Very grievous news

[the_comfortable_courtesan]

The very next day the excellent news is heard that the Duke of M- has a male heir. Her Grace is said to be doing well.

Fraulein H- is preferr’d to the post of visiting tutor in German in the S- household and I hear answers exceedingly.

Mr F- returns to the North conveying many kisses for my darlings.

My household is increast by Timothy, that takes up Titus’s place, and Celeste, as undermaid.

I continue about the business of turning my novel into a play.

It is something more than a se’ennight since the happy news of Biffle’s son that we hear very sad news that Her Grace the Duchess, though at first seeming to do so well, has suddenly died during the period of lying-in. I am most extreme distresst by the news, both because I so greatly admir’d her, and because I fear how hard dear Biffle will take this.

There is a funeral. The child is baptiz’d. It is reported that altho' Biffle attends these occasions and does all that is proper, he appears a man that walks in a nightmare.

Lady W- desires a meeting at Mamzelle Bridgette’s: at which I think we both astonish one another by clinging together in tears.

Lady W- remarks, trying not to sob, that Lady J-, for all her many fine qualities, is not perhaps one best suited to the consoling of a grieving widower. Indeed, she has just been sent a letter – she breaks out in tears again – a letter that her dear friend wrote to be sent to her in case she should not survive childbed. The dear brave creature, so thoughtfull, begs any assistance her friend may be able to give in helping her belov'd husband at this time of trial.

In particular, says Lady W-, she desires that if I can at all manage it, I should bring you to him.

I myself am in tears. She did indeed express herself to me that should this happen, she greatly hoped that I would be able to bring him some consolation. For we are indeed very old friends. But how may I achieve this when Lady J- acts the guardian dragon?

I shall, says Lady W-, attempt to put the matter to her, but I fear she does not entirely care for me and may not receive this request with the sympathy one might hope for. But I can at least try.

I am desperate enough about this that I am in strong consideration of desiring Miss A- to be my ambassador to Lady J- in the matter, yet this is a procedure quite fraught with many difficulties. There is also still, I apprehend, a coolness to Her Ladyship's feelings concerning Mrs F-, so that is a pathway not open to me.

I sit trying to work upon my play to distract my mind. Perhaps I might prevail upon Williams to admit me covertly? But that might well endanger her leaving her place in receipt of a good character, which would ill repay such kindness.

Hector comes to say there is a veil’d lady in mourning at the door desiring to know whether I am at home.

I sigh. Oh, say I, she may be admitted, whoever she be, though I have some suspicion, and send to Euphemia for tea, for I need it even does she not.

I am not entirely surpriz’d on recognizing who my visitor is, make my best curtesy, desire her to take a chair.

Lady J- sits down, and after Euphemia has brought in tea and once more departed, puts aside her veil. She looks quite haggard. I convey to her my sympathies upon the loss of her sister-in-law.

If only, says Lady J-, had I been firmer… more persuasive… somehow prevail’d upon her about not injuriously rushing about. I respond that childbed is known exceeding perilous and I have never heard that anything a woman did or did not do made any material difference. So all tell me, she replies, and yet –

I pour her tea, and remark that I am surpriz’d to see her here.

She left me a letter, says Lady J-. When I read it I thought sure her mind was strangely fancyfull because of her condition, but yet, her affairs were left all in good order, I find: I must consider that she was entirely in her right mind when she wrote it. She begs – begg’d – me to bring you to my brother.

She gives a half-sobbing sigh. He bore up during the necessary ceremonies, she says. But since: he lies in his chamber, will not stir, will not eat, will not see any, will not even see the child. I have try’d exhorting him to his responsibilities, I have presented it to him that the late Duchess would not expect such excessive mourning, but nothing moves him.

Has he wept? I ask.

No, she says, I think not. He has been like an automaton ever since we gave him the news.

Give me but a short space of time to dress myself suitable, and I will come with you to M- House.

Arrayed in mourning and veiled, I ride in the carriage with Lady J- and for the first time enter M- House by the front door. She leads me upstairs to Biffle’s chamber. The door is locked.

I have the spare key, she says, and opens the door.

The curtains are all drawn across the windows and it is very dark within. I can see, however, that Biffle is lying much like a corpse himself on the bed.

I curtesy to Lady J- just outside the door. Thank you, I say, you had better leave me with him. And meanwhile, if you can get your kitchens to prepare something – soup perhaps - something that would be simple for him to eat but begin to restore his strength. She looks at me. If you can bring him to himself -, she says dubiously.

I will give it my best endeavours, I say, step into the room, and lock the door behind me.

I take off my outer garments, lay them upon a chair, and go over to the bed, where Biffle lies, staring at nothing. I slide out of a few further garments, and go lie down beside him.

I am staking a great deal on something I have not had a chance to prove for some good while now, in the hopes that I may win Biffle back from this journey to the underworld.

But my judgement has not been wrong. There is indeed a habit our bodies have with one another, that they remember, that they will be at whether or not we particularly wish, even when we intend not. Biffle stirs and turns and a hand begins its first essays upon my own person. I had thought I might have more ado and more work to undertake but sure the wonted familiarity is still there.

Biffle collapses upon me, shaken with sobbing, drenching me in tears, crying in between sobs Kitty, which must be the late Duchess’s name. He weeps for a long time as I hold him.

