The Observations

by Jane Harris

  Missus squeezed my hands. ‘But Bessy, you must know, the most incredible thing about it, I still have to tell you. You won’t believe it.’

  ‘What?’ I says faintly.

  ‘You see, it wasn’t Nora that the woman wanted after all.’

  ‘No?’

  Missus shook her head. ‘No, dear,’ she says. ‘It was you! She was going to take you to Glasgow. Why—she pretended not to have heard of Nora! But when I mentioned your name, and said what a wonderful maid you had proved to be, she became very animated. And then we had a disagreement. Horrible woman! She really was a monster! And then—well, I have said enough. I persuaded her to leave you alone. Just rest assured, dear, she won’t be bothering you. You are quite safe now.’

  She stroked my cheek and looked into my eyes. ‘Dear Bessy,’ she says. ‘What are you thinking of?’

  I shook my head, blinking away my tears. ‘Nothing, marm,’ I says. ‘Nothing.’

  She smiled. ‘Do you know, dear, I have come to a conclusion about you. And Nora agrees with me. I consulted her and she told me that I was quite right.’

  ‘What—what conclusion is that, marm?’

  ‘That you really are the most loyal, courageous and true friend a person could ever wish for. I am blessed to have found you.’

  And with that, she turned back to watch the cricket match. There was a pause in play. Napoleon was berating another member of his team. Meanwhile, Jesus performed a cartwheel and was applauded by the ladies. They all looked blurry to me.

  After a while, missus spoke again. ‘This place is most intriguing, don’t you think?’ she says. ‘I have spoken to Doctor Lawrence about it and he agrees with me. I don’t know how long I am going to be here, Bessy, but while I am, I intend to make good use of the time. All that work I did on servants and obedience! Now that I am out in the world, I see that there are far more interesting subjects. The lunatic! What could be more pertinent than that for our age? It is my new preoccupation. They have given me pen and paper. I am not making a public announcement about it at this stage. But just between you and me, I have begun to write another book.’

  She turned to me. ‘You shall have to help me think of a title,’ she says. ‘What was it you called my other book?’

  ‘The Observations, marm.’

  She sat back with a smile. ‘That’s right,’ she says. ‘The Observations. Well, if you don’t mind me saying, Bessy, it’s not a very good title is it? No, we shall have to think of something better this time.’

  I was going to start a fresh chapter, telling all about what has happened since then. But I don’t like goodbyes and from hereon in, it is only goodbye that I would be saying. So I will keep it short and sweet.

  It had been my intention to stay in Foulburn for a while, so that I could visit missus more than once. That afternoon, I took a lodging at the village inn and later I went back to the asylum for tea. It was quite strange to see how properly everything was run, with all the patients four to a table and the lady patients doling out scones and slices of bread and butter. I even met Jesus and Napoleon. Jesus was all right but Napoleon was frosty-faced. And the man who had a fear of corners kept cringing at all the little triangles of bread.

  In the evening, I returned to my lodging and it was upon undoing my bundle to unpack that I came across The Observations, wrapped up in my clothes. I had forgot all about putting them in there, it seemed like a lifetime ago. I wondered whether Dr Lawrence would have any objection to me returning the book to missus. It didn’t look or smell too pretty, now it was burned. I flipped open the cover and seen that the scorching had reached inside. The corner of the black and white label EX~BIBLIOTHEC~CASTEL~HAIVERS had burned away and the lady and her maid had lost their slippered feet.

  And then I noticed that something was poking out from behind the label. Another sheet of paper. I drew it out and seen that it was not one piece but a few pages, folded together. A note. I opened it up and recognised at once the neat copperplate hand as belonging to Nora. One edge of all the sheets were uneven, as if they had been cut. Here, at last, were the missing pages.

  In fact, it was the letter that Nora had wrote to missus, the one master James had tellt missus to destroy. Nora must have cut the pages out her journal herself, lacking notepaper. And missus had disobeyed her husband and hid them under the label in her book.

  It was a private letter so I will not quote from it here at any length. Suffice to say, its main purpose was to exempt missus from all blame. In the final paragraph, Nora wrote,

  My dear lady, I know how difficult it was for you to dismiss me but I also know that it was not really your doing. Please do not despair! We had the best of times together, did we not? My life from now on would not be worth living, given what has happened. Only misery awaits me were I to go on. I am sorry to put you through this but do not be sad. Pray for me instead, for who is there to do so but your own sweet self? Be happy for me. I am setting out on a grand new adventure. Fear not, you and I shall meet again one day.

  I pray the Lord my soul to take. Amen

  That Nora was a bit Holy, it has to be said.

