Birdman's Wife

by Melissa Ashley

  I stared at him, struggling to compose myself before I replied. ‘That’s rather a jump,’ I said finally. ‘Maybe I’ll have some port after all.’

  My husband offered to pour me a glass, but I waved him away. ‘I’ll fix it.’ I pushed my rug to the floor. ‘I know you find working in London so frustrating and that stories from far-flung explorers can grip your imagination. But I thought you were content with your engagements, with the extraordinary career you have built here.’

  ‘I am. I have been. It’s not that. I heard a rumour at the society that William Swainson, that fool, is threatening to migrate to Australia. Do you realise he’ll move through the continent’s novelty species with the speed of an eagle? There’ll be nothing left for me to contribute, all my painstaking work will be made redundant.’

  ‘Surely you exaggerate. Why worry about your rival? My brothers, Reverend Ewing, Mr Bennett, your entire Australian team, work tirelessly for you. Can you not employ more men?’

  John pressed his hands to his forehead. ‘In the sixty years since Cook’s navigation of the east coast of Australia, thousands of specimens have been shipped to Europe. And yet, there’s been no successful unification of the different collections of skins into a comprehensive taxonomy.’

  ‘And you think we are the ones to carry out the task?’

  ‘Who else has the resources?’ asked John. ‘We have the capital. Just imagine the places we might visit.’

  ‘But who will look after our affairs?’

  ‘We have a good team here with Mr Baker and Mr Prince. We would be away but two years, Elizabeth. Two years to undertake the project of a lifetime. I’ve been mulling over my ideas for some time. I think, although we are well known in our small circle, the venture will elevate our reputation. We could expand the business. I imagine there will be a significant audience for the exotic productions of Australia. It’s an opportunity to make our names. Picture it, Eliza, our folios travelling far and wide, your beautiful illustrations in demand.’

  ‘You’re appealing to my vanity now?’ I said. ‘There’s a lot more to it than that. What about practicalities? The list of disincentives is long.’

  John reached over and grasped my hand. ‘How long has it been since you have laid eyes on your brother Stephen, Eliza?’

  The notion of visiting Stephen and Charles floated into my thoughts, a bright lure. ‘You know how I feel about Charles leaving,’ I said. ‘Nothing would please me more than seeing them again, and the homes they’ve made in Australia.’

  Indeed, John’s plans stirred my heart. Of course I wished to spend time with my brothers. Of course I wanted our fame to spread. But my mind was divided. ‘I must confess, I cannot sail away on a fantasy. I cannot take your arguments seriously without consideration of the household. Are we to take everyone with us? How much will that cost? Or are we to leave our servants behind without employ, after their loyal service? We cannot turn all of their lives upside down.’

  ‘We’ll bring Daisy and Joanne along. Mr and Mrs Prince can stay back and manage our affairs.’

  ‘But the children, John, what about the children? Louisa is only eight weeks old! She cannot possibly travel.’ My mind twisted with anxiety. Children died on long voyages. How would Charlie and Lizzie cope with being confined to a vessel for five months? What of the seasickness, the horrible diet? Children were weaker than adults. What if they fell sick and the ship’s surgeon could not tend them? They were vulnerable to the lack of fresh food. If we were migrating, perhaps it would be different. We would not have to make the treacherous journey back. Beyond the voyage, there was the colony to contend with. Was it not rife with convicts? What were the houses like? Were there schools? Would we have to import our food? Two years seemed an inordinate period of time. I imagined spider and snake bites, the scorching heat, epidemics of smallpox and scarlet fever. What right did we have to jeopardise the lives of our children?

  ‘You will have to let me think on it,’ I said. ‘There is much to consider.’

  ‘There is. You’re right. Please, sleep on it,’ said John, smiling. He rose from his chair and drew me into a warm embrace.

  During the week the children dined separately from John and me, but on Fridays I organised a family supper. Daisy unfolded the leaves of the table, shook out the large tablecloth and replaced the spent flowers and candles with fresh buds and wax. A food each child favoured was served, and second helpings of pudding were encouraged. We had developed a tradition of asking each member of the family to introduce an item for discussion: a game, an achievement for the week, a scrap of interesting news.

