The Wet Nurse's Tale (34 page)

Davey was up and happy to see me. I played with him and sang him songs til he began to fret and flip his whole little body off sidewards so he’d be aimed to nurse. He was so strong! I undid my bodice and gave him suck til he was satisfied. And there I began to cry. I had known that it would come, this very moment, this which might be the last time that ever I nursed my child. I knew that what would soon transpire—and there’s a big word for you—would cause our little lives—Davey’s and mine—to change very large. Twas, indeed, what I’d schemed for, what I’d planned for: that they’d change.

I knew that I must remove my child from that house. I have explained that I could not simply take him lest I wanted to run for our lives for the rest of our days. There was naught I could do but what I was about to do. But what it meant was that he would be taken from me. I knew that. When they who made the decisions saw what I planned for them to see, they would indeed make haste to take Davey from the house. But that house held me as well. And thus, they would part us and there was naught I could do to help it.

I had endured and suffered and lied; I had cheated and tricked and pretended—all to get to my baby and keep him. And now, for his own sake, I must give him up. He could not stay in that madwoman’s house any longer, whether it meant that we could be together or whether it meant that we could not. I thought I was like Hannah, and thought how she must have felt as she sent her Samuel, who she had pined for and wept for and wanted so bad, off to the temple. She knew it was what was best for him. It was sacrifice, is what it was. I mouthed the word as I looked at my baby in his eyes. Mine own filled up, and the tears dropped on his cheeks and he stopped his suckling to feel them.

When he had had enough and was drowsy, I set him in his basket, and then I pulled a small bottle out of my pocket. I had visited the apothecary on my half-day and had boughten this little vial. I uncorked it and as carefully as the miners must measure their golden dust in California, I tipped a drop of laudanum into my baby’s mouth. He tasted it and did not like it but I watched as he swallowed it down. Then I took his best little white dress and put it on him, and smoothed his fine little hair with a bit of spit. And then, Reader, I took him upstairs into the drawing room and kissed him and laid him in the place that I had fixed for him and watched while the laudanum overcame him and he slept.

Mrs. Norval was at her place in the sitting room, by the window, just as I had left her.

“Ma’am,” I said very quiet, “the baby is in Mrs. Stone’s cradle now. I have taken care that he will be good and not cry. He sleeps there like an angel, just as she had said he would.”

She only stared.

“You ought to go to him, missy,” said I, “so that he will not be alone when your guests arrive. A good mother would not let her baby alone.”

“Yes, I will,” said she and drifted across the hall. I saw her give the baby a glance, and then I saw her go to the window and watch for her brother and Mrs. Bonney. I felt pins were pricking me all over, that I could not be in the drawing room to see if my scheme worked. Twas sure though, that I must stay out of sight entirely. If Mrs. Bonney were to catch a sight of me, twould go very bad. I would be blamed for what they were about to see and sent away at once, if not worse than that. And everyone would forget about Mrs. Norval and her madness, and Davey would be left there in that house with her. I must hide myself away.

I went up to my room. Twas not big enough for me to pace in. I sat on my bed and tried to be still but have never been very good at that except when there’s a babe at my breast. And then I heard the ring. I quick snatched up my bonnet to shield my face, for I could not resist but to go out of my room to see. I crept toward the front stairway where I could peep down over the rail.

I watched as Lydia opened up the front door. There she was, the bitch herself, with Mr. Brooks behind her. She did not look changed at all. She was dressed warm with a coat with fur over very wide skirts. She handed her muff to Lydia and her gloves but kept her hat. I saw that she gave the house a sharp glance as she waited for Mr. Brooks to give up his stick. I heard her say that Mrs. Norval kept the house quite cool, did she not.

They waited for Lydia to put their things on the table so that she could show them into the drawing room as was proper, but suddenly the door of that room opened and out came Mrs. Norval. Perhaps she had heard them come in and her nerves would not let her wait for them. Perhaps she thought that she should greet them heartily. Whatever it is that she thought, it is certain that she did not understand how she looked in her gauze. Twas right pathetic to see her alongside Mrs. Bonney, who was dressed so elegant.

I saw Mrs. Bonney start to see Mrs. Norval looking such and then get herself over it and go and give her a kiss. I fancied I saw her draw back at the smell of sweat; twas indeed not close enough for me to see it if she did, but I had smelled it enough to know how bad that sourness was. I know that I did see Mr. Brooks look alarmed at his sister’s appearance and then cast a angry look at Mrs. Bonney, who catched it but pretended she did not.

“My dear cousin Jane,” said Mrs. Bonney with a false, high voice, “how good it is to see you! My word, are you not chilled in such a light dress? I admit that I am nearly froze.”

Mrs. Norval stepped back and gave herself an embrace, as was her practice, with her arms curled tight around her. She said something very soft.

“You do not feel it? I wish I had your constitution, indeed I do,” laughed Mrs. Bonney. “I shiver all throughout the winter months, and I must have several shawls at once.”