  But in the end, I think I might have got to like her. She was more similar to myself than I had ever cared to admit. And dear missus! I hated to think of the grief and dread that must have overcame her when she came across this note. So help me God, she may not always have been in command of her wits but one thing was for sure, she did care about us. All us girls blown like chaff across the water. We settle here, we settle there. We pass through. And when we quit this earth for good we leave little or no trace, nothing to say where we have been. But missus had hung onto that last note from Nora and she’d made sure she had a headstone. Above all, she had kept us in her heart.

  I folded up the pages and slid them back underneath the label. It was a provoking thing that note, that book. I worried that it could be too upsetting for missus. I didn’t know whether it would be better to give it to her or not. And so I decided that before I left Foulburn, I would hand The Observations over to Doctor Lawrence, so that he could be the one to decide what should be done with them.

  The following morning, I happened to be on my way up to visit missus when I passed the shop in Foulburn. It was one of those places where they kept notices in the window and I saw one that was headed up ‘URGENT, Kitchen Maid Wanted’. Of course, it attracted my attention since at the time it was on my mind that I would have to get on me and find work sooner or later. When I looked closer, however, I was even more intrigued to see that the position to be filled was at none other establishment than the asylum! Now here was a turn up for the books! Over the next few days, I gave the matter some private consideration and then I raised it with missus. How would she feel about me taking such a post? Well, she could think of no better idea! For then we could see each other every day, for as long as she was there. I was worried that being acquainted with one of the patients might go against me, but as it turned out that didn’t matter at all. Mrs Robertson was the person to be applied to and she practically got on her knees and begged me to take the job. I soon realised that—pleasant though conditions were at the asylum—it is difficult to find staff to work in such places. Nobody likes the thought of loonies. But to be honest I have found great solace in it and satisfaction, and a fair few laughs as well.

  I began that very week in the kitchens and within a few months was promoted to attendant, which post I have now fulfilled for over three years. It was Doctor Lawrence himself that did ask me to write this history of missus and how we met and all that, for he thought it would be an interesting and useful document for him and his colleagues to read since they are still intrigued by her case. I began writing the first chapter not long after I came here but my hours of leisure are scarce and it has took me all these years to reach the end. I do believe my style may have improved as the months went by but I am aware that there are still some mistakes for unless I keep my wits about me I tend to write as I speak.

  Missus has
been here all this time, and with every day that passes, is more fascinated by her fellow patients. Always she is watching, watching, watching them and asking questions of them, just as she used to of me when I was her servant and she was writing her Observations. Now, her great work is on the subject of insanity. I asked her last week when it would be finished. She just looked at me and says, ‘Bessy it is barely begun.’

  As for The Observations. Well I should say that the manuscript is in my possession and a very good read it is too. I have been trying for some while to find a suitable publisher. No success as yet but it can only be a matter of time as there has already over the past few years been a good deal of interest. Indeed, with the exception of some early refusals The Observations has met with tremendous approval everywhere it has been sent.

  For instance, upon receipt of my introductory letter, Mr R—of the eminent publishing house William R—and Sons did ask immediately to see the book and the very next week—although he had decided that the content was ‘not quite’ to his taste—he did not hesitate to suggest that it be sent elsewhere—and does this prompt and helpful response not surely prove that the work has merit? Beyond a shadow of a doubt it does.

  Very encouraged, I sent it off to Mr W—of Harold W—and Co. Now here was a different response. This Mr W kept the manuscript for so long that I eventually became convinced that he intended to steal it and sneak it out to great acclaim under a different title without telling me. But in the end, after many months and several letters requesting a response, he returned the work saying that although it was ‘quite well done’ his firm wouldn’t be publishing any books that year which seemed to me a strange way to run a business and I wrote and told him as much. Since his lack of enthusiasm was due only to his companys peculiarities (and in the end, they must have took my advice because to my certain knowledge they did in fact bring out several books in that year!), I was not daunted in the least and sent the manuscript off forthwith to Mr G of G—, B—and T—.

  After a brief interval he wrote back, absolutely delighted, saying that he had never come across anything quite like it. This was a surprise to me as I had already sent him the manuscript the previous year under its original title ‘Observations of the Habits and Nature of the Domestic Class in My Time’ by ‘A Lady’ but on that occasion he had returned it, unread, with a brief, one-word note which said simply ‘Never’.

  However, he must have liked the new title because this time he sent a very conversational and friendly letter in which he complimented the manuscripts ‘satirical’ style and begged to know the true identity of ‘the mysterious Arabella R’. Apparently it is rare to encounter such an original and refreshing book in a business that is full of, as he put it ‘nothing but corner boys and sharks’. As a for instance Mr G went on to complain at length about the man he had just had lunch with, another publisher who, it seemed, was a terrible fellow that had, in the past, stole one of Mr Gs books. Mr G was very bitter about it and he became quite abusive at points in his recriminations to this man. However, towards the end of the letter, about the 9th page, he seemed to regain something of his former good humour. He apologised for the stain (where some fool in his office had knocked over a glass of wine) and invited me to take lunch with him, saying that he was curious to know the full story behind this ‘highly entertaining’ manuscript and calling me a ‘capital fellow’. To be perfectly honest, some aspects of his response gave me the impression that he had perhaps not read the manuscript all the way through. For one thing, I think he had confused me with Arabella and misunderstood her book altogether, that was two things. Not only that (here’s a third), he seemed to think that we were a man, pretending to be a woman!

