Chapter Seventeen
THE FOLLOWING DAY, Jane woke and admonished herself that she was being pathetic and that she was resolved to think no more of Byron, not today, and not ever again.
He was a changeable sort, after all, and he was absolutely devilish in every way. He had admitted to the worst sorts of behavior. He must be well on his way down the broad path of destruction.
She’d be better to put him from her thoughts.
It was odd, though, how resolving not to think of someone makes the person rise, again and again, to the surface of one’s thoughts.
She could not stop thinking about him.
The day went on like the day before, only Cassandra was sympathetic, saying that this was exactly what she had warned Jane about, that she had been worried Jane would be this way in the end, and that Jane should have never entertained anything that wretched man had said.
Jane bore Cassandra’s sympathies and her scolding as best she could.
On the third day after the tea at Mrs. Ditterswith’s, Jane had lost all sense of pride.
She went on the walk.
She walked and walked in the direction of the Beaumont house.
But she did not arrive there, for she was intercepted in the wood by Mrs. Beaumont herself.
Mrs. Beaumont was wearing a nightgown, and her hair was down, and she was traipsing about barefoot, clutching at tree trunks.
To be truthful, it was not so much that Mrs. Beaumont intercepted her, as it was that Jane intercepted Mrs. Beaumont. She went directly to the poor woman and caught her by the shoulders.
“Mrs. Beaumont, what are you doing out of bed?”
Mrs. Beaumont shook Jane off. “I have to find him.”
“Who?” said Jane.
“Do not try to stop me. Heaven knows I had the very devil of a time getting out of the house.” She pushed past Jane and continued on through the woods.
“Mrs. Beaumont, you are not dressed and you have nothing on your feet, and you’ll catch your death,” said Jane, aware she sounded like some overprotective nursemaid. It was warm enough outside that there was no chance of catching anything at all.
“I have to find him!” cried Mrs. Beaumont.
“Who?” said Jane, going after her. “Do you mean your husband, for I assume he is back at your house, and we should go there.”
Mrs. Beaumont didn’t answer, just continued making her way through the woods, moving further and further away.
Jane had a thought. Perhaps she means her son. “Do you mean the babe, Mrs. Beaumont? Are you looking for your babe?”
It was a bit of a fraught time, right at the beginning, Jane knew.
She had attended enough women who’d given birth to know that they were quite exhausted in the wake of it, and they were grateful enough of someone to take the child off to nurse, so that the new mother could get her rest. But Jane had seen many a new mother wake in a panic, crying for her babe, in some distress when she discovered the small one had been given to the nurse.
It was common for children to live with their nurses for the first years of life.
It was easier for everyone. The nurse would be feeding the child at all hours, after all, and she would rest easier and see to any other duties, not least her own children, if she could have the babe with her constantly.
If you were quite wealthy, you could have a nurse live in your house, of course, but not everyone could afford such a thing.
Jane herself, and all her brothers and sisters, had been just down the lane as babes.
Their parents visited frequently, of course, and Jane didn’t remember any of it, for she’d been far too young.
“Mrs. Beaumont, I know not, but I think he is with Mrs. Spotts. And if so, we should be walking this way.” Jane pointed.
“It’s not far, however. I could escort you, but I do wonder if you would like to go back home and get yourself properly dressed.
I am certain it is no trouble at all to go and visit there whenever you like, but everyone will be embarrassed to see you this way, and you will be quite embarrassed yourself after some time has passed. ”
Mrs. Beaumont kept walking, paying Jane no mind.
Jane wasn’t certain what to do.
She could go and attempt to force Mrs. Beaumont to come with her, but if Mrs. Beaumont physically fought Jane, Jane would be unable to do it by sheer force.
There was another option, and that was to hurry the rest of the way to the Beaumont house and find someone to help, perhaps that Mrs. Attleby, who was supposedly devoted to Mrs. Beaumont.
Jane made one last attempt to redirect Mrs. Beaumont, going to her, taking her hands, trying to tug on her.
When Mrs. Beaumont shook her off and kept going off through the woods, however, Jane made up her mind.
She picked up her skirts and began walking quite quickly towards the Beaumont house.
She made it there in good time, and she went to the servants’ entrance instead of the front door. There, she poked a head in and asked if anyone could fetch Mrs. Attleby for her.
In only a few moments, Mrs. Attleby appeared, coming out of the back door to look at her. “You again,” said Mrs. Attleby. “Here to make more accusations? Can you not get that demon of a man out from underneath our roof?”
