Now Face to Face (104 page)

On the contrary, thought the Duchess, she was the strongest of us all.

The baby was still crying a little, and he held to his grandfather’s wig with one small, grim fist, and he seemed to be listening, his little round face concentrated, to what his grandfather was saying to soothe him.

“Do you know,” said Jane, “I think Harry Augustus is Father’s favorite,” and she smiled at the Duchess; it was a lovely smile, just a hint of mischievousness to it. No, John had not liked Harry, had thought him a wild rogue who would break his daughter’s heart. The Duchess remembered when Jane and Barbara and Harry had run wild over Tamworth and Ladybeth Farm. Not so long ago. It was good to have children running again on her lawn.

“I should have allowed Harry to marry you,” she said.

“No. You were correct.” Jane’s voice was gentle.

Calf love, Diana had said.

“Harry would have broken my heart.”

“He was a bad boy, wasn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Then why did we love him?”

“We are fools.”

“Well, come here and let this old fool kiss you.” The Duchess kissed both Jane’s cheeks. “Go and walk in Richard’s rose garden awhile. The roses are in their finest blooming, and you need some roses of your own in those cheeks. Go on before the sun leaves us. Pick as many roses as you want…. Pick a bouquet to take to…” She stopped.

Pick a bouquet for yourself, Jane, and for Harry, and for your Jeremy and my Richard, for all of those gone on before us…. What did the psalm say?…”Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy lovingkindness: according unto the multitude of thy tender mercies.”…lovingkindness, tender mercies: the lime trees in the avenue, her roses, this dream of John and Jane, her old friend walking toward her in it with his small grandson gone to sleep in his arms, Dulcinea atop the table now, picking her way through the food to find and eat the last crumbs of lemon tartlets. In the end, there were great deeds, but there was also, most important, this….

T
HE DOOR
was open. Thérèse and the boy stared at each other before, finally, she was able to say his name.

“Hyacinthe.”

They were in each other’s arms now. He is as tall as I, thought Thérèse, and the tears streamed down her face.

“Where,” he said—his eyes were dark, fierce, sad, as deep as an ocean; Old, thought Thérèse, he has old eyes now—“is Madame?”

T
HE DEAD
are not dead…. They are in the fire that is dying, in the grasses that weep…in the whimpering rocks…. The dead are not dead…. Listen…listen…listen.

T
IM SHOOK
the Duchess hard by the shoulder, not liking the way her head lolled to one side. She wasn’t…she couldn’t be…it was what they all feared.

The Duchess opened one eye. “Things have come to a pretty pass when footmen behave as you do. I ought to have you beaten for the dream you have just waked me from.”

“I thought you—”

“Dead? Bah!”

But which was the dream? That which she’d just left, or this, now? Paris. She was too old….

L
ISTEN
. L
ISTEN.
Listen.

A
UTHOR’S
N
OTE

This scene came to me long before
Now Face to Face
was finished. I wrote it quickly and always loved it. It reflected my interest in women’s history, women’s bravery, and how women’s biology so affected their lives in the past. In 1994, my sister’s cancer metastasized. Before she died, I wanted her to read the manuscript for this book. I deliberately cut this scene—a scene I had always written toward in the plot—and reworked the timing of Jane’s pregnancy because I didn’t want my sister to read a fictional death when she was dying a real one.
Now Face to Face,
particularly the last chapters that I reworked with her reading them in mind, is filled with the spirit of my sister. I am so happy to include Jane’s death scene here…and just as
Now Face to Face
was dedicated to my sister, so, too, is this…for Carmen.

[
Gussy’s escape is taken from an actual one, planned by a woman for her husband in 1715. And I’m glad to say, that just like Jane, she, too, was successful in freeing her husband from the dreaded Tower of London.
]

K.K.
, 2007

T
HERE WAS AN OLD WOMAN WHO LIVED IN A SHOE
…J
ANE LAY
floating above herself, perched on the ceiling, like a small bird, looking down to the bedchamber below, to the pale woman on the bed in a tangle of bloodstained sheets, to the women surrounding her, their faces intent with a concentration which made clear what was happening was something of importance. Their movements were sharp, no jesture wasted. They spoke to one another in a low, rapid, staccato voices.

Have I died? thought Jane. She felt a rush, a flutter, a dip of wings.

T
HE PRESSURE
…building again…not like the fierce pressure of childbirth when her body felt split in two, but a hurting pressure, too much, too large for her to pass…her fingers clawed the sheets, as her body arched and she strained and pushed…In sorrow thou shalt bring forth children…she had never liked childbirth…God help me…Jesus have mercy, Lord have mercy…what is happening…how this hurts…how hard this is…am I having the child?…it is too soon, too soon…Dear Lord…Dear Lord…Dear Lord…the taste of blood was on her lips and she knew she could not push this poor, weak child through…she was too weak herself…they would both die…ah, the pressure…almost unbearable…but not childbirth, thank God, when she felt like the wishing bone of chicken being pulled apart…between her legs such a force…her body arched on the bed. And then there was a blessed, stupifying gush.

Water, darkness, blood, life, pain, surged between her legs, like water bursting through a dam, a red wave upon her being, which lifted her up above the bed, above the room, above the sky, above the world, too much, too much was leaving, out, gone, good-bye, never more, and she was beached in the bed where she had begun…no, it was the carriage where she had begun, no, it was Gussy’s cell where she had begun…she felt unable to move, to draw breath, upon the shore of her complete exhaustion.

