Fanny (52 page)

Daily, I sent Susannah to the Royal Exchange to consult the Columns whereon were posted Names of Country Girls who might be in search of a Place. I knew ’twas not the best Source of Wet-Nurses (for the
Accoucheurs
all had their Nurse Books, and for a Fee, supplied Nurses to new-made Mothers); but the
Accoucheurs
were now in league against me and I dar’d not contact one of ’em for fear that Smellie would renew his Demands for Pay.

I directed Susannah to bring Home to me such Country Girls with Babes in Arms as I might transform into a Wet-Nurse for Belinda. If a Woman with Twins may suckle two, I reason’d, then sure a new-made Mother, if she be well-nourish’d, may give suck to both her own Babe and another’s. I’faith, many Wet-Nurses who take their Charges to the Country (away from the watchful Eyes of their proper Parents) practise Baby-farming and suckle three or four or e’en more, according to their own Want—or e’en their Husbands’ Greed.

What a Procession of Unfortunates Susannah brought Home! It seem’d that London was cramm’d full of starving Wenches with skinny Babes in Arms. It broke my Heart to turn each one away, and I wisht for nothing more than a Great Fortune wherewith I might feed all the hungry, homeless Waifs of London. But I harden’d my Heart. I could scarce nourish myself and my Babe, Susannah, the Nurse, and the Cook—much less all the starving Wenches in London!

Yet ’twas a Lesson to me to see how many would perish of Hunger before the Year was out. Why, in Coxtart’s Brothel, I had seen many a Rich Rake spend as much for a new Peruke or a Mock-Maidenhead as would feed a Country Family for a Year. Lancelot was right to rob the Rich! Such grave Injustice was there in London—and all of it paraded before my Eyes! I ne’er sent a Wench away without at least a Cup of Chocolate and some Chear, tho’ it certainly depleted our Reserves and ’twould not last ’em long, I knew. Before Summer’s End, most of ’em would languish in a Brothel or a Workhouse, Bridewell or e’en Newgate itself. Or else they would be sunk so deep in Gin that their own Starvation and e’en their Babes’ would be as Dreams to ’em.

Each Wench I would interrogate concerning her Views upon the Government of Infants. Did she agree with Locke that the Babe was a
Tabula Rasa
, neither good nor evil, but malleable; or did she conceive the Child as imprinted with Original Sin (which must be driven out with the Rod)? Did she concur with many learned Astrologers, that all Character was form’d by the Juxtaposition of the Planets at the Moment of Conception (or e’en of Birth), or did she believe, as Mrs. Behn seem’d to, that Children were born good and Society corrupted ’em? I took care not to tip my Hand to reveal my own Convictions, but I queried each Wench most cleverly, pretending only to be chatt’ring idly to pass the Time and put ’em at their Ease. Ne’ertheless, I am sure that most of ’em thought me quite daft—for who but your fond and foolish Mother would probe a Wet-Nurse to discover her Philosophies? Doubtless they would have been less surpriz’d had I askt to taste their Milk!

Prue Feral kept a watchful Eye upon these Proceedings, knowing she must soon depart and therefore making a great Show of her Solicitude for you, Belinda, in order to cause me to change my Mind and keep her in my Employ. She carried you from Chamber to Chamber like a Doll-Baby, play’d with you and e’en sang Ballads to you. Oft’ she was wont to remark, within my Hearing, of your angelick Nature.

“La, Mistress Fanny,” she would say, “the Child’s a Perfect Angel, I’m sure.”

But ’twas no use. I was determin’d to find another Nurse to replace her.

When Prue perceiv’d that I was in earnest about finding a new Nurse (for Day and Night I spent interrogating Wenches with suckling Babes—or Wenches who’d recently buried ’em), she askt my Leave to have Susannah carry a Letter to the Wharves, where a Shipmate of her dead Husband’s, who had promis’d to look after her, was preparing for a Voyage to the Colonies. Thinking nothing of her Request, and being e’er of a too soft, yielding, and unsuspicious Nature, I granted my Permission. ’Twas true that Prue could not leave a Nursling to deliver the Letter herself and I saw no Harm in it; for her own part, Prue claim’d the Man had some Money for her, left in his Safe-keeping by her late Husband, and she must have it of him before his Ship sail’d. Whereupon she sent Susannah to the Docks to seek out the Seaman, and she did not fail to remind me that ’twas because she now lackt a Place that she must be so assiduous in finding her poor perish’d Husband’s Friend and begging this Money of him. In short, Prudence was so fine a Genius in inspiring Guilt in others that the piteous Face she made whilst explaining this to me almost convinced me to give her another Chance.

Susannah carried Prue’s Note to a Merchantman call’d the
Cassandra
, lying upon the Thames, taking on Cargo for a Voyage to the Colonies, but I myself was so engross’d in the Task of finding a Wet-Nurse for my precious Babe, that I paid little mind to these goings-on.