  That evening Henry began by informing us of the praise he had received from his tutor for his ability in mathematics. Charlie, three, had drawn a picture of a train, and Lizzie, just eighteen months – Joanne spoke on her behalf – had learned to say her name. My announcement concerned the employment of a wet nurse for infant Louisa, allowing me to return to the studio.

  ‘I have a little proposition,’ said John, resting his knife and fork across his plate. ‘Who’d like to go on an adventure?’

  ‘I would,’ said Henry, his blue eyes wide as the holes in snail shells.

  ‘Me too!’ piped up Charlie.

  ‘Shall we ride in a carriage?’ asked Henry.

  ‘A carriage, a ship, a buggy, you name it, my boy!’ said John.

  ‘Can we play cricket, Papa? Can we fish?’ asked Henry.

  ‘Perhaps.’ John reached over to stroke his son’s cheek. ‘Who wants to guess?’

  ‘We’re to go to Africa,’ said Henry, ‘and hunt crocodiles.’

  ‘Do you know what, Master Gould? You’re exceedingly close. But crocodiles are not my specialty, are they?’

  ‘No, sir,’ said Henry and Charlie together. Their enjoyment of the riddle shone in their eyes.

  ‘You like birds, Papa,’ said Charlie.

  ‘Indeed I do.’ John smiled. ‘How would you like to sail on a grand voyage?’

  ‘Oh yes!’ said Charlie.

  ‘Can I learn to shoot?’ asked Henry.

  I abruptly pushed my plate aside and wiped my hands on the napkin in my lap. Whatever John and I decided, I did not intend to involve the children before all was settled. ‘Your father is being fanciful, boys,’ I said, sending John a warning glance.

  ‘I only wish to gauge their interest,’ said John defensively. He offered me the wine pitcher as if to placate me, and I gratefully accepted.

  Later that evening, after Lizzie and Louisa suffered a soaking in the tin bath; after Charlie and Henry played a game of quoits; after nightshirts were buttoned and I read Charlie his favourite scene from The Six Swans; after warm milk was served and everyone was tucked in bed, I ventured downstairs to the darkened nursery. My candle burning low, I returned a storybook to its shelf, tidied away the spinning top and wooden blocks. How on earth could I force Australia on my children, I wondered? They might think of it as a grand adventure, but the voyage alone was a daunting prospect. However could I risk their sweet lives?

  ‘Mr Audubon has been ridiculing me,’ said John, agitated, as we sat before the fire.

  ‘Oh really? How?’

  The American artist and naturalist was John’s biggest competitor in the business of producing beautiful bird folios. Mr Audubon had relocated to England to find an engraver to aid in the reproduction of his paintings of American bird species. He had designed some five hundred representations, each depicting a species engaged in its particular habits: an osprey snatching a fish in its talons, a nest of partridges swooped by an eagle, a rattlesnake infiltrating a mockingbird family’s nest. John had been introduced to the rugged North American at a fair hosted by the Association for the Advancement of Science. He had returned home thoroughly rankled by the audacity and originality of Mr Audubon’s exquisite elephant-sized folios.

  ‘Audubon wrote to Jardine, poking fun at what a ludicrous expedition we’d make, pushing our bullock-drawn wagon into the scrub, a caravan transporting the childre
n while servants brought up the rear, our party causing such a ruckus that every bird vanished in fright. Apparently the only company the man could suffer on his expeditions was a fellow to pack his guns. He left his womenfolk at home to fend for themselves.’

  ‘Do you ever wonder if he might be right on that score, if it’s silly of us wishing to bring the whole family along? They have nothing to do with collecting. I worry about unsettling them, the upheaval of leaving their lives in London behind. To say nothing of my concerns for their safety and health and education.’

  ‘I have thought about it,’ said John, holding my eye.

  For the first time I could see some of my concern clearly reflected in his face. I wondered if in his complaint about Audubon he was attempting to express his misgivings about uprooting us all.

