would be lost. So Wilson, with tears in her own eyes, agreed, and agreed too that she would not even post the letter about the marriage until they were ready to leave.

  The following week was such a strain that Wilson was twice late in rising out of pure fatigue. Her head ached with all that was to be accomplished once the following Saturday was fixed for the day of departure and she was tempted to take laudanum herself. The only support she had was the certainty that Minnie Robinson knew and commended her. She knew because Miss Elizabeth had borrowed money from her, an occurrence so extraordinary it could not but indicate some dramatic cause. ‘She said it was to cover a temporary embarrassment,’ Minnie told Wilson, smiling strangely, ‘and I know what that is likely to be but I played my part and asked no questions and needed no assurances my savings would be returned to me in a short while, for I know they will and I know what will happen in that short while and was not born yesterday.’ She nodded energetically and then eyed Wilson challengingly. ‘So you are a close one, Wilson, saying nothing, eh? Well, it is as well you will not be here with the rest of us when the master finds out, God help him. He would have you through that door with no reference to follow in a trice and then where would you be, eh? Have you thought of that? Has she?’ Wilson, who was washing lace collars at the time, made a great deal of noise with the water and avoided answering. ‘Well, she is a lucky one, having you and I hope she knows it and I think she does. I want the poor love to be happy and you do right to help her, Wilson, even if you do not trust old Minnie enough to tell her how, eh? And wise too. I mean no offence, I know the risks and would rather be able to look the master in the eye and swear to God I knew nothing.’

  But since Minnie had guessed all, except the time and place and what had already happened, she was a valuable help. Caught carrying a box down the back stairs, Wilson blushed but Minnie only said, ‘Not that one, there’s a stronger one in the second attic and I will have Simon up there this afternoon putting things away and it will be left by the back door as though to throw out.’ And it was, and Wilson transferred the clothing to it. Mrs Browning had stressed they must travel light, only a box and a carpet bag between them, and then had produced books. Aghast, Wilson had found the courage to say that with four dresses, two pairs of boots, three chemises, a cloak and two bonnets, not to mention smaller items, there was not room for a single volume, no not one. Mrs Browning had bid her reduce the number of dresses and throw out the bonnets but Wilson had refused. She had said, in a show of anger, surprising herself, that perhaps her mistress would prefer her to go stark naked herself that she might have books to read and then there had been an apology and tears of contrition and no more was said. But then, packing the dresses, Wilson had felt something solid in the folds and had opened out the thickest dress which her mistress had folded herself, and there was a small volume of Mr Browning’s verse and inside a package, quite bulky, of papers, wrapped in oilskin. Annoyed, Wilson almost put them aside but then found a gap down the side of the box and slipped them in. But three other books, furtively concealed in the boots, she firmly removed and paraded in front of her mistress, telling her she needed that space for stockings and all manner of such small necessities. Shamefaced, Mrs Browning took them back but when she said she would pack her carpet bag herself Wilson knew what would happen.

  All the way through that terrible week, when the house was upside down in preparation for the exodus to the country, both Mrs Browning and Wilson struggled to write letters. Always, there were tears at night from both of them, from Wilson just as much as her mistress, for now that she had come to the point of bidding farewell to her mother she was overcome with the enormity of the step she was taking. Such a panic rose in her as she returned to the letter she had begun on the wedding day, that she was unable to see the paper clearly and, when eventually she had written down, in wild-looking writing, where she was going and why, she found herself incapable of composing a farewell. Who knew when she would see mother again or poor Fanny? She would be across the sea from them, unable to go to them immediately should she be needed, perhaps not even knowing she was needed. This last thought almost brought her to the point of speaking out against going after all but then Minnie, finding her red-eyed as she came into the kitchen in the middle of the week, took her aside and was sympathetic, asking whether it was thoughts of her family which depressed her. When Wilson nodded, Minnie said she could be depended on to write and if Wilson were to tell her mother to remember that Minnie Robinson would always find her, it might set her mind at rest a little. ‘I will know where you are,’ Minnie said, ‘because Miss Arabel will always know, once you are gone, and where she is, I will be. And I will write to you, Wilson, you may depend on it.’ This proved such comfort that Wilson at last finished her letter. It lay for three days beside her bed and each time she looked at it, waking and before going to sleep, she shuddered, hardly knowing whether with fear or excitement. It was such a jump into the unknown. All safety, all security, would vanish. Her mistress would be her responsibility, however good her husband. And what of him, what if he were not good? What if her mistress were unhappy? To whom would they turn, in a foreign land? On those last three nights, Wilson succumbed and took a sleeping draught, unable to bear the strain any longer.

