Just then, to Wilson’s relief, Miss Henrietta came out of the drawing room and down the stairs and saw Mrs Jameson and greeted her warmly. ‘Do not keep dear Mrs Jameson standing, Wilson,’ Henrietta reprimanded her. ‘Come, Mrs Jameson, make do with me since Ba is indisposed,’ and she led the lady away, leaving Wilson alone in the hall. Her knees felt strangely weak. Later, writing to mother in her room, she began to feel quite angry:
— for, mother, what can Mrs Jameson have expected of me and how could she have spoken so and what should I have said if Miss Henrietta had not come along? Do you not think it was thoughtless of her? She must know I could not take her anywhere and indeed it was not right to embarrass me thus. But it would be a fine thing, would it not mother, if a maid could entertain a lady and think nothing of it? As it is, a maid can hardly entertain another maid without arousing comment. I would like to give tea to Lizzie but where can I do it and have a measure of privacy? Nowhere, and I feel it when I go to Lizzie’s little house and she is so hospitable to me. Now, mother, you will think I have been long enough in London and learning dangerous notions if I come out with such thoughts and really it is only vexation and nothing more.
But when Miss Elizabeth inquired the next morning, with a guilty air, if Mrs Jameson had called and if she had been displeased Wilson could not resist saying, ‘Yes miss, she called and was only sorry you were unwell – ’ she paused a fraction, lingering on the ‘unwell’, to let her mistress know she doubted the unwell-ness very much – ‘and was not in the least displeased but said she might talk to me a little while before leaving.’
‘And did she, Wilson?’
‘Why no, miss, how could she? I could not keep the lady standing in the hall and I had no rights to take her to any other room and I could not think how she imagined it would be possible. This is not my mother’s house where I could have made Mrs Jameson welcome and indeed would have done so and made her tea.’
Miss Elizabeth was silent a moment or two. Wilson plumped up some cushions over-energetically and was aware she blushed as she spoke which was very annoying. She turned away to hide her hot face. ‘So what did you reply to Mrs Jameson?’ Miss Elizabeth asked, her tone of voice low and careful.
‘Miss Henrietta came along and took her off, miss.’
‘Ah, the insuperable problem was solved.’
‘In a manner of speaking,’ Wilson said.
‘But you hold the incident against Mrs Jameson, I can see.’
‘How could I, miss? Being only a servant.’
‘More than a servant, dear Wilson – a friend, surely, a friend to me.’
And there the matter ended, for the moment. Miss Elizabeth smiled so sweetly and held a hand out so pleadingly that Wilson felt her resentment fade, leaving behind only a faint sense of the absurdity of this situation. At every turn, she gave way to her mistress and never held on to any grudge. There were many ways in which she could, even as a maid – in some ways, especially as a maid – make her displeasure felt but she never thought of employing them, waged no subtle war with the permanent frown and all-day brusqueness as weapons. She smiled as usual, was gentle as usual, moved around quietly and soothingly as usual. She let Miss Elizabeth sigh and consoled her, she let her weep occasional tears of exhaustion and depression and sought only to cheer and comfort her, she was ever ready with little gestures and remarks designed to lighten the weary hours.
‘Is it spring properly, Wilson?’ Miss Elizabeth began to ask at the beginning of April with monotonous regularity.
‘Indeed it is,’ Wilson replied, eager to enumerate the proof. ‘The birds are all back and singing and the daffodils fully out in the park and everything jumping into life.’ She could not understand why, instead of smiling at such good news, Miss Elizabeth covered her eyes with her hands and groaned. ‘Why, whatever is the matter, miss? Spring is not winter, there is no need to fear it so.’
‘I have promised that in the spring I will see Mr Browning. He insists so and I held out hope that when spring came and I felt better he might come and visit.’
‘Well then, miss, so much the better. He is a very nice gentleman I believe and looks it.’
‘Looks it? You have seen Mr Browning?’
‘I have seen him several times lately.’
‘Wilson!’
Aware that she was teasing, Wilson went on sewing, refusing either to lift her head or continue. The ‘Wilson!’ was repeated again, urgently. ‘Yes, ma’am?’ Wilson replied innocently, darning a hole in a stocking with absolute concentration.