  I wrote to Mother of my confusion. When I imagined leaving our children behind, she came to mind as the only person I could entrust with their care. Father had passed on and there was little holding her at home. She could move to Golden Square to care for the children, and we would pay her expenses. I asked if she might consider becoming Henry, Charlie, Lizzie and Louisa’s guardian for the twenty-four months John calculated our expedition would require.

  Mother wrote back to me immediately. I opened the letter in haste, my eyes scanning her neat script. She agreed with me that bringing the children along was not a practical solution but she feared I might miss them too much. She loved them all dearly and would be more than happy to take charge of their care. But she had been thinking on the problem and wondered if we might take Henry with us. He was almost seven years old and such an opportunity might benefit him, round out his education.

  I put the letter down, a knot in my throat. Why had I not considered that possibility? Mother was right! Henry was passionate about birds. He particularly enjoyed collecting eggs and nests; he even liked to sketch them on occasion and had a good eye, much to my delight. His company would help assuage my separation from Charlie, Lizzie and Louisa. I read on, the threads of my resistance to John’s plan unsnarling. Mother’s only hesitation was the rheumatism and asthma she suffered in the winter months. But she supposed there were excellent physicians in the city to tend her needs.

  Mother’s advice had inspired me to come up with another solution that would not only ease her burden but also some of my concerns about leaving my children for so long. I wrote to my dear cousin Sarah Mitchell, asking her if she would consider helping Mother and Joanne with Louisa and Lizzie. Charlie, John had decided, would be sent to boarding school at four years old, earlier than we had planned. I invited Sarah to move into Golden Square with her husband – they could take John’s and my bedroom.

  I loved my first cousin dearly. Indeed, Sarah was my most reliable friend this side of the Thames. As a girl, she had dreamed of raising a big family, six boys and four girls organised into fishing trips and cake-baking afternoons, forming cricket teams and boating parties. But her husband was two decades older than her. Although they consulted top physicians, following prescriptions for fish oil, ground vegetable roots, spices from Indochina and boiled snakeskin; although they had tried all manner of rubbing oils, unguents and foul-tasting teas, life had still not quickened between them. I wondered if I might assuage Sarah’s disappointment with the offer to mind my children. There was the chance she might be offended by my request but I trusted her and she adored my children. Our friendship was strong, and this seemed a risk I must take.

  I met with Sarah in a London tearoom to discuss my proposal. Before I could say anything, she gripped my hand. ‘I’ve talked it over with Mr Mitchell. We are willing to help.’ She brought a monogrammed handkerchief to her eyes.

  I squeezed her palm. ‘Don’t, if it’s too much. You needn’t say yes for my sake!’

  Sarah tucked the handkerchief into her bodice. ‘I’m more than honoured that you would trust me to do this, darling Eliza. My tears are of gratitude.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ I smiled. ‘This is your last chance to refuse!’

  Sarah linked her fingers between mine. ‘I am, Eliza, I am sure.’

  I let out a slow breath, relieved. Surrounded by teahouse chatter, I at last felt a sense of comfort that this would be possible. We began to discuss the list of clothing I would need to purchase before departing and I felt the tension in my shoulders ease. I could do this. I imagined Sarah lifting Louisa and Lizzie from their beds and planting kisses on their foreheads. I pictured her fixing their nightcaps in place and checking that their stockings were not slipping. She would have the fire banked, their bedtime stories selected, without a hair falling loose from her cap. But if Lizzie fell sick, if Louisa needed consoling, she would not withhold her affection. Sarah was more generous than stinting and, to me, this was her most precious quality. My mother was exceedingly similar. I did not want the children exposed to severe discipline, aware of how soothing a kind word was over a rough one.

  Daisy was unable to accompany me to Australia, on account of having her own children to care for, so I began interviewing for a companion. First on my list was Miss Nelly Brown, a scrappy girl of about nineteen with grimy bonnet strings. While discussing her travel experience, which amounted to a seaside visit to Cornwall, she scratched at her arms. She giggled nervously when I asked how comfortable she would feel giving Henry school lessons. The next candidate, Miss Eunice Smythe, a thick-waisted woman in middle age, regarded me with narrow eyes. She had accompanied several ladies on trips to Europe, even taking a grand tour through parts of Italy with a famous novelist. However, I found her personality too forceful and a little grim. Miss Mary Watson, my last interviewee, arrived half an hour late, her bonnet wet with drizzle.

