At Le Havre all was hopeless confusion. Wilson stood supporting her mistress, who was barely able to stand, while Mr Browning struggled through the mob to secure a place in the diligence destined for Rouen and then Paris. The air was raw, slightly misty, though Wilson could tell that soon it would lift. All around the yelling and shouting increased in volume and not a word of it was distinguishable. Suddenly, she felt isolated, in spite of Mrs Browning’s arm through hers, and wondered why the thought of not knowing a word of the language had not scared her till now. How would she shop? How would she make her way with other servants? How would she speak to chemists and doctors and those other people she might be obliged to communicate with on her mistress’s behalf? She would be dependent on her for every syllable. But the sight of Mr Browning pushing his way through the crowds restored her to her duty. He had taken a room in an inn and there they would rest for several hours. ‘If you take my wife’s left arm, Wilson,’ Mr Browning was saying, ‘and I take the other, then we will manage. Excusez moi, s’il vous plâit …’ Slowly, Mr Browning shouting out this phrase all the while, they pushed through the throng. It was strange being a threesome, stranger still not to be in charge. But she had more power than she knew. That evening, when they climbed into the diligence, she was touched when, half fainting, her mistress sank into her seat and, turning to her husband, assured him, ‘Wilson knows how to make me comfortable, Robert,’ and he stood aside humbly and begged her to arrange things. With the greatest satisfaction Wilson took the cushion Mr Browning had attempted to prop behind his wife’s head, pushing it instead into the small of her back. Then she took a rug and wrapped it adroitly round her mistress’s knees and a shawl which she fastened round her neck and chest in such a way that it could not work loose. All this time, Mrs Browning smiled up at her trustingly and Mr Browning watched intently and said he thought he saw how it was done.
It took an age before they were off and then the jolting was severe, worse than any coach Wilson had been in – she saw her mistress’s forehead crease with pain and immediately Mr Browning was distraught, and sprang up and appealed to Wilson to think of some way of protecting his poor, fragile wife from being bruised to death. ‘Perhaps, sir,’ Wilson said, ‘I can cradle my mistress in my arms and that way save some of her limbs from a buffeting,’ and she got up, putting Flush down, to set about doing this. But Mr Browning had seized her idea for himself and had half lifted his wife onto his knee so that only her legs lay on the seat. ‘Oh, Robert, how comfortable I am now,’ she murmured. Wilson smiled to see his look of pride and tenderness. She readjusted the rug and then sat back, closing her eyes, but seeing from beneath the only partly closed lids the sweetness of the picture before her. Heaven knew, Mr Browning was no strong, powerful man but he looked convincingly protective and his wife was so very small that a man would have had to be a real dwarf not to appear huge beside her. She saw how his hand caressed her cheek and his arm tightened round her breast and her own heart beat a little faster. Here was a bride who had not yet truly been claimed by her bridegroom and though she despised herself for such thoughts and would have been disgusted and outraged if anyone else had voiced them, Wilson could not help speculating with some sense of alarm on the consummation that was soon to follow. It had never, of course, been spoken of, but she could sense no apprehension in her mistress. ‘I want to be with my husband heart and soul and body,’ she had said last week, and her voice had strengthened rather than faltered on that last word.
The diligence stopped at Rouen, where Mr Browning carried his wife into the inn, Wilson following with Flush. She noticed people staring at her mistress, whose body seemed to hang lifeless from her husband’s arms. Though no one knew it, her eyes were closed through embarrassment, not unconsciousness, and as soon as they were alone she opened them and laughed to think what a picture Robert had made. She drank some coffee, making a face and saying it was not nearly as good as the coffee Wilson made, and ate some bread and Mr Browning was pleased. The ride from Rouen to Paris was completed in the dark. ‘Look at the stars, Wilson,’ Mrs Browning whispered and Wilson peered out of the window and saw how brilliant indeed the stars were and how the moonlight caught the metal bits on the horses’ harness and glittered against their flying manes like jewels. In spite of the ordeal behind them, she had never seen her mistress so wide awake at night. Excitement made her eyes seem even more huge than they already were and happiness gave them a liveliness they so rarely had. ‘Pinch me, Wilson,’ she murmured, ‘I cannot believe this is real.’
