This was true, but it was not the whole story. Dr Harding, after his visit on February 10th, took Wilson aside. He had examined and left Mrs Browning in her bedroom attended by her anxious husband whom he had just assured all was as well as could be. They stood together, doctor and maid, outside the door of the Brownings’ apartment, the doctor’s head dropped in thought and Wilson was hardly able to see the expression on his face in the gloom. His voice, kept low, seemed to echo; the echo made his words sinister.
‘Now, Mrs Wilson,’ Dr Harding said, and coughed before starting again, ‘Mrs Wilson, you are a woman of good sense, as I have seen, and reliable in every way but you must be aware, as I am, that Mrs Browning’s case is very particular.’
‘Oh yes, sir, I am indeed, sir.’
‘Very particular and because it is so particular I must, as her medical man, take most particular measures. There may, Mrs Wilson, though I would thank you not to breathe a word of this for alarm can be contagious and cause panic which would be injurious, there may be cause for skilled nursing and even the use of instruments. Should this be the case, I would wish to have the services of another person as well as yourself and I do not mean an ordinary midwife. There is an Italian woman, Signora Romalfi, with whom I have worked on some desperate cases where more than a cool head and a steady hand are called for. Do you take my meaning?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I intend to inform Signora Romalfi tomorrow that the birth is imminent …’
‘Indeed, sir? So soon?’
‘I do not think it is soon, though these things know no rules and the best estimate is only a guess. The head is engaged and the child feels full-grown and large, very large.’
‘Oh, sir!’
‘Now come, Mrs Wilson, that is not necessarily a disaster. Mrs Browning is small but I have seen small women give birth easily to large babies and large women suffer torment bringing forth tiny ones, so all is not lost. But it is of the utmost importance that all the signs of labour beginning should be accurately noted and for that I would rather depend on you than Mrs Browning. Do you know what a show is, Mrs Wilson?’
‘I believe so, sir. It is the coming away of liquid that lies in front of the baby I have been told.’
‘Very good, that is near enough. Now your mistress may think nothing of a show, or may on the other hand think too much, but either way I wish you to send for me at once and get her to bed even before I come. And any pains, any pains, from this day forward must be reported. Is that understood?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Well, I will bid you good day, Mrs Wilson, and trust I leave my patient in capable hands, as I know I do.’
Wilson was not so sure. These days, as she helped her mistress dress and undress, she was rather alarmed by the immense size of her belly. The rest of her had hardly fattened at all, making the mound seem even more enormous than it actually was. She would stand, as her shift was slipped on, with her hands on her stomach and when the baby kicked she smiled and looked at Wilson proudly. But then on other days, when there was no movement, she was tense and looked down in despair at herself and wondered aloud if she had harmed her child with the laudanum. Then Wilson would soothe her, and remind her she had all but ceased to take any laudanum this past two months, that the couple of drops she still liked smuggled into her glass last thing at night were of no consequence. She was not always successful in setting her mistress’s mind at rest. Once, as she wrote to Minnie:
— I could do nothing with her. She lay and wept and looked at the portrait of her father which hangs opposite her bed and said she did not want to die without his forgiveness. Her distress became so great that I vowed I would have to go for her husband at which she made a great effort and stopped, saying she could not cry before him nor wound him by talking of death. I said thinking to brace her up that it was wrong to talk of dying when it would mean leaving Mr Browning bereft and she smiled a little and said she could not indeed afford to leave this world when there was a Robert in it and him the most perfect man in the world which she did not deserve.
Sitting sewing pink twilled muslin for the lining of the wickerwork cradle throughout the February afternoons, Wilson had plenty of time to ponder on this adoration of her mistress’s. She had known Mr Browning now two and a half years and was still not used to him. He was everything his wife said – patient, tender, full of feeling, entirely lacking in masculine traits of the more unpleasant and common variety – and yet she could not agree he was a perfect husband. He was not the husband she wished for, even if the fault was in herself. She knew quite well that her mistress was the stronger-willed and though Mr Browning was not weak he was given to bowing before his wife’s wishes, in a way Wilson found suspect. She would not wish to lead her own husband but felt in herself the need to obey.
Mrs Browning sighed and asked for a glass of water, closing the book she had been reading. ‘Well, such a fuss,’ she said, ‘and now I discover it is not for so very much.’
‘About what, ma’am?’
‘Jane Eyre, the sensation of London last summer, or so everyone writes to me. I see no reason why you may not read it, Wilson. it is about a poor governess, of good family but in reduced circumstances, as so many are.’ Mrs Browning looking at her curiously, then said, ‘Wilson, do you remember first coming to Wimpole Street? And were you very afraid of us all? Did we make you suffer, like poor Jane Eyre, and were you very lonely?’
Wilson smiled. It was typical that one question should follow another without pause for reply. ‘I remember it very well and thought everyone kind but I was lonely and lost, as you might expect.’
‘Of course I might. Was I heartless, dear?’
‘No, ma’am. You were sad and not well then and I wished very much to help you.’