Oh, he says, as the sobs begin at last to abate, ‘tis indeed you and not some wild mad dream in delirium. How – why – what….

My dear, say I, leave troublesome questions. I will ring for someone to bring you something to eat and drink.

They have provided a good thick soup that I manage to make him eat, and some wine, which I hope will help him sleep, for I fear he has not been sleeping as well as everything else. Also he needs washing and shaving, but that can wait.

Eventually he looks at me. But how came you here? She askt me to, I say, the late Duchess. She left instructions. My sweetest Kitty, he says, tears again flowing, how can I go on without her?

Because, I say, she would have wanted you to: had she been able to tell you, she would have told you not to grieve overlong, to continue the work you were both at, to bring up your son. She would not have wanted you to follow her to the grave.

That is hard, he says.

Yes, my dearest Biffle, it is hard, because everyone could see how much you meant to one another. He looks me, takes hold of my hands, and then yawns extremely. So tired, he says, slipping down to lie once more. I pull the covers over him and wait until I am sure he sleeps.

I go the door and see that Lady J- is outside, walking up and down very agitat’d.

He sleeps, I tell her. He has eaten. I think he will be somewhat better now, tho’ he will still be grieving and I would not trouble him over-much about business just yet.

(I must wonder to myself how Lady J- conducted herself when her dearest Miss B- died: tho' if she had long been ailing it could not have been the shock of Her Grace's death at the point where one might suppose she had safely past through the perils of childbed; even so, did she go about her wonted courses of life? I have seen her quite distraught over Miss A-.)

She looks at me. This is another debt I owe you, she says.

It is not a debt, says I. This was something I did out of long friendship. I would have come much sooner had I thought I should be admitted. I put my hand to the wall to hold me up for of a sudden I feel quite faint and realise that it is many hours since I have eaten and I am most uncommon tired. If I go home now, may I come back?

You may stay here, she says. I shake my head, for I want to be among my own people so much I could near cry with it. She says she will order a carriage at once, and will give orders that I am to be admitted in future.

Comments

[rymenhild]

Oh no, Kitty! Biffle! Woe!

[clanwilliam]

Poor Kitty, poor Biffle, I had a horrible feeling this might happen and was desperately hoping it wouldn't.

[nenya_kanadka]

Same here, ever since that meeting between Mme C- and Kitty (did she really only learn her name after her death? SO SAD) a few entries back. I'd hoped it was only excessive worry, but it did seem foreboding.

Poor Biffle. Poor everyone. :(

[adeliej]

Ah =/ I'm really sad to hear this, and glad that Kitty had such foresight.

[lexin]

Oh, poor Biffle! Poor Duchess! And the poor baby!

[coughingbear]

I am very sad. But good for Lady J-.

[rmc28]

*cries*

[ekaterinn]

Oh poor Biffle! And poor Kitty! I am glad that Mme C could help console him.

[em_h]

I must wonder to myself how Lady J- conducted herself when her dearest Miss B- died ... did she go about her wonted courses of life?

As one who must admit to being not a million miles from Lady J in character, yes, I expect she did. And was probably far more terrifying than usual for quite a while, thus preventing most people around her from realizing that she was all in pieces.

Poor Kitty. I wish we had gotten to know her better.

[kathmandu]

Kitty seems to have been a clear-sighted person.

I am shocked by the lateness of her decline; I thought if she passed the first couple of days without hemorrhage or fever, that she'd recover fine.

[the_comfortable_courtesan]

Thromboembolism is (still) a major cause of maternal death - risk probably increased when new mothers were literally lying-in, as I have a vague recollection that one reason for getting mothers up and moving soon after childbirth is to prevent blood-clots developing.

[perennialanna]

It is, and moving around is something they are very keen on, though more going to the toilet regularly and ambling round the house than walking to the shops and back for the first couple of weeks. Women who have had caesareans and are therefore going to be in bed for longer (where longer = at most 48 hours unless things got very nasty) have to wear the special stockings, and may also get blood-thinning drugs.

[kore]

Kitty! Holy shit!

I do love the way Lady J and Mme C keep kind of fencing around each other. Oh, Lady J.

Poor Biffle....

[ironed_orchid]

Poor Biffle!

[violsva]

Oh dear. Oh no. Oh dear.

;_;

(From a craft perspective, the effect of the first eight paragraphs is even more than usually well done.)

[lilliburlero]

Oh no, poor Kitty and Biffle ;_;

[adrian_turtle]

Poor Kitty! I am so touched by her kindness and foresight in thinking of how Biffle might need you. (And by your kindness and generosity in rescuing him from the underworld. Sometimes "maximizing felicity" does not involve much felicity.)

[shewhostaples]

Oh, dear. I thought this might be coming. Poor Kitty! and poor Biffle!

[nineveh_uk]

Poor Duchess, poor Biffle, and indeed poor Lady J-. Sure, the perils of childbed are not overestimated.

[nenya_kanadka]

Oh, man. Oh, hell. Poor Biffle. Poor Mme C-. And Kitty was such an excellent person, what little we saw of her.

Poor wee future Duke of M-!

And Lady J-, for all her terrifyingness, clearly cares a great deal. I love how strong the bonds of friendship between Mme C- and her favourites are, though oh, that makes it even worse when something goes wrong.

*sobs quietly*

[rhivolution]

Oh no. So very, very sad about this (but kudos to oursin/Madame for writing such an account with such grace and feeling).