“There it is now,” said her mother. “Annie, wipe that blood from her mouth. She bit her lip.”

“Afterbirth,” said Annie. “Push now with me, Lady Ashford, there on her stomach. A while longer, Janie, my pet, just a while longer and then you can rest for as long as you need, my sweet.” Annie’s thin, weary face smiled down, but Jane did not for a moment recognize her.

Sharp spasms filled her…she knew this…the afterbirth…hurts…there was an old woman who lived in a shoe…long cramps took hold of her insides and squeezed and she had not the strength to even tremble…she had so many children, she didn’t know what to do…she gave them some broth with out any bread…where was the baby?…listen for the child’s cry…she whipped them all soundly and put them to bed…

“Such agony for a dead child,” her mother said.

“She hasn’t any strength,” Annie said grimly, her gray hair awry under its cap, as she panted with her effort to push the afterbirth from Jane’s abdomen. If all the afterbirth was not expelled, infection and hemorrhage would follow. It was several hours before dawn now. All this night, they had been working with Jane. King’s messengers, Annie thought, should be here soon, for surely by now, Gussy’s escape was discovered. Over in a corner, a tavern servant gently washed the tiny body of the baby and dried it and then began to wind a narrow band of linen around and around the body.

There was a knock on the door, but Lady Ashford and Annie were busy with Jane, cleansing her with warm water and laying thick, hot linen cloths over her, over the swelling and sore places, to comfort her. The servant laid down the baby to open the door; the linen-wrapped baby looked like a parcel to be sent away.

Gussy walked in, stopping a moment at the sight of Jane. She had always dreaded childbirth. It was one of the sorrows of their marriage, her fear of it. He was afraid of it, too. She lay there so white, so pale in this strange room. Their celebration was turned awry. Her mother had found one hundred pounds in a pocket. They had no idea from where it had come.

“She…?” He could not seem to form any other word.

“Sleeping,” said Lady Ashford.

“What do we do?” he said.

“Talk with John. Decide.”

He walked to the bed and leaned over. Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies. The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil. You must leave, said his father-in-law, take two of the children and leave before they find you. There was a ship waiting. It was all planned. This small woman’s plan. There was a furious pounding at the door, and when Gussy opened it, he stooped down to be on the level of his eldest daughter. Her face was red and blotched with crying.

“I—I want…to…see…Mama…now.”

She could barely get the words out. She had seen Tim carry Jane in last night. All night long, Gussy had held her and tried to comfort her. Mama must rest, he kept telling her. He took Amelia up into in his arms.

“Of course you shall. But Mama is sleeping. Will you be very quiet, Amelia, as quiet as you have ever been in your life?” It was not to have been like this. They were to have all been together in celebration this night, dividing this morning at dawn to make their journeys. One hundred pounds. Where had she gotten one hundred pounds? Gussy carried Amelia over to the bed.

“May I kiss her?”

Such a small whisper. Gussy held his daughter so that she could do so.

“I want to stay.”

“No,” said Lady Ashford.

Amelia’s face crumpled up, but Gussy pulled a chair to the bed and placed her in it. “You sit here, Amelia, while I get Thomas and Winifred. But then you must go. You must go so Mama can rest and become well. Remember, we are going on a journey today, and I need you to be my big, strong girl.”

Amelia sat as still as she could be, eyes never moving from her mother, until her father came back.

“I am not leaving her,” Lady Ashford said, out in the hallway to her husband. “You and Gussy go on, take two of the children and go, take all of the children and go, but leave. You should have been to the ship by now.”

Jane’s face was as white as the sheets she lay upon. Her fingers curled up. Gently Annie touched one of her fingers. It was warm.

Jane was working in her garden, tying back the leggy stocks that threatened to fall over.

Mama.

She looked up. There stood Jeremy, thin boy’s legs, sweet boy’s face, his wayward boy’s hair, all of four. Why, Jeremy, she said, hugging him to her. I thought you dead. Angelica and anise. Broomwort and balm. Caraway and camomile. An herb garden for the Duchess. Comfrey and coriander and cowslip. Pennyroyal and peony. To market, to market, to buy a fat pig. Suffer the little children to come unto me, cried Gussy, running by her garden in his curate’s wig and collar.

Stop, she called. The Gypsy woman stared at her in the Duchess’s woods.

The gloves, said Gussy. It was the gloves. Home again, home again, jiggety jig.

“She feels warm,” Lady Ashford said to Annie. Neither she nor Annie said what was in both their minds. Childbed fever. “I’ll go and tell John.”

“Carry her aboard ship, and be damned. I won’t leave you, either of you, now.” said Sir John.

“The captain—”

“I’ll go back to the captain, offer him more money, see if we can all board—”

“And if we can’t—”

“There are two captains, two ships. One of them will do it, by God. After all, we have one hundred pounds more than we thought. Where she got the money…”

Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow…Jane was on her hands and knees in her parlor, lifting the loose floor board…with silver bells and cockle shells and pretty maids all in a row…There they were. She lifted up a pair of gloves, gloves of deepest, softest green, smelling of cinnebar, of spice, of times and places far away.