  ‘What a lovely dress,’ I said, moving forward to admire the whitework on the garment’s bodice.

  ‘Thank you, ma’am,’ she said, turning. ‘I’m often complimented on it.’

  ‘The fabric is exquisite, so sheer and delicate.’

  ‘The material is from Kerala, where I was stationed. This fine cotton is woven in its mills. Mrs Johnson, for whom I worked, gave me all her India dresses when we returned to London. She had a great fondness for fashion and had her own dressmaker, but back home she wished to dress again in French and English cuts.’

  Mary was in her mid-twenties and had spent five years working for the Johnson family, who had seven children. When I enquired as to why she had answered my advertisement, Mary explained that since returning to London she had been plagued by the itch to travel again. She was from Dublin but had no intention of returning to Ireland. Having been away for such a period, she had no strong ties left in London either. Indeed, she confessed, she felt a little lost.

  ‘So you enjoyed living abroad?’

  ‘Oh yes. I adored it.’

  ‘What are your thoughts about Australia? Surely it’s a vastly different place. It’s still quite wild and uncivilised. Will you like it?’

  ‘I’ll find amusements – the people, the queer animals – it’s simply my way. I’m curious by nature, ma’am, and should be honoured to join your party.’

  John had to leave his most reliable employees at home. He trusted nobody but Mr Prince to oversee the business, instructing his solicitors to transfer power of attorney to him, and he put Mr Baker in charge of our stuffing operations. He engaged a manservant to accompany him to Australia, a Mr John Benstead, who arrived bearing excellent recommendations. My husband planned to teach the fellow the stuffing trade on the job.

  Next, John organised for his former colleague John Gilbert to join our party in the position of chief collector. Gilbert’s combination of skills – his discernment as a collector, his excellent memory, his accuracy with a gun and his eye for curiosities – were decidedly uncommon and invaluable for our expedition. Gilbert had been employed as John’s assistant preserver and curator at the Zoological Society. Wishing to leave the smog and filth of London for a position in the countryside, several years earlier Gilbert had applied to work as a curator and preserv
er for the Shropshire Museum in North Wales, and John had used his influence to secure him the contract. But the posting was a disaster. The society paid Gilbert just over half of the salary John had recommended, as well significantly increasing his duties. Gilbert, always one to stand up for himself, had a dispute with the board. John despatched his solicitors to investigate, but to no avail. Gilbert was sacked from his position. With a wife and young child to support, he was immensely grateful for the offer to join our voyage.

  Several days before embarkation, I wandered into the parlour where our chests were stacked and ready for collection, the lettering of the delivery company stamped on each trunk. Our furniture seemed suddenly flimsy, as if, should I sink into the firm cushions of the sofa, they might dissolve beneath my weight, their hardwood frames and horsehair stuffing but a mirage. My carefully chosen curtains, sofa covers and oil lamps were viewed through the eyes of a stranger, a visitor to my own home.

  ‘Are you quite settled in?’ I asked Mother, as I joined her and Sarah for tea at the kitchen table.

  ‘My room’s lovely,’ she replied. ‘ And I cannot wait to visit the markets.’

  ‘And you, Sarah?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Mitchell and I are unpacked.’

  ‘Good,’ I said, bringing the cup to my lips, my hands shaking. I glanced from Mother to Sarah, seeking reassurance in the calm and steady countenance of the two women who would take care of my children.

  ‘Louisa has caught a sniffle. There’s a tincture inside the cabinet in the nursery. Be sure to give it to her if she grizzles. Lizzie likes her ragdolls so let her be free with them. It won’t be long before we’re home again. The time will fly, I just know it. All will be well.’

  ‘Eliza,’ said Mother gently, ‘do not fret. We have Daisy, Mrs Prince and Joanne to help out. We’ll want for nothing. John’s given me a generous allowance. It should tide us over for your entire journey.’

  ‘Yes, we are fully organised,’ I said, a sob rising in my throat. Thankfully the children were with Joanne. I could not bear for them to see me in such a state.