‘Describe him, at once, and where and how you have seen him.’ Wilson took her time, dwelling lovingly and unnecessarily on all manner of inconsequential detail before coming to her brief glimpses of the poet. She was particular about the clothes, starting at the boots and working up to the hat, and vague about the features, deliberately. Miss Elizabeth listened without interruption, bearing Wilson’s slow delivery well, and was quiet afterwards. There were no unseemly giggles or artificial intakes of breath. She said only, ‘You have a masterly eye for the outline, Wilson, so observant to be sure. How fortunate Mr Browning is not wanted for some crime or with your information the police would have him. Now Miss Mitford and Mrs Jameson and Mr Kenyon have not told me half as much. They appear to know nothing of the gloves and the material of the coat and the cut of the trousers and such like – they are quite useless. If you had been at these dinner parties and heard Mr Browning speak and watched his face I would have had him through and through I see.’
Wilson shot her an anxious look and was glad to see the smile playing round her lips. It would not do to have seemed to mock. The letters now came and went with great regularity and Mr Browning was not to be trifled with as a subject of discussion. ‘I will wait until your return from the North, Wilson,’ Miss Elizabeth said eventually, appearing very satisfied, ‘yes, I shall wait until then. I could not endure the strain of such a visit, if it must be made, without you to help me. So that is decided: it cannot be until May and then you must be settled once more and it is likely to be later in May rather than sooner. A meeting is of no consequence after all, it is not something I see any need for, only Mr Browning presses so.’
Wilson noticed that, once this decision as to the date of Mr Browning’s visit was made, Miss Elizabeth seemed to dread her approaching absence less, which she thought very curious. Now, if she mentioned the journey or her packing, Miss Elizabeth took it well and showed some interest. She liked consulting timetables and maps and was most helpful, pointing out connections Wilson had missed and in effect planning her journey for her and doing it so efficiently that a whole overnight stop, which Wilson had been dreading, was saved. She enquired if Wilson had money enough to ride inside the coach all the way and, when told she had not, provided the additional silver herself, begging Wilson to think nothing of it. She had, she assured her, money of her own and little enough to do with it. Wilson, thinking of the forty pounds a year spent on laudanum, reflected that the three guineas given to her were not extravagant.
The master, too, showed himself unexpectedly liberal at the last minute. He called Wilson into his study and told her he was pleased with her, that she had worked well. Wilson thanked him. He said he should like to send a gift to Wilson’s mother of some chocolate from Jamaica, newly arrived and of excellent quality. Wilson curtsied and thanked him again. And then he said that, although she was in his daughter’s employment he would like to contribute something to the expenses of her journey home and back, and gave her two guineas. Wilson said he was most kind and prepared to bow out gratefully. But Mr Barrett had not finished. He looked her straight in the eye, in his usual manner, and said that she of all people must know how his daughter fared. ‘She has been low lately,’ he said, ‘and the winter hard. Is there sign of improvement, do you think?’ Wilson made no mistake: the rigid bearing and expressionless face could not conceal Mr Barrett’s anxiety. ‘I think there is a little improvement, sir, and with the warm weather more to be ho
ped for.’ He nodded. ‘We must work together for that improvement, Wilson, and with God’s will we shall see it yet.’ Then he let her go.
She left on Friday, April 18th, weighed down with presents. The chocolate from Mr Barrett, a piece of lace from Miss Elizabeth and a cake from Minnie – all for mother. Then there were ribbons for her sisters and embroidered bookmarks and illustrated religious texts from Miss Henrietta and Miss Arabel. Everyone gathered to wish her well and she no longer minded, such was the spirit of kindliness and goodwill, that the Wimpole Street servants saw Timothy arrive to carry her to the coach point.
‘Write to me, Wilson,’ Miss Elizabeth begged, ‘one letter at least, to assure me of your safe arrival and good health, and I will write to you, dear, if you would not mind being reminded of Wimpole Street?’ At the last minute the sight of her mistress looking so fragile and forlorn as she struggled to hold back her tears was almost too much for Wilson and she was on the verge of saying she could not desert her post but then the thought of mother gave her courage and with a last embrace, wholehearted on both sides, she was down the stairs and off.