I was concern’d chiefly that Prue not swaddle you, Belinda, for her own Convenience, since ’twas clear now that you had begun to develop a Will and Wit of your own and you were no longer a blind, bewilder’d Thing, clutching at the Ether. No, you had begun to babble like a Bird before Sunrise, and to make Faces and smile almost as tho’ you recogniz’d me. Your soft little Voice attempted to mimick Speech, and your Hands attempted to grasp. When I dangl’d a Baby o’er your Face as you lay in your Cradle, you would squeal with Joy and kick your tiny Legs in the Air. Consequently, I was loath to allow any Treatment of you which might corrupt your true and joyous Infant Nature and turn your Delight to Pain.

My Interviews with the Unfortunates of London were not yielding the Treasure I so earnestly desir’d. One Wench babbl’d to me of Hell-Fire and Damnation (in the Hopes of showing me how severe a Governess she’d be) and another lookt blankly at me when I enquir’d of her Philosophy. “Spare the Rod and spoil the Child” was all most of ’em could think to say (when askt to discourse upon the Rearing of Babes); for most of ’em had not, sad to say, thought very much upon the Subject and nothing but this old Maxim came immediately to Mind. (Tho’, i’faith, striking little Children for the Sake of Discipline was beginning, e’en then, to go out of Fashion with English Persons of Quality—howsoe’er much it might still be practis’d abroad and amongst the Lower Orders.)

“Choose the Wet-Nurse fer her Milk, not her Philosophy,” Susannah begg’d. “All the Philosophy in Heaven will not feed a hungry Babe.” Susannah was e’er the Soul of Practicality, but I persever’d in my Interrogations. At length, finding myself discontented with the Wenches I had seen, I determin’d to myself accompany Susannah to the Royal Exchange (and e’en to a Registry Office should that prove necessary) and search out Wenches with my own very Eyes.

’Twould be the first Time I had ventur’d farther than my Writing Bureau since my Lying-in, but my Belly was fairly well heal’d by now, and as the Weather was fair (it being June), I thought no Harm would come of it.

I ventur’d into the Nursery to kiss my beloved Babe before departing, as this was the first Time I had been more than a few Chambers away; and it vext my Heart to be separated e’en for an Hour or two. O there is a special silken Cord of Love and Solicitude that joins a Mother with her Babe, and the first Time she stretches it, she feels the Tug most piteously within her own Heart. ’Tis verily as if her Entrails were torn out from within; thus, doth Nature protect her Little Ones.

I leant o’er your Cradle to kiss you on your tender Infant Cheaks and you smil’d at me with utter Trust. ’Twas hard to pull myself away.

“I’faith, I find it hard to leave her,” said I.

“Have no Fear. She’ll be here when ye return,” said Prue, smiling sweetly in the Hopes that I would not now let her go.

So off we went to the Royal Exchange—Susannah and me in all our Finery—and left Prue and the Cook alone with Belinda.

Now, the Cook was a curious Creature, hir’d hastily to satisfy Prue’s Demands, and not quite suitable for our humble Household. She was as fat as she was tall, a bit deaf in one Ear, and tho’ she claim’d nought but forty Years to her Credit, ’twas more likely that she was close to Sixty, with more than sixty Years’ worth of Tastings and Pan Drippings accumulated about her Middle.

She swore she’d been Assistant to a French Chef in a Great House for many a Year; and indeed she complain’d constantly that our Fare was far too simple for her High French Tastes. Before Foul Fate had so reduced her as to send her to us, she’d known Dinners of thirty Dishes and at least ten Courses, great mahogany Tables decorated with Pyramids of Sweetmeats and Fruits, Pigeons Cheak by Jowl with Oysters, Calves’ Heads Cheak by Jowl with whole Lobsters; Pottages of Duckling, Crayfish, and Lobster all serv’d upon the same Table, whilst the Sideboard boasted Venison Pasties, Westphalian Ham Pyes, and Beef Roasts
en Croute.
She spoke of one Dinner in which the Dessert alone consisted of Spun Sugar Webs drap’d o’er Birds’ Nests of colour’d Sugar fill’d with transparent Jellies that were made to resemble Eggs. Out of these Eggs jump’d candied Chicks, flapping their candied Wings! Upon another Occasion, said she, her Mistress had caus’d the Table to resemble a lovely Greensward whereupon Trees burst suddenly into Leaf, Rivers unfroze, and Flow’rs pok’d their Heads above the Earth. O ’twas clear she thought herself fitted only to cook
La Haute Cuisine
; therefore, to show her Displeasure with our humble Kitchen, she left the Spits unclean’d, the Fowls unsinged, the Roasts half raw, the Potts unscour’d, and she made sure to comb her Hair o’er the Pottage of Pease. She was also very loath to wash her Hands, e’en after going to the Necessary House; for why, she reason’d, must she wash ’em when they would just get dirty again? She complain’d bitterly of the Want of a Scullery Maid, saying that so great a Chef as herself should not have to trouble with fiddling Work, such as dressing small Birds; consequently, she serv’d ’em up compleat with all the Feathers and Entrails with which the Creator had blest ’em (and nought but a bit of Catchope or Piccalillo for Sauce). The Last, but not the Least, of her Complaints was the Solitary Life our Household led, for she was much accustom’d to having the Vails that a fine Household provides for its Servants; and how could she receive Vails, said she, unless we invited Guests to proffer ’em? (Then, as now, Belinda, ’twas the Custom for the Parting Guest at a Great Dinner to grease the Servants’ Hands with Shillings ere he could be sure to reclaim his Hat and Cloak; thus Mrs. Wetton—for that was the Cook’s name—conceiv’d that her Pay was halv’d since her Days of Glory and this vext her in the extream.)