“Is he still here?” said Jane.
“He’s been drunk for days straight,” said Mrs. Attleby. “He and the master are up at all hours, drinking and laughing and playing cards, demanding midnight feasts be taken up to them. All the servants would be happy to see him go.”
“Well, I suppose that explains where he’s been,” said Jane tersely, shaking her head.
“But this is not why I’m here. I came upon Mrs. Beaumont in the wood.
Her hair is down, she is only in a nightdress, and she did not seem herself.
I think she is looking for her babe and not being able to find him has sent her half-mad.
I have seen such things before, you know. ”
“Oh, dear,” said Mrs. Attleby. “You must take me to her at once. Make haste. Not a moment to lose.”
“I wonder if we should bring anyone else,” said Jane. “I tried to redirect her, but she fought me off. Maybe if there was a strong male servant who could… carry her?”
“Oh, the indignity of such a thing!” lamented Mrs. Attleby. “But, yes, I see your point. Wait here.” She disappeared back into the house.
Jane waited at the servants’ entrance for another five minutes or so.
Then Mrs. Attleby was back with a manservant she introduced as Mr. Fillingsworth.
Together, Jane in the lead, they set out after Mrs. Beaumont.
They found her not much further than the spot where Jane had left her. She seemed to have grown tired and had sat down on the forest floor, rubbing her hand over her face and muttering, “I have to find him! I have to find him!”
Mrs. Attleby went to her. She knelt down in front of her and spoke in low, hushed tones.
Mrs. Beaumont got to her feet and started to cry out at Mrs. Attleby. Who seized the other woman by the arms and assured her that she would bring him to her.
Mrs. Beaumont shook her head. “Bring him?”
“Aye, it is within my capability to do so,” said Mrs. Attleby. “I shall go and get your babe, your own little small one, and I shall bring him to you.”
Mrs. Beaumont let out a breath. She looked over and seemed to take in the sight of Jane and Mr. Fillingsworth for the first time. Her expression changed.
Mrs. Attleby was talking. “You must go back to the house and lie down and I shall bring him and lay him directly in your arms, all right?”
Mrs. Beaumont bowed her head. But then she nodded. “Yes, all right,” she said softly. She shuffled over the forest floor to Mr. Fillingsworth.
“I was instructed to carry you, ma’am,” he said in a very serious voice. “If your bare feet can’t abide it, I shall be happy to do so.”
Mrs. Beaumont shook her head, now seemingly embarrassed, as if some fit had passed through her, and she was no longer carried away by madness but back in her right head. “I can walk.”
So, walk they did.
Mrs. Attleby left them, going directly for the nurse to fetch the babe, but Jane walked back with Mrs. Beaumont and Mr. Fillingsworth.
And then, somehow, Jane ended up in Mrs. Beaumont’s bedchamber, as the woman lay down and gazed up at her ceiling. Quite soon after she had gotten settled, Mrs. Attleby was there with Mrs. Beaumont’s tiny new son, who was fussing a bit until he was settled in his mother’s arms.
Then, he gazed up at her with wide eyes, and snuggled in against her, and quieted.
“He knows your smell,” said Mrs. Attleby. “He has spent his whole life growing inside you, ma’am. He knows his mother.”
Mrs. Beaumont’s eyes filled with tears as she rand her hand over the baby’s tiny head, stroking the little wisps of his hair. “He is perfect, is he not?”
“You are clearly quite well enough to be up and moving, so we shall work out our daily schedule to go and see him from now on. I have been remiss in thinking you needed more time to rest. Obviously, you need to see the babe.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Beaumont. “Yes, this is enough. This is all I need. I don’t need to see him after all.”
Mrs. Attleby’s brow furrowed and she met Jane’s gaze across the room.
Jane found it curious, also.
“See whom, ma’am?” said Mrs. Attleby.
“No,” said Mrs. Beaumont, shaking herself. “No, no, what am I saying?” She tightened her grip on the babe. “I have him, do I not? He is right here in my arms. Yes, of course, all along, I wished for my little one. That is who I wished to see.”
Jane did not think it was the babe. But before she could open her mouth to ask a question, Mrs. Attleby said, “Perhaps you need a bit of time to yourself, ma’am. We shall leave you to it.”
“Of course,” said Jane and started out of the room.
Mrs. Attleby followed.
“Jennifer,” called Mrs. Beaumont from the bed. “Stay.”
So, Mrs. Attleby stayed, but Jane left the room.