‘As you have.’ The eyes filled with tears but a smile came too and then another question. ‘Do you regret coming with us, Wilson? Tell me truly.’
‘No, I do not. It has benefited me.’
‘Indeed it has. All can see. When we go back to London it will be you who draw the compliments now you have flourished and grown into yourself and blossom so.’
It was with such chit-chat that they whiled away the long afternoons while Mr Browning walked the crowded streets where almost every day there was a commotion and rumours of an Austrian invasion rife. Wilson did not like to go out partly because she was so fearful of her mistress’s health, taking too literally Dr Harding’s words that he relied on her, and partly because she was afraid she would be caught up in some insurrection. Sarah Allen, who was her most reliable companion, had in any case gone and there was no Leonardo to squire her around. The dreadful Alessandro, coming and going, took a delight in breathless stories of violence erupting all over Florence and though she did not believe him Wilson had no desire to put him to the test. Her sole recreation was with Jeannie who occasionally invited her to ride in the carriage with her and Louisa when they went for a ride arranged by the Ogilvys. A reliable driver took them and another man was engaged to sit on the box as guard and Wilson felt very safe.
Knowing the redoubtable Jeannie was only overhead helped Wilson sleep at night as February ended and March, when Mrs Browning would certainly be confined, came in. If there was a sudden crisis, Jeannie would come, even before Dr Harding, to advise her. On March 6th, her own birthday, Mrs Browning was uncharacteristically irritable, even snapping at her husband who had only wished her happy birthday. No celebration was allowed nor any mention of her birthday welcomed. While admitting that she never had seen her mistress in the four birthdays she had been with her, acknowledge the day with any joy, Wilson nevertheless was sufficiently disturbed by her crossness to mention it to Jeannie, who at once saw significance in it. ‘Dogs are a’ the same,’ she pronounced. ‘Aye twitching when their time is nigh coming and canna stay in the one place.’
Putting her mistress to bed that night Wilson could not help examining her under-garments carefully for fear there was evidence of a show
either not noticed or thought insignificant. It was a distasteful task and she did it furtively before placing the pantaloons in the laundry bag. Similarly, every time Mrs Browning went to relieve herself Wilson felt the uncomfortable need to hover near at hand and could not refrain from asking, ‘All is well, ma’am?’
The atmosphere in the apartment throughout the next two days was unpleasantly tense. Mr Browning would not go out, Flush would not go out and Wilson felt worried if she only went so far as the kitchen. They were all glad that Alessandro had two days’ holiday since he alone was impervious to the sense of imminent danger and annoyed all of them with his crashing and banging and lusty singing. Mrs Browning no longer read in the afternoons. She slept, without benefit of laudanum, and otherwise lay on her bed staring ahead at the side of San Felice church. A hundred times Wilson had checked that all was ready and there was no more to be done. She still sewed, a pink muslin pillowslip for the tiny down pillow lying in the cradle, but every stitch took immense concentration. She had just finished a seam when, without the slightest sound or merest indication of movement, she felt a change in the air and looked up, alarmed. Her mistress was lying perfectly still but her eyes had widened and she held her breath. Wilson, putting her sewing down, said, ‘You have a pain?’ but the moment had already passed and Mrs Browning smiled languidly and denied she had. Though she watched attentively the rest of the day, Wilson could detect nothing amiss, and came to the conclusion she had imagined her mistress’s discomfort. But when she went to bed that night she took off only her shoes and her dress and laid them out on the chair at her side, all ready to slip on.
She was awake in an instant, hearing Mr Browning coming down the passage before ever he reached her door and knocked, and had her dress on while she replied at once to his query that she was awake and ready. Her own heart beat with the excitement of it as she followed him into the bedroom where, since it was not quite dawn, a lamp burned at the bedside. Her mistress lay propped up with pillows, serene and smiling, and held out her hand. ‘Well, Wilson,’ she murmured, ‘March is a month of birthdays, is it not?’ Wilson, barely able to speak, could only nod dumbly. ‘Now dear, do not look so frightened – why, two white faces peering at me will do me no good at all and I am cross with Robert for waking you, only he would do it.’
‘You have had pains all this last hour, Ba, you know you have.’
‘They are not much, but I believe something else has happened which Wilson can attend to, Robert, if you go and dress or walk about, my love.’
Investigating, with none of the embarrassment she had expected, Wilson found clear evidence of a show and quickly cleared away the sheet. ‘The doctor must be sent for,’ she announced and silenced protests at once by stepping next door and telling Mr Browning to send the porter for Dr Harding. Then she took a clean sheet from the drawer and made the bed neat and helped her mistress back into it. All was ready long before Dr Harding appeared at half past six to find Wilson agitated and her mistress quite calm. He examined his patient, took her pulse, sounded her heart and pronounced her in excellent health. To Wilson’s horror, he then snapped his bag shut and got up to go. She could not help saying, ‘You are not leaving us, sir?’