  I replied immediately, assuring him that The Observations was an important work of research written in all seriousness, and by a lady, and that I would be delighted to meet him and discuss its publication. However, he seems to have took offence at something I said because I have heard nothing from him since. Perhaps he does no longer be working at G—, B—and T—s. (He did mention some jealousies among colleagues that had put him in mind to hand in his resignation.)

  These then are but a few examples of how well The Observations has been received and if the response so far is anything to go by then ½ the country wants to see this manuscript and publish it! But be advised once again that prior application must be made to myself and I will see what I can do.

  What other news? Master James did visit missus quite a lot to begin with in those early months but as time went on, he appeared less and less and for the past year he has come not at all. As far as I know, he now lives in Manchester and is a Bigwig at the courts there.

  I still have Mr Levys last act in my possession. Unfortunately it did dry out over time and last year it met with a small accident and is now only a pinch of dust in the velvet bag. But I am keeping it nonetheless, to remind me of that dear man.

  Talking of constipation, it seems Davy Flemyng is ‘blocked’, leastwise there is no sign yet of his Masterwork and I do believe he has moved to Corstorphine in search of his Muse.

  And what else? Well now it may interest you to know that Reverend Pollock was a passenger on the ill-fated SS London bound for Australia when that ship foundered in the Bay of Biscay in the year ’66. He was one of those many souls that perished, a horrible death by all accounts, sucked beneath the waves they were, whilst singing ‘Rock of Ages’. The Bay of Biscay is north of Spain. Which reminds me, I have always imagined Spain to be a wonderful country, though I have never visited there of course.

  Three cheers for Spain!

  And three cheers for missus!

  She is very popular here and still pretty as a rose. We have a lot of country dances at the asylum and she is never lacking a partner. Dancing and exercise and association are great cures for all ails, that is what Doctor Lawrence says and I have to agree with him for I believe that missus is happier here than she ever was at Castle Haivers.

  Gentlemen, please forgive the many shortcomings of this document. In the main, I mean, where I describe too much of my own part in things. Also please excuse where I have wrote down oaths and their approximations, and where I have described squalid or unpleasant matters. It is only because I was asked to relay the story ‘warts and all’. I have been assured that no matter what I reveal here, no action will be taken against any person as a result and I trust in Doctor Lawrence to fulfil that promise. He has shown me the locked cupboard where the manuscript is to be kept. He is a good and honest man and only wishes to examine the case of missus, in the hope of being more help to her.

  But here we go now. It is high time I put the boots on all this. I am not sure what there is to be learned from these pages, except perhaps that happiness can be found in the strangest of places, even amongst those poor souls whose minds have become, for whatever reason, unhinged. Now that I am finished, Doctor Lawrence wants to know what I think of what I have wrote. All I can say is that it will be strange to be no longer doing it. I may have to think of another story to write to fill up those few hours between completing work and laying my head upon the pillow. But this time, instead of just recounting what has happened, it will have to be a story that I make up out my own head, because more or less all that I have ever known or done or seen or heard or felt in my life has been included in this account. And there is nothing more left over to tell.

  So there you go. Farewell. Au revoir. Or, as they say where I come from, safe home.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Thanks to Noeleen Collins, Sheila Dundee, Kate and George Mulvagh, Lucy Mulvagh, and Tom Shankland. Thanks to Anna Andresen and Ali Reid. Thanks to Vivien Green, Stephen Mulrine and Rose Tremain.

  I am also indebted to Hannah Griffiths and all at Faber and Faber, Emma Parry, Jon Riley, Molly Stern, Alessandra Lusardi, Euan Thorneycroft, Jonny Geller and all at Curtis Brown.

  Of research materials the following indispensable publications deserve mention: The Diaries of Hannah Cullwick, Victorian Maidservant ,
ed. Liz Stanley, Virago, 1984. Farm Servants and Labour in Lowland Scotland 1770-1914, ed. T. M. Devine, John Donald Publishers Ltd, 1984. Shadow’s Midnight Scenes and Social Photographs, Glasgow 1858, republished UGP, 1976. Some Observations of the Change of Manners in My Own Time, 1700-1790, by Elizabeth Mure, published in Scottish Diaries and Memoirs, ed. J. G. Fyfe, Stirling, 1942. Armadale Past and Present, by R. Hyde-Brown, F. Johnstone and Co., 1906. Slanguage, by Bernard Share, Gill and Macmillan Ltd, 2003.