Chapter Eight
THE COACH BREASTED Highgate Hill and, as the ride became smoother and the sensation of being about to slip disappeared, Wilson opened her eyes and was prepared to look out of the window she had paid so dearly to be beside. Gradually the excitement of departure faded and was replaced by an acute awareness of her travelling companions. Timothy, who had seemed mercifully experienced in these things and of whom she could not think without the most profound gratitude, had arranged her place and seen to her luggage. She could not have managed without him. The noise and confusion at the first fare stage had been so great she had wanted to go straight back to quiet Wimpole Street and stay there. But Timothy had pushed and shoved and argued with the driver and now she had one of the best places all the way to Grantham and the promise of the same to York – with the help of an additional tip given by Timothy to this driver to pass on to the next (though he had warned her neither driver’s honesty could be relied upon). He had done everything he could to ensure her comfort and had said goodbye so warmly and with such a pleasant smile that Wilson had taken his hand and squeezed it and vowed she would never forget his kindness.
Nor would she. He was a good man. She looked out of the window at the green fields beginning to run alongside the road and thought Timothy would get on in life. He was bound to, with such energy and intelligence and with a name already for reliability and initiative. Mr Kenyon thought highly of him and was a liberal employer. Timothy had hinted only last week that Mr Kenyon was willing to advance him some capital when the time was right. When Wilson had asked what he meant, Timothy had explained that his employer liked to set his servants up in a business if they had the desire and aptitude and should it prove, upon inspection, a sound venture. One footman had been set up as a publican and had already paid Mr Kenyon back and another, only an under footman, had had such skill at carving from wood that Mr Kenyon had set him up in a carpentry business and he had succeeded so well he now employed people himself. But Timothy had confessed he did not know in which direction he wished to go or what use he wanted to make of such a generous helping hand. He was neither publican nor carpenter in the making, that was sure. He was biding his time and at twenty-four, Wilson’s own age, could afford to.
Wilson kept her eyes on the outside view, the better to avoid scrutinising her companions though she could see, out of the corner of her eye, that they did not show the same delicacy. The woman opposite stared quite openly and Wilson knew her dress and bonnet were being examined for clues as to her station. Well, this inquisitive creature, far too overdressed herself to fool anyone into thinking she was the lady she would have them believe, would learn very little, unless she was particularly shrewd. The travelling dress Wilson wore, made of a dark navy cloth with piping of lighter blue, had been her Christmas present from Miss Elizabeth, or rather the material had been given to her and she had made it up herself from a pattern lent to her by Lizzie. It was good material, as anyone who knew about such things could tell at a glance, and the design was modern without being the height of fashion. Her bonnet was not new but it could pass for a recent purchase because it had been worn only on Sundays and very carefully looked after. It was a light grey and matched the navy dress reasonably well (though, if she had not decided to treat herself and take an inside window seat, Wilson would have bought a blue bonnet she had seen in Oxford Street which was the precise colour of the piping on her dress). She wore gloves, of course, and had a thick cloak of a dark grey rather rough material, the same one in which she had left Newcastle and which she now heartily detested. She saw this gaper had finished with her clothes and was clearly perturbed by the evidence of the book lying on Wilson’s lap. The book was closed and the title visible to anyone with reasonable eyesight. It was Country Stories by Mary Russell Mitford which Miss Mitford had personally given to her, declaring that, though it was not a new volume, it had some value all the same, she hoped, and might be enjoyed by Wilson’s mother as well as herself. Wilson was very proud of the gift and carried it now on her lap as a mark of the esteem in which she felt Miss Mitford had held her by choosing to give it. It was, she knew, the sort of book a discerning lady might read on a journey and spoke for itself. She smiled slightly as she continued to gaze at the passing scene: she was being a snob and delighting in it.
The other people in her compartment were all men, one of whom looked ill and the other three decidedly old and frail. No one spoke, though, even if they had done so, they would have had difficulty being heard since the wheels on the road and the hoofs of the horses made a tremendous noise. Not, Wilson thought, the most amusing of travelling companions but then she had no wish to be amused. She had her book and she had her thoughts. She could see, in her mind’s eye, mother and her sisters getting ready for her homecoming at this very minute, rushing about cleaning and polishing quite unnecessarily, as though she were a royal personage and not a girl coming home. She had written to mother quite sharply, when informed of these preparations telling her not to be so foolish but mother had replied that her visit coincided with the need to spring clean and was only being used as the occasion for it. She was, mother said, to have her own room, to which she was entitled now, and again Wilson had written back objecting and saying she wished to share, as she always had done, with Ellen and would be hurt to be turned out of the bed she had always slept in, sharing with Ellen while May shared with Fanny and mother had the little room to herself. What Wilson most wanted was the old order back, without change. She was embarrassed to realise how much she was looking forward to the warmth of a shared bed and a crowded bedroom after a year in her lonely attic room. The best talking was at night, whispering, huddled under the covers with Ellen. Things were said then impossible to say in the cold light of day, things either too intimate or too silly for open speech. It would be from Ellen, at night, that she would learn anything of interest that had happened in the past year, all the inconsequential trivia that she missed and had never been worth committing to paper. And in return she might perhaps bring herself to speak of the strange hold her mistress had on her, and of Timothy.