‘Indeed I am, Mrs Wilson, since this is likely to be a long affair, and I will only be a nuisance. You have a timepiece? I wish you to observe it and when the pains are regular, coming every ten minutes, send for me. Signora Romalfi is on her way and will be here by mid-afternoon. Now, Mrs Browning, you must keep your strength up with nourishing food, nothing heavy of course, and plenty of liquid. If you could sleep it would be so much the better, for it will be a slow day. But by the end of it we will have this child in our world and all well.’
Nobody shared his confidence. Signora Romalfi appeared at three in the afternoon, and two hours later told Wilson that Dr Harding must be sent for since the pains were regular and strong. Off went Mr Browning again to fetch Dr Harding. He took off his coat, exchanging it for another he carried in a bag and settled down by the bedside, observing his patient and smiling. ‘So we make progress,’ he said, ‘and you are bearing the pain admirably Mrs Browning. Now if you will tell me when a pain next grips you I will take the opportunity to do my bit.’ After a few minutes, his patient stiffened and turned her head aside and whispered that the pains had returned. Wilson watched the doctor turn back the bedclothes and gently feel all round the mound that was the baby. He seemed surprised and said, ‘Strong contractions, Mrs Browning, and yet you do not cry out – well done, well done.’ Then he had Wilson light a lamp, though it was not yet dark, and hold it high over her mistress’s legs and she saw him slip his hand inside, his face abstracted. The lamp wobbled a little in her grip as her own insides seem to contract with the sight of this shocking interference and she was as relieved as her mistress when the doctor had done. ‘Well, my dear,’ he said, ‘you are well dilated and I shall stay the night.’
Mr Browning offered to have a meal sent in, apologising for the absence of Alessandro. The doctor thought that a good idea, but only if Mr Browning joined him, and so, though it was clear to Wilson Mr Browning would have difficulty forcing anything past his lips, it was agreed. She and Signora Romalfi ate from a tray and sat on either side of Mrs Browning, who only drank a little water from time to time. Taking the tray away, Wilson was followed to the kitchen by Dr Harding and with the door shut he requested a pan of hot water. Fascinated, she watched him take out of his case a gleaming metal instrument resembling nothing so much as a giant, awkward pair of pincers. ‘Never fear,’ he said, seeing her terror, ‘we may not need them but it is as well to be prepared. I only heat them for cleansing purposes though I am sneered at for it and told it is not necessary. Well, I like to do it and have everything clean as may be.’ Wilson was impressed and in the course of the next few hours grew even more admiring of the doctor. He had such great patience, talking to Mrs Browning of Italian politics and of books and of mutual friends in Florence but ever sensitive to her pain, knowing when to desist and wait. He allowed Mr Browning in at intervals and showed him how to rub his wife’s back, the better to alleviate the pain, and encouraged him to stroke her brow and comfort her.
But at midnight, Wilson later related to her mother how
— Mr Browning was turned out and how sorry I felt for him, Mother, for it was agony for him to leave her and there were tears in his eyes. But it was necessary for the pains became very fast, one after the other, and very strong and the doctor examining her found her fully dilated and the crisis reached and he could not have seen her as she then became without much suffering himself. The doctor put aside the bed coverings and had her turn on her side and raise her knees. I thought of those wicked instruments in the hot water and could hardly keep still for fright. But nothing was done and in half an hour Dr Harding told her to push. Then the most extraordinary change took place, Mother, for hitherto though nigh silent she had been almost wild and thrashing about and now she became still and gave great gasps as she pushed all rhythmic as though to some strange music and in a moment Dr Harding cried out that he had the head and she must hold back a moment then push once more and it would be done, which she did perfectly and the next thing I saw was the baby held up by his heels and roaring, Mother, like you never heard. It is a fine boy, Dr Harding said. Signora Romalfi brought the baby to her then, all wrapped tightly, but she would not look at him until her husband should be allowed in. But I looked and, oh Mother, such a beautiful child as you never saw with a face so rosy and tufts of dark hair and every feature perfect. He made little noises and turned his head and Signora Romalfi said, she had never seen such energy in a newborn babe. But still Dr Harding would not let Mr Browning in saying there was some bleeding he was concerned with though it was not serious and wished it to have ceased before allowing her to receive him. In an hour or so it stopped and Dr Harding pronounced the flow quite normal now. But he preferred one of us to stay when Mr Browning came in and I elected to be that one while the nurse went f
or some sleep. Mr Browning made straight for the bedside never looking into the cradle and he was trembling and the tears streaming down his face and he clasped her hand and gazed into her face. He could not believe she had come through the ordeal so safely, Dr Harding having told him that he had never seen a natural function so well performed, and once his joy had abated it was replaced by pride and at last he looked at his son. Mrs Browning asked him if they had not been over-endowed with happiness and how had they come to deserve it and he kissed her and said God was good. Then he left as instructed by the doctor and although it was morning by then we left the shutters closed and she prepared to sleep for she was truly exhausted. And so, Mother, it has all ended happily and I look to our journey to England to show off this child before too long.
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