Foreigners (5 page)

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, upon 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.'