Mrs. Norval did not say anything back and did not look up. Mrs. Bonney too said nothing. I could see her face and it wore its usual proud look though I could see worry on it too. When she catched Mr. Brooks’s eye, she turned her head away and shrugged like it was no concern of hers. I thought to myself that if I were Mr. Brooks I should like very much to shake her to death. He had brought her to see what she had done by putting an innocent child in the hands of an ill woman, and the lady, though she could see that indeed the woman was ill, pretended that all was well enough. She acted as if there was nothing there that would keep her awake past the watchman’s call.

“Jane,” said Mr. Brooks, going to her and putting his arm around her, “how do you do? Are you quite well?”

I could not hear her answer.

“Perhaps we should walk into the drawing room,” he said. “And then I am sure that Lydia will bring us some tea.” He looked at Lydia, who curtsied and waited for them to pass.

Mrs. Bonney stepped through the door first, followed by Mrs. Norval and then Mr. Brooks. I held my breath but I did not have to wait long. There was a cry that I knew came from Mrs. Bonney, and then I heard Mr. Brooks yell something that I could not make out. Lydia wrenched back open the door that she had not yet entirely closed and ran into the room.

A laugh came up, or perhaps a shriek, repeated over and over, “Dead, dead, dead.” Of course twas Mrs. Norval. I leaned full over the banister and tried to see into the doorway but could not. There was a crash and I heard Mrs. Bonney cry, “Cousin James!”

I could see nothing—just once I saw a flash of blue gauze swift by the open door. Lydia ran out of the room and down the stairs to the kitchen. I heard the sound of sobs and then shrieking, over and over. I could see nothing at all, and therefore twas only my own imagination that supplied the questions which beat me as violent around my head as ever my dad did hit.

Who, I wondered, had picked up the baby to make sure he yet lived? Had Mrs. Bonney fainted? Did Lydia attend her? Had the physician been sent for? Had Mrs. Norval thrown a vase? Who held Davey now? Was he safe? Did Mr. Brooks see to his safety?

Lydia pounded back up the kitchen stairs and into the drawing room with Mrs. McCullough in tow. Mrs. Norval shrieked again and again from inside the room. Mrs. Bonney ran from the room and stood panting in the foyer, with her hand over her heart, heaving and watching the door of the drawing room with horror. Mrs. McCullough ran up the stairs no doubt to come get me that I might soothe Mrs. Norval, but I quick stepped into a closet when I saw her coming so she might not find me.

The doorbell rang and I watched Mrs. Bonney be too stupid to open it up. Lydia had to come and do it. The physician came in and went toward the screams in the drawing room. He must have dosed Mrs. Norval; it wasn’t long before there was finally some quiet. After a while, I watched as Mr. Brooks and the physician helped Mrs. Norval up the front stairs and into her room. They walked right past the closet I had hid in. When they had gone into her bedchamber, I ran quickly back into my room and waited. Mrs. McCullough brought me the baby, still hard asleep, gave him to me and sat heavily in my chair.

“Where have you been?” she said when she could speak.

“Why,” said I, very innocent, “I was in the outhouse with a cramp. Was I wanted?”

“My God,” said Mrs. McCullough, undoing the top button of her dress, “this is a madhouse. You cannot guess what she did.”

“Mrs. Norval?” said I, tucking the coverlet around the baby. “Whatever can she have done? She did nothing to the baby, I think, for he looks as sound as ever.”

“Nothing, you say,” snorted Mrs. McCullough. “Nothing! Do you call it nothing to put a living baby in a coffin for its nap? Is that nothing?”

“A what?” I made myself gasp.

“That’s right, my girl. That woman put this baby in a white coffin, all satin and ribbons, and set it right in the drawing room to look at, like a display down at the market.”

“She never did,” said I.

“Yes, and that bitch Mrs. Bonney nearly shat herself to see it, is what Lydia said. And poor Mr. Brooks is in a state. The doctor gave the missus something to make her sleep, and Lydia is with her for I could not find you to do it. But mark my words if the two of them—Mr. Brooks and Mrs. Bonney, I mean—don’t get that baby out of here as quick as you could blink. If I was you, my girl, I’d be thinking about another position for I don’t expect they’ll be needing a wet nurse around here very much longer. I am sorry, for you’re a good girl.”

And with that, Mrs. McCullough stood herself up and went out of the room.

My plan had worked as well as ever I could have wished. I sat and watched the baby as he slept.

Soon, Carrie came upstairs to sit with me a bit. Carrie told me that Mrs. Bonney had gone away, but that before she had, she and Mr. Brooks had drunk a glass of sherry in the sitting room.

“The door was not closed proper,” said Carrie, “and I had gone to see the”—here she shivered—“the coffin, isn’t that awful, Susan, and so I heard a bit of what they said.”

“And?”

“Mr. Brooks was quite hard on Mrs. Bonney for giving Mrs Norval the baby without it being her business. He said, ‘For God’s sake, Louisa, it is a child, not a puppet. You know what happened before; how could you have meddled so,’ and she said back, very huffy, ‘My intentions were the best, James,’ and so he said, ‘Your intentions were to meddle. You cannot treat a baby like a black slave in America,’ and she said . . .”

“Did you hear what’s to happen?”