  PART

  1846–1857

  Chapter Fourteen

  THE SEA WAS not rough but nor was it calm. The waves swelled without crashing into each other and the boat went with them, dipping and climbing in a smooth but ever-changing motion which some of the passengers found soothing and others more upsetting to the stomach than a storm. Wilson was in a cabin with her mistress and twelve other ladies and maids, all with enamel bowls placed at their sides. When one vomited, as someone did even before they were out of the harbour, the mere sound set off the others and within the half hour not a bowl had remained unused.

  There was no hope of sleep. Both she and her mistress had loosened their stays and made an attempt to compose themselves for sleep but the noise of those being violently ill and the moans of others, sure they were about to die, made such a luxury impossible. Every time Wilson looked at her charge she saw that, though her eyes were closed, tears seeped from underneath the lids and the very sight of them released her own. She pressed a handkerchief to her mouth and screwed up her face and cried as silently as she could, half from exhaustion and half from fear. What a day it had been, what a strange and terrifying day with so much that was new in it! Such excitement she had felt when they reached Vauxhall Station and boarded the shrieking train and then such exhilaration as it started and the countryside passed them on either side at what seemed a frightening speed; and there, in front of her, was this smiling creature lying protected in the arms of her husband. But then the mood had changed at Southampton. Only once had her mistress said, ‘By now, they will know all at home,’ but it had been enough. Mr Browning had kissed her fingers gently and whispered soothing words which Wilson could not quite catch, but the glow had gone from his wife’s face and the mouth drooped. They rested at an inn while Mr Browning saw their luggage onto the boat, and tried and failed to secure a private cabin for them, but this rest was fatal. Mrs Browning wept throughout and wondered aloud how she could have done what she had done and the violence of the weeping wore her out. Wilson had applied cloths rung out in cold water to her mistress’s eyes but she was still bearing the marks of tears when they rejoined Mr Browning. At once he insisted they should change their plans and stay overnight at the inn until his wife had recovered but she became distraught at the idea. She swore she would not be able to rest until across the sea. So they had boarded at once and now here they were half way to France, suffering as much from sorrow as the sea.

  Searching in her bag, Wilson found the tablets the apothecary had recommended for sea-sickness and took two more. She had tried
to urge them on her mistress but they had been spurned when Wilson had been unable to say of what they were made. Mr Browning, it seemed, disliked all medicines and had extracted a promise from his wife that she would take none without his knowledge. It was a pity, Wilson thought, for whatever was in them seemed to be doing some good. As well as suppressing nausea, they made her feel less agitated. She was lying on a pallet, side by side with Mrs Browning, the wretched Flush cowering at their feet, asleep after a terrible bout of sickness. There were two storm lamps suspended from the low beam which ran from end to end of the cabin but these gave little light. All Wilson could make out were the shadows of the other women, most tossing and turning and every now and again half-rising, and the wooden slats of the cabin walls. The portholes were closed, since it was night. She thought of her room in Wimpole Street and of how comfortable the bed was, how fond she had become of her own quarters. She would never see it again, most likely never be allowed into number 50 Wimpole Street again. Inside that room, she had left her own letters, already stamped, and in her note to Minnie had begged her to see they were posted. There was one for her mother, one for Lizzie Treherne, one for Reginald. She had pleaded with all of them to write to her, giving as an address the poste restante office in Orleans which her mistress had said would be best. She imagined mother reading her news and letting out a great cry of shock and for a moment she felt a flash of resentment towards the figure beside her, towards the person who had been responsible for such an act of cruelty. Why could she not have been allowed to warn poor mother, who was hundreds of miles away and never likely to be near a Barrett or able to reveal the secret? She should have disobeyed and written to mother a week ago, as she had intended. Then Mrs Browning gave a sob, and felt for Wilson’s hand, and instantly the resentment vanished. Holding hands, the two of them drifted, towards dawn, into a restless doze.