‘It is real enough, ma’am,’ Wilson replied, clutching Flush who had fully recovered and was desperate to run around, ‘only look who is beside you.’ Mr Browning smiled, and squeezed her hand and looked a little less anxious than he had done all that day.
But when they reached their hotel in Paris the anxiety returned. He stood appalled in the room where he had just laid his wife on the bed. It was small and dingy with bed linen that had given off a cloud of dust when her body was put upon it. There was an odour with which Wilson felt uncomfortable but did not dare mention in case it was merely foreign cooking drifting upwards. While she began to unpack night things from their bag, Mr Browning went to the window and opened it. Immediately the volume of noise made him close it. ‘Oh, Ba,’ he said, ‘this is not what I intended.’ His wife stretched out her hand and said, ‘It is perfect, Robert, do not distress yourself. Wilson will make me very comfortable.’ Oh, will I, thought Wilson, at that very moment deciding she was in for a night of coughing and choking. The dust, she had had time to see, lay thickly everywhere and indignation, suppressed for Mr Browning’s sake, made her cheeks burn. This was no place for a lady with a delicate chest, but she supposed she would have to find a rag and clean the room herself before sleep was even thought of. At least a good fire burned and there was coal in plenty beside it. Mr Browning had already said he would take the single room for tonight, wishing her to stay with her mistress until she was over the journey. His wife had demurred, but he had been insistent. So now he bade her goodnight, while Wilson tactfully turned her back and shushed Flush, who was still inclined to growl at such contact. She dreaded either ringing the bell for service or going in search of it herself, but she needed hot water and towels and a cup or glass in which to mix the laudanum and she knew she ought to be taking charge and seeing to these things. She was so grateful when Mr Browning said, as he left, that he had ordered hot water to be sent and that it was to be brought by someone who spoke a little English.
Wilson had never slept with her mistress before though she had spent many a night sitting up with her. She felt shy about climbing into the same bed, where by rights Mr Browning ought to be, and delayed the moment as long as possible, hoping her mistress would fall asleep first. But she did not. When Wilson at last slipped between the covers, thinking how strange to lie beside someone other than Ellen, her mistress spoke at once.
‘I hardly wish to sleep,’ she said, ‘when there is so much to see and do.’
‘If you don’t sleep, ma’am,’ Wilson said, a little sternly, ‘you won’t be fit to see or do anything. And Mr Browning has told me, he has said, you are not to move from this bed for two days at least, he is so afraid for you.’
‘What nonsense. You must tell him it is nonsense, that I am perfectly well.’ But even as she said this, a small cough escaped her and, in attempting to choke it back, a bigger one erupted. Wilson was out of bed in a trice and at her side with a glass of water. The coughing over, her mistress subsided back onto her pillow and she once more got into bed.
‘Now, ma’am, if you will allow me to know what is best, no more talking. Sleep is what you need – what you must have, or else Mr Browning will be frantic and never let you out of this room.’
‘I should not mind,’ came a last murmur, ‘if he were only in it with me.’ But he was not in it the next night either, though he had barely left it the whole day. No matter how much his wife swore she was well and wished to get up he would no
t allow her to do more than sit up. Wilson, watching him, was at first amused and then impressed. He was absolutely firm and yet there was nothing domineering about his insistence. She saw at once that this was the firmness of concern and that her own mistress was in reality the stronger should she choose to exert her will. Today, she did not, but sank back laughing against her pillows, content to have her husband at her side, holding her hand and sharing the grapes he had brought her.
‘Go out, do, Wilson,’ she urged, ‘take Flushie to meet some French dogs and give yourself some air.’
Wilson hesitated. ‘I should like to, ma’am, sir, but …’ and she stopped, blushing.
‘You forget, Ba,’ Mr Browning said, ‘Wilson is a stranger to Paris without an idea of where to go and unable to ask. Now, Wilson, look, I will direct you and you will do very well, do not fear.’ And he leaned out of the window with her and pointed this way and that and showed her where to walk to find some greenery and space for Flush and then for good measure he took a pencil and drew a simple map.