I have said so much concerning the Cook, for she was the Person Susannah and I encounter’d when we return’d to Hanover Square (after many fruitless Hours at the Royal Exchange and at a Registry Office in the Vicinity). The very first Thing of which she solicitously inform’d us was the following:

“They’ve come fer yer Sea-Trunk, Mrs. Fanny, an’ caus’d me no End o’ Trouble. I’ll not be Porter ’round here as well as Butler an’ Scullery Maid an’ Cook, an’ I’m warnin’ ye that no self-respectin’ Cook, what is us’d to cookin’ in the French Style like meself will last long in yer scurvy Kitchen….”

“Pray, what Sea-Trunk do you mean?” I askt, for I had caus’d no Sea-Trunk to be sent anywhere, to my Knowledge.

“The Fellow from the Docks what come to get yer Sea-Trunk, Mrs. Fanny, to put it aboard the Ship. He come here just before Mrs. Prudence went out an’ I’ll not be Porter fer ye, I say, not without no Vails neither….”

“Do I mistake your Meaning,” said I, my Blood racing and my Forehead beginning to break into a fev’rish Sweat. “Mrs. Prudence went out, say you? Then who attends Belinda?”

“I’m sure I don’t know, Ma’am; I’m sure I’m not meant to be Nursemaid as well as Cook an’ Porter, an’ Scullery Maid….”

I heard no more, but raced up the Stair to the Nursery with Susannah close behind me.

Dear Goddess, thought I, do not fail me now.

Bursting into Prue’s Chamber, with my Head full of Visions of starv’d or smother’d Babes, I’ll ne’er forget the Picture of Desolation that greeted me.

The Cradle was empty—empty e’en of Linens and Pillows—and the Chamber itself lookt as if it had been sackt by Robbers. A Candle Stand had been knockt o’er upon the Floor, the Fire had dy’d in the Grate, Drawers had been pull’d open and ne’er clos’d again, the Door to the Great Armoire swung open to show utter Desolation within. Meanwhile, in the Corners of the Chamber were Reminders of Prue’s Gluttony: dried Chicken Bones gath’ring Dust, Oyster Shells toss’d amongst mildew’d Crusts of Bread, along with the usual lost Buttons, broken Stays, Balls of Hair, and Dust. The final Insult was the full Close-Stool wherein floated two considerable Turds, imparting their characteristick Odour to the Chamber.

“Dear God,” said Susannah, falling to her Knees in Pray’r. For my own part, I was so stunn’d I could scarcely think what to do next. ’Twas as if a Knife had been plunged into my Belly just where Belinda herself once lay. I thought of my red and pucker’d Scar, so ugly yet strangely dear to me, and I fancied going thro’ my whole Life with my deform’d Flesh a grim Reminder of the Babe I had lost. O ’tis curious what Visions come to Mind in the midst of Grief!

“Belinda! Belinda!” I cried. ’Twas not possible that I had borne Belinda with so much Agony, only to lose her to a Wet-Nurse’s Folly!

“Lookee, Mrs. Fanny—here’s a Letter,” says Susannah. And so there
was
a Letter, lying upon the Mantelpiece, and writ in Prue’s blotch’d and quav’ring Hand. There was no Salutation whatsoe’er, but it began all in the midst of a Chaos of Splotches and Scratches such as belong to those who have no Penmanship at all. I reproduce the Letter herewith, for ’tis burnt into my Memory like a Brand into a Slave’s poor Shoulder.

When this cums to hand I shall be far away at sea fer the Babes own good an salvation—her litel soul shant be saved what with her Mum a Hussy and no swadlin nor fit punishment fer Sins—spare the rod and spoilt the child I say an so say others to—now ye may scrible in pease with no Babe to troble ye—God sav yer sinfull soul if he see fit tho I dout it—yer Humbel Servent—Prudence Feral.