It was shortly after nine o'clock in the morning when we arrived at the modest abode of Mrs Barber, and I slowly alighted and ordered the driver to wait until I was ready to return. I half-expected the impudent elder of Lichfield to ask just how long he would be detained, such was the look of petulance that decorated his visage, but he wisely said nothing and so I had no opportunity to remind him of his inferior station in life. The ramshackle cottage and overgrown garden appeared just as they had on the previous day, but I was set now upon my course and determined not to be distracted by considerations of architecture or flora. Before I could announce myself the door opened and the same child presented herself, but once again she chose not to speak. I scrutinised her tawny visage, but before I could formulate a question the mother appeared behind the child.
'I have been expecting you, sir,' was how the English woman began her address. I noticed a certain high-pitched common tone to her voice which confirmed her lowly origins. 'Won't you please come in?' I smiled in her direction, and then stepped around the child who presented herself as an obstacle that I was obliged to negotiate in order that I might gain entrance into the gloomy residence.
It appeared that the kitchen served a double function as both a place to cook and eat in, and as a chamber to receive guests. I sat carefully at the table and was soon joined by the mite who had a disconcerting habit of simply staring. A coal-black kettle was warming over the fire, and while Mrs Barber prepared tea, I looked all about myself and began to understand the limited means of the shabby woman. Empty crooked shelves decorated the walls, and then I saw a mouse flit nimbly across the floor, but the woman continued to prepare the tea as if nothing untoward had taken place, and it occurred to me that perhaps she was familiar with this creature and his extended family. I turned my attention to the peeling plaster, and to the torn and filthy drapes in the window, before speculating that if she had brought me, a gentleman, to this room, then what of the other rooms in the cottage? How had it come to pass that the widow of Francis Barber, a man so well loved and handsomely provided for by Dr Johnson, could have fallen so low?
Mrs Barber placed a dish of tea before me and then sat quietly across the table. The grimy-faced child looked ruefully at its mother, and then some few words were exchanged between them, although I had no idea of what they were saying for it was as though they were speaking their own secret language. As they continued to jabber, I deemed it polite to lower my eyes and look away for it appeared that whatever was being said between the two of them was becoming increasingly animated and more urgent. Eventually Mrs Barber asked to be momentarily excused. When she returned to the table she did so with a plain piece of bread in one hand, which she passed to the child, clearly intending this gift to be some form of incentive to persuade the cub to remain quiet.
'I'm sorry, sir,' she said. 'I don't mean to delay you in any way, but you know what youngsters can be like.'
The truth was, being a bachelor of some standing, I had been spared the antics of childish misbehaviour, but I nevertheless bestowed a generous smile upon the woman.
'Mrs Barber, first I wish to thank you for agreeing to see me today. I know that you are busy with matters relating to your schoolhouse and I also understand that you must be grieving over your recent loss. However, I wish to write a small profile for the Gentlemen's Magazine concerning your late husband and the unique position that he occupied from which he was able to witness the birth of some of our finest literature. I was, of course, hoping to speak with him directly, but this being impossible I thank you most sincerely for granting me an audience. I will endeavour to occupy only a small portion of your morning.'
The woman looked quizzically upon me, but she chose to say nothing. For my part I was surprised to see how much of an inroad nature had made into her complexion for, sad to say, she was pockmarked extensively, and her grey hair hung lank about her ears. This was not the woman that I had expected to encounter, but the elements have a way of destroying even the most beautiful objects in nature, and sadly it appeared that Mrs Barber had been quite brutally exposed to the vicissitudes of rain and shine for many years now.
'Does it trouble you my daughter being present?' She spoke quietly, but before I could answer, she continued. 'I can send her out if it will please you.' I smiled, first upon her and then in the direction of the mongrel.
'It matters little to me, Mrs Barber. As I said, I have no desire to disturb your day more than is strictly necessary.'
The common woman looked at me in a strange manner, and for a moment I imagined her to be perhaps impaired in her faculties. She began to grin, somewhat toothlessly, and I found myself trying to imagine this Betsy in her full glory a quarter of a century earlier when all of London was animated by the news of the scandalous developments in the great lexicographer's household.
In 1776, Francis announced to his master that he was somewhat persecuted by love and that he had discovered the girl to whom he wished to be married. Initially, Dr Johnson wondered if the lucky girl was with child, but he deemed it politic not to enquire. He knew of Francis' popularity with a variety of young females, and although he regarded the sable young man with paternal concern, he was reluctant to begin lecturing the negro on any aspect of his behaviour in case Francis felt pressured into once again absconding to sea. Dr Johnson asked Francis if he might meet with his bride-to-be, and Francis said that he would bring the girl to him at his master's earliest convenience. Francis also suggested that in order to avoid further conflict with Miss Williams, he would prefer it if after their marriage he and his wife might be permitted to establish lodgings outside of Dr Johnson's house. After all, in addition to Miss Williams there was also her Scotch maid, and the gloomy widow, Mrs Jesmoulins, and her recently arrived daughter, so his master would not be short of assistance. Francis made it clear that he intended to continue to serve his master, but in the interests of peace and harmony he seemed to have already made up his mind that this would be the most sensible course of action.