Wilson clutched it all the time she was out, terrified she would lose it and be stranded forever. She had Flush on the lead of course, the handle of it wrapped twice round her hand for safety. The woman sitting at the desk in the lobby of the hotel said something to her as she passed through but she got away with a curt nod. She did so hate it when people spoke and she had not the faintest idea what they were saying. Once out, she took a deep breath and walked slowly down the street, repeating Mr Browning’s directions in her head – left, left, right, cross the road, right again and, yes, there was a gate and the entrance to a rather scorched, bare patch of grass, more of a square than a park, but with children playing on some swings and benches where mothers sat. She walked Flush round the grass twice, not daring to let him off the lead, though he strained frantically, not daring to sit down herself in case anyone spoke to her. Then she headed back to the hotel, looking furtively at her map all the time and relaxing only when she recognised the street. She walked up and down it several times, feeling safe at last, and then realised she could walk right round the block without crossing any roads and without losing her bearings. So she walked round and round, examining the buildings and looking at the other passers-by and coming to the conclusion that their foreignness was limited to certain articles of clothing and that their faces looked like faces anywhere. When she came back into the hotel the woman in the lobby spoke again and this time Wilson could tell from the interrogative lift in her voice that she was asking a question. She blushed, and smiled, and nodded, and hurried past as quickly as possible, feeling humiliated. This could not go on, she must endeavour to learn, parrot-fashion, some simple words.
The Brownings were in each other’s arms as she entered, though she had been careful to knock and then wait.
‘Did you enjoy your promenade, Wilson?’ Mr Browning asked.
Wilson noticed he made a move to release himself from his wife’s arms but that she clung to him. ‘Yes, sir. It was pleasant to get some air, sir.’
‘My sentiments entirely,’ her mistress said. ‘When am I to be allowed to breathe the air of Paris?’
‘If all is well, in another day or two, but I cannot guarantee it, Ba, for it depends how you are.’
‘Really, Robert, you make such an exaggerated case of it, to be sure, and it is not necessary, is it, Wilson? Do tell him I am not china and likely to break.’
‘Well, ma’am, I don’t know about china, but I think Mr Browning is right to be careful of you.’
‘There you are, Ba, I am right all along.’
‘Wilson, you are a conspirator. Shame on you.’
And at that minute, as they all laughed, there was a clatter of footsteps on the stairs outside and then a frenzied knocking at the door, a knocking so violent they all started and Mrs Browning clutched her heart. Wilson rushed to open the door and was almost pushed aside by the woman who burst in.
‘Why, Miss Barrett! Mr Browning! Why, you poets! How you amazed me! How your note surprised me! How delighted I am! And in Paris! Here! Safe and well and married! It is hardly to be believed! I cannot credit it!’
On and on Mrs Jameson exclaimed while the Brownings smiled. Wilson stood watching, feeling an enormous sense of relief for no reason at all. In a moment Mrs Jameson whirled round and confronted her too. ‘Wilson! And you said not a word! My dear, how loyal! How true!’ And to her embarrassment but pleasure she was seized and embraced, too, and even Flush of whom Mrs Jameson was not over-fond, received a squeeze and wagged his tail appreciatively. ‘But this will not do,’ Mrs Jameson announced next, making a sweeping gesture with her expressive hands round the room. ‘Whatever can you have been thinking of, Mr Browning? Shame on you. Such a noisy situation and no view besides. Come, you must join my niece and me at the Hôtel de la Ville de Paris. They have rooms, I know it. I shall go ahead and see everything is prepared and you must pay your bill and follow within the hour. I will not brook a refusal, indeed I could not. It is my duty to see you properly housed and cared for, indeed it is.’