This time, when the horses were changed at each stage, Wilson was not so timid that she could not seek refreshment at the inn. She followed the more confident passengers and merely copied what they did and by doing so found herself sitting with a lady and a gentleman who had joined the coach at Derby and were travelling to York. The gentleman was kind enough to offer to order for her and under his wing Wilson ate and drank and felt better. She discovered it was quite easy to attract this kind of helpfulness merely by being dignified and modest and realised her new costume assisted the process.
She had elected not to stay overnight, thereby entailing a journey of some twenty hours, with a cold and agonising last stage, late at night, which she found hardest to bear. This second coach, which belonged to another company, was not as comfortable or as win
dproof and it seemed full of crying children. There was nothing to see out of the window and no light to read by, even if she had had the energy. Wrapped in her cloak, Wilson greatly regretted her decision and regretted it even more when, arriving in Newcastle and alighting at last, she could not see the trap mother had engaged to meet her and carry her the last few miles to Fenham. She descended from the coach aching and exhausted, and when her box had been taken down, she collapsed upon it and closed her eyes. It was bliss just to be still, not to be swaying and jolting with the coach, but soon she began to feel very cold and stood up, determined to enquire at the Golden Lion Inn if a trap had come for her and was perhaps round the back. The coach had arrived nearly an hour late because a horse had fallen lame, and the carter mother had hired might have gone inside to wait. But hardly was she at the door, before he came out and after that everything fell into place. It gave her great pleasure to write to Miss Elizabeth and tell her so, just as she had promised.
My dear Miss Elizabeth,
I write to keep my word and tell you I arrived safely at my mother’s home last night a little before midnight feeling most weary but in good heart and oh miss that heart overflowed and my weariness vanished when the door of my home opened, for they had all been waiting and listening for the trap and had become sure as time went on and it was long past the hour when I ought to have arrived that some misfortune had occurred and were steeling themselves for dreadful news and they all stood in the doorway and held out their arms and cried for joy and I did not know whom to hug first. You may be sure there were many kisses and that it was fully half an hour before I had looked at everyone properly and was surprised to find them all looking rather better than worse after this long year. Mother’s hair is a little white and I was anxious when I found she was thinner but she assures me she feels better for having lost a little fat due to her teeth hurting and not being able to eat as heartily. Fanny has grown and may end up the tallest of all of us which will make nonsense of her being our little sister and pleases her hugely. Ellen has her hair in a new way which is not exactly to my liking for I find it lengthens her face and gives her a severe expression but I did not say so. May has come out a little and is not quite so shy and quiet and is doing well in her position and will perhaps make a lady’s maid after all. They all declare I am greatly changed and swore they felt quite nervous of me and that I looked like a different person and when I was indignant and inquired what they could mean they whispered to each other and smiled and I threatened to beat each and every one if they did not stop it at once and make themselves clear which in the end they did by saying I looked like a lady. Well said I you know I am not nor do I try to ape my betters but if by that you mean I have a more confident air and a little dignity at last then I am glad of it and will forgive you but if you mean I fancy myself as so many ladies’ maids do then I will beat you all the same. No beating was necessary I am thankful to report for they all said they had only meant my travelling dress and the way I wore my hair and that they liked both very much and found them becoming and very London like which since none of them have ever been to London you might think a worthless comparison. It is very strange to feel a visitor in my old home, miss. The first day I felt lost since neither my mother nor my sisters would allow me to do so much as lay the table but waited on me hand and foot and I confess the novelty quickly wore off and I did not exactly like it. But today being Sunday we have been to chapel and I feel once more that I belong. You are not to imagine I forget you miss for I think of you constantly and hope your cough is better than it was and Molly is managing what needs to be done. My mother and sisters ask about you and wish to know you in every particular so your ears may burn to be the subject of so much description. Give Flush my love and tell him I have left him on duty I expect him to take care of you for me —
Lady's Maid Page 12