Two days later, Francis arrived at the house with a freshfaced, twenty-year-old English girl in tow, her arm linked nervously through his own. He introduced the girl to Dr Johnson as Elizabeth, and she curtseyed gracefully, but then Francis immediately began referring to her as Betsy, which his master took as his cue to do the same. The older man inspected the young girl, who seemed slight of body but possessed of a natural bloom, and he then asked after her family, and requested intelligence of how it had come to pass that she had met his Francis. He listened to her shy and cautious words, and then he delicately asked if the couple had any immediate plans for a family, at which point the girl blushed a deep crimson. Again, it occurred to the doctor that the wench might already be with child, for he knew full well that Francis' adventures in the world of passion were extensive and freely reported. Apparently some women, particularly those among the lower orders, found his ebony complexion appealing, and he saw no reason why this Betsy should be any different from the others. However, anything short of a direct question was not going to resolve his private speculation, and knowing that it would be impertinent to pose the question the doctor resigned himself to ignorance. After all, nature would soon enough provide him with an answer.
For her part, Betsy looked upon the famous Dr Johnson and wondered just what services her soon-to-be husband provided for this dishevelled man, whose wig had clearly seldom been combed and whose clothes looked dusty and unwashed. She had heard from many who had witnessed the gentleman roaming abroad at all hours of the day and night, that the man appeared to be insensible to his squalid appearance, but nothing had prepared her for this degree of slovenliness. However, he seemed to be a kind man, and he habitually referred to her Frank as 'my boy' in a manner that was affectionate enough for there to be no doubt in her mind how fondly he regarded Frank. And then later, but during this same visit, Betsy came to understand why her husband-to-be had insisted that they find their own place of abode outside of Dr Johnson's residence. Miss Williams, up
on being introduced to Francis' intended, simply snorted in disgust and turned on her heels, which prompted neither comment nor admonition from the head of the household. As far as Betsy was able to discern, this blind woman, who apparently knew her way about the house with a confidence and ease that most sighted people lacked, clearly considered herself to be the queen of the establishment, and she made no secret of her contempt for Frank. Her husband-to-be had already informed her that she liked nothing better than to rail against him, calling him 'this supposed scholar!', and now Betsy saw for herself the truth of the situation. It was not until the ill-tempered Miss Williams left the room that she once again relaxed and felt able to breathe freely.
On the day of her wedding, Betsy made an extra effort to appear alluring, and to those gathered at the church she presented a splendid sight. Dr Johnson had seen to it that all the arrangements were to the liking of Francis and his wife and, as one might expect, the list of invitees comprised of those occupying both elevated and lowly stations in society. Guests were encouraged to mingle and, although this experiment was not entirely successful, most enjoyed a tolerable event, although there were some among the invited who had come principally to gawp and speculate at the propriety of this aberrant union. For his part, Dr Johnson looked upon the match as well made, but inwardly he worried with regard to the purity of young Betsy and her loyalty to his 'boy'.
It came about that the doctor soon had reason to be concerned, for not long after the wedding, at a party given by his friends the Thrales in their Streatham home, a party to which Francis and his new wife were cordially and generously invited, some of the male servants began to flirt openly with Betsy Barber. Perhaps unwisely, the newly wed 'lass' chose to do nothing to deflect the attentions of these men, and in a rage Francis flew from the house and determined that he would walk back to London by himself. Dr Johnson noted his servant's rapid departure, and when Mrs Thrale informed him that jealousy was the cause of Francis' anger the news appeared to somewhat exasperate the doctor. Later that same evening, while riding his carriage back to London, Dr Johnson came across Francis walking rapidly and with fury still apparent on his begrimed face. 'Are you jealous of your wife?' bellowed a disembodied voice. Francis stopped dead in his tracks not knowing exactly what was happening. He wondered if he was the victim of an attempted robbery, but he soon recognised both the person and the stern voice. His master did not give him time to answer and he asked Francis if the Thrales' footmen had kissed his wife in his presence.
'Why no, sir,' said Francis, 'I don't believe that any of them kissed my wife at all.'
'Well what, then,' thundered Dr Johnson, 'did they do with the woman?' Francis opened his mouth as though about to utter an answer, but he was too slow to please the doctor. 'Well, come along lad, what did they do to her? Nothing, I'll warrant, and you my boy are merely caught tight in the grip of that green-eyed monster, jealousy. You must learn to make clear the difference between your wife and other women you have known, for truly there is something particular about her person that you value and trust ahead of any others or you surely would not have married her, am I right?' Francis nodded. 'Then will you go back and fetch your wife instead of abandoning her like some woman of the night? Will you be a man and protector for the woman that you stood up for in church, the woman that you professed your love and affection for?' Francis lowered his eyes, as though momentarily ashamed of his behaviour, and then he slowly nodded his head. 'Well, be gone with you then,' said Dr Johnson, 'and make me proud of you, lad.' With this said, he signalled to the driver of his carriage to move off into the night, and he left Francis marooned between London and Streatham and with little choice but to turn on his heels and retrace his steps in search of his wife.