The difference was marked. Wilson, unpacking once more, was impressed with their new quarters and could find no fault. The Hôtel de la Ville de Paris was in a quiet street with a fine aspect and the rooms they were given were charming. There was even a narrow balcony in Mrs Browning’s room with double doors opening onto it, and flower boxes along the iron rails full of cascading pink geraniums. The linen was clean and smelled of lavender and the furniture was like pretty country furniture. After a day there, it surprised Wilson to find her mistress allowed to get up and stand on the balcony and after another, she was visibly so restored that she was allowed to go out. It was on that night that her honeymoon truly began. Courteously, Mr Browning took Wilson aside in the afternoon and said he thought she might move to a room he had taken for her on the top floor. ‘You will be glad, I am sure,’ he said, ‘of a little time to yourself.’ It was so delicately put that she almost demurred, ready to protest that she was happy to continue as they were, but stopped herself just in time. And she was glad to be on her own that night since it gave her the opportunity to write to mother for the first time since she had left Wimpole Street. She found it a great pleasure to describe the journey and then to give her family a sketch of Paris of which she had by then seen something and could state authoritatively that
— the streets are much livelier than in London, mother, full of Punch & Judy shows and the like, and the clothes the women wear much more spectacular so that it is hard sometimes not to turn and stare especially at the hats which are great creations at the moment with fruit on them. Then it is very countrified for all it is the capital city with so many flowers growing everywhere, boxes and boxes on window sills and steps and my mistress likes that very much. Mr Browning continues very careful of her and would not even consider claiming his place beside her at night until now when she is much rested and showing no ill effects from the journey. I left her waiting for him tonight looking very pretty in a blue nightgown I kept back for the occasion though she laughed at me for it and would almost have been annoyed if she had not been so happy. She never wears blue but this was some very fine lawn given to her by her Aunt Jane and I smocked it and edged the sleeves and neck with lace, and really it is a lovely garment and she looks better in it than in white which makes her look like a ghost. I brushed her hair even more than usual until it gave off great sparks of light and sprang away from her face with a life of its own, which is a good sign as I told Mr Browning, for when she is ill her hair shows it and does nothing but hang limp. It is very curious, mother, but when I left her she was not at all nervous but quite composed and happy and unworried and I did wonder for a moment if she was fully aware of what was to happen. I know I should not be so calm —
But Wilson tore that page up, stopping at the end of her remarks about Mrs Browning’s hair. It was not seemly to discuss such feelings with her mother and she was surprised at herself. Instead, she wrote the next night to Lizzie, to whom
she could be freer. Again she began with the journey and a mention of the sights of Paris, but then quickly got down to confiding more private happenings, telling Lizzie, after many reminders of how she was not to mention any of this to a soul, that
— their true wedding night made her very happy, Lizzie, and it was no idle boast. When I went in the next morning, taking care to keep my eyes modest and acting as I always act, Mr Browning was not there but had got up and washed and was out for a walk. I thought this a little remarkable but said nothing and averted my gaze so that she would not think I was looking for any signs of how the night had gone. As I helped her off with her nightgown I could not help but remark to myself that it looked very fresh and not as though it had been worn and it was perfectly unmarked, if you take my meaning. Nor did she complain of any soreness or betray any signs of such, but on the contrary was more lively than she ever is in the morning. She smiled at me and said Wilson you are discreet as ever but I sense your anxiety and would only have you know I am very well and you are not to listen to tales other brides tell you and which I have heard myself. Well, it was I who blushed, Lizzie. At that moment Mr Browning came back looking energetic after his walk and she held out her arms to him and I disappeared at once to see to the ironing of her dress. So, Lizzie, our fears were quite unfounded and she has taken to marriage better than we hoped and may yet take to more than that. I do not think she even entertains a thought of motherhood believing herself incapable of it but I will be on the look-out, I can tell you, and I have marked down when her last monthly was for she is very forgetful and constantly surprised since they began again that time I told you of. She is not well sometimes when it occurs and I am fearful of this event happening while we are travelling for she would have to lie up and no mistake, but it is possible we may get to our first stopping place on the route, being Orleans, before it happens. We leave the day after tomorrow with Mrs Jameson and her niece Gerardine, who is seventeen. Mrs Jameson is an experienced traveller and of course a woman besides so you may imagine how glad I am to be under her wing. Gerardine is very pretty but very young and given to thoughtless remarks, I find. Seeing me the other day attending to the trimming on my mistress’s bonnet she says is Mrs Browning very old and when I replied indeed no, implying by my manner I hope a reprimand for asking such a thing which you will admit was rude of her, she said she thought she must be to have such a dreary old-fashioned bonnet and her a bride. I said pretty sharply that to Mrs Browning there were things more important than bonnets and that quietened her. I had not thought I could be so fierce, but I was angry. She must have said something to her aunt for Mrs Jameson came to speak to me shortly afterwards and begged pardon for her niece. Indeed Wilson, she said, I am concerned that travelling with a pair of lovers may have a bad effect on Gerardine and put ideas into her head which her parents would not thank me for. She is very impressionable and if she sees a great deal of loving before her very eyes she will want to turn to it herself. I assured her Mr and Mrs Browning were unlikely to make an exhibition of themselves before Gerardine and she laughed and said I was right —
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