It was difficult for me to believe that the fair woman who had won the heart of Francis Barber, and the woman whose loyalty Dr Johnson eventually came to respect, bore any relation to the fatigued creature who sat before me as I drank my tea. What hardships this Betsy must have endured in the intervening years, for it was evident that the two children that she had given birth to before the death of the doctor, and the daughter that she had produced afterwards had, together with poverty and an excess of hard work, conspired to deprive her of what must once have been an enchanting aspect. For a moment I looked beyond Mrs Barber, and the child curled across her lap like a slumbering animal, and I peered out of the window to where the sun had momentarily hidden itself behind a cloud. Then, realising that having been granted an audience with this woman it was remiss of me to suddenly disengage and peer idly through her window, I returned my attention to Mrs Barber.
'Might I prevail upon you to answer some questions relating to your late husband? As I have mentioned to you already, I am hoping to assemble a short biographical sketch for the Gentlemen's Magazine in London.' I paused. 'I can assure you that this is a most respectable publication and a small entry pertaining to your late husband can only help his reputation.'
As I concluded my words I noticed that the woman appeared to be genuinely alarmed, so much so that she set her child in a chair next to herself, carefully making sure that she did not rouse the mite. She began slowly. 'Please sir, I'm afraid I don't understand. Or perhaps you know something that I'm not aware of, and if you do may it please you to share your news with me. You see, to the best of my knowledge, my Frank is not deceased, or at least not yet. He's alive, but ailing badly in the infirmary. The doctor said he could linger like this for a good while and we've no guarantee when he'll be relieved from his misery.'
Now it was my turn to appear amazed. Had the innkeeper given me false information, or was this poor woman simply unaware of her husband's recent demise? I asked when exactly was the last time that she had spoken with her husband, and on receiving the news that she had seen him only the previous morning I concluded that the intelligence of the doltish innkeeper must have been misguided.
'My Frank has suffered a great number of difficulties during these past few years, and he's not always been comfortable in mind and body. Life hasn't been very kind to Frank since we left London two years after the doctor's death, and then came up here to Lichfield. It was his master's idea. I know he meant well, as he always meant well for his Frank, but maybe we'd have been better off staying in London where we knew people and could always make a few shillings. But the doctor always thought that people up here in his home town would look out for Frank on account of Frank having been so faithful to his master, but it turned out that people didn't care that much. You understand, Lichfield is where the doctor's from. My Frank's from Jamaica, but I expect you already know that, don't you?' I nodded, but said nothing for I was eager for her to continue. 'It's not been easy with the children, and then there were those who cheated us. Lots of them. Eventually we came out here to Burntwood to open a school and pass on the gift of knowledge that Frank's master had given to him. We wanted to bestow it on common people who might otherwise have remained in ignorance. Reading and writing, reason and logic, the principles of self-expression and the knowledge of the Lord, this is what Frank felt he could share with the people, but it seems like most of them wanted to receive such instruction from a more visibly competent source, if you're understanding me. Then Frank's health began to turn for the worse, and so I don't know what else I can say. It was always his master's idea that we leave London and come to Lichfield, and eventually Frank thought alright, but I remember having reservations at the time. I suppose I still have them now, all these years later.'
Towards the end of Dr Johnson's life Francis' presence became increasingly necessary, for it was apparent to all that the doctor's health was failing rapidly. His household was now located at 8 Bolt Court in an alley off Fleet Street, and Dr Johnson was paying the reasonable sum of forty pounds a year for a tall house with a garden to the rear. However, these years were to prove difficult for the doctor as he entered a period of great affliction. Miss Williams, though still present, was increasingly enfeebled, while Mrs Desmoulins and her daugh
ter had suddenly moved clear away. Mrs Desmoulins had been unable to endure any further bickering with Miss Williams, but she had also chosen to go into hiding in order that she might avoid an indictment for debt that had recently been served upon her. Despite her capacity to be as mean and petty as Miss Williams, the doctor mourned the sudden absence of Mrs Desmoulins and it served only to deepen his sense of abandonment. After all, he had recently lost both of his dear friends, the actor David Garrick, and the literary man Oliver Goldsmith, while his Scottish companion, Mr James Boswell, was practising law in faraway Edinburgh. Furthermore, there had been an unfortunate misunderstanding, and subsequent 'break', with Mrs Thrale which, though now somewhat resolved, had left a rift in their friendship that he understood would never be fully healed. In addition to these tender sorrows, he also mourned the passing of his house companion of thirty years, the destitute and dishevelled Dr Levett, who, like Francis, could be relied upon to join him for fireside conversation from the early evening and, if necessary, continue clear through until dawn.
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