Leonora's Journal Volume Two

The Sequel to 'Ring of Stone' and 'Leonora's Journal Volume One' by Bronwen Welsh

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Chapter 11 In memorium

(Leonora did not write in her journal for three weeks and when she did the reason is obvious. On the first page the ink was smeared from droplets of water, no doubt tears. D.L.)

Friday 23rd September
Our darling son Richard is with the angels, and it is all my fault. Why was I so stubborn in insisting I travelled to Grasmere with Richard? If I had stayed safely in Oxford this might never have happened. But I was foolish and insisted on having my own way, and now we have suffered the consequences. May God forgive me for I cannot forgive myself.

Richard is so kind. He says it is not my fault and would have happened anyway, but is he saying that just to be kind to me? I know how much he wanted a son and heir and now I have failed him with my stubborn insistence of my own way.

Each night I pray for my darling son to watch over us but how I wish, oh how I wish he was still with us. Life can be so cruel. How could he have been taken from us so soon? People say it is God’s will, but how could God be so cruel? I know that sounds blasphemous, but I cannot help it. I have carried my son in my womb for seven months and now he is gone and lies in the cold damp ground.

It has taken me three weeks to summon up the courage to write these words. It all began the day after what was to have been our farewell dinner with the family. I awoke early on the Saturday morning and straight away knew that all was not well. I started to experience pains and they were very like the ones I had before giving birth to Elizabeth. But how could this be? Our babe was not due for another two months.

I called for Marie and told her of my symptoms and she agreed that they were very alike the start of childbirth. She suggested that I stayed in bed and tried to relax. This I did and for a time the pains ceased, but about two hours later they returned and more intense. Marie informed Richard who had been sleeping separately for the past few weeks since I was so uncomfortable with the babe in my womb. He came to see me and was most concerned. He suggested speaking to Lady Elizabeth and requesting information about a suitable local midwife.

A few minutes later, Lady Elizabeth came to see me and asked about my symptoms. She informed me that she would send for Mrs Simmons whose mother had attended her at the birth of her two daughters, Sarah and Lucy. “She is highly recommended, having been taught by her mother who was an excellent midwife,” she said. I opened my mouth to thank her and then another contraction struck and I gasped with the pain.

Mrs Simmons arrived an hour later by which time I had transferred to a bed prepared for childbirth and my waters had broken. I subjected myself to an intimate examination, after which she said there was no doubt that I had entered an early labour. She looked grave when I told her that the babe was not due for another two months, and that I had not felt him kicking as vigorously as Elizabeth did.

“The child will be immature madam, but may still live,” she said, and I confess that up to that moment I had not entertained the possibility of my child not surviving.
The labour continued hour after hour, I need hardly describe it here, and late in the afternoon about four o’clock I was delivered of our son. He cried weakly as he slipped from my body, and after some cleansing, he was delivered to my arms. He was so small and seemed feeble. I put his mouth to my breast as I had done with Elizabeth but he did not have the energy to suckle. Mrs Simmons looked very serious and recommended that I send for a clergyman to baptize him as soon as possible.

“I have seen instances where baptism results in an increase in an infant’s viability,” she said. The Rev David d’Anglais was sent for and bless him he arrived just over an hour later together with Lillian, his wife. He had brought the holy water with him which had been warmed slightly in the kitchen to avoid causing any shock to our baby.

"Have you selected a name for your son?” he asked, and Richard told him that he was to be Richard John.

I handed over the babe to David and he held him gently and poured a few drops of the warmed water on his head, saying “I baptize thee Richard John d’Anglais, in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.”

We all said ‘Amen’, and then Richard was returned to my arms. The Sir John and Lady Elizabeth had kindly agreed to be godparents, and that part of the baptismal service was read and promises made. After the men had left the room, I attempted to get Richard to feed again and was delighted when he managed to suckle a little. Perhaps the sacrament had been of temporal benefit to him?

I lay In bed all day and all night, holding my child to keep him warm and willing him to live. Since he seemed to lack the strength to suckle much, Marie suggested that I express some milk which she would try to get him to drink, and he did manage a few drops, but he was still very listless and the fear grew within me.

It was on the following morning, the second day after Richard’s birth. Totally exhausted, I had fallen asleep while holding him and when I awoke my first thought was of him, but he was cold and did not move.

I called his name, quietly and then louder and even shook him slightly, but to no avail, his spirit had departed. I think I screamed because Marie who was sitting in a chair next to my bed and had also fallen asleep, awoke with a start and rushed to the bed. The next hour or more is a blur. Richard was sent for and he immediately saw what had happened. I still held Richard, tears streaming down my face, willing him to live, rocking him gently, and praying hard to God and all the angels to give our boy back to me, but all to no avail. Rev David was sent for and he came and said the prayers for the dead over our son – something no parent should ever have to hear said for their child.

“Dear Lord, when a young person dies, we grieve over his loss and struggle to understand his death. Draw him to yourself and give him fullness of life in Christ. May he join all the angels and saints, who know your love and saving will. Amen.”

Then he said the Lord’s Prayer and some other prayers, but I confess I was in a daze and hardly understood anything. All I could think was ‘Our son is dead’. A poem came to my mind I don’t know from whence. I’m sure there was more but I could not remember it or where I had heard it:

‘The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good’.

I held my darling son for a long time even though I knew in my heart of hearts that it would be to no avail. Finally, my darling Richard came to me. There were tears streaming down his face, the first time I had ever seen him cry.

“It is time for me to take him, my darling,” he said, and with one final kiss, I handed over our son to his father who took him in his arms with infinite gentleness and tenderly carried him from the room. Then it was that I gave myself over to my grief and cried and cried until I had no more tears to shed. Then, so I am told, I slept for a day and a night.

Richard’s funeral was set down for the Friday. I had only just got out of bed, but I insisted upon going to the Grasmere churchyard. Richard did his best to dissuade me but I cried and begged him and finally he relented. I had carried Richard in my womb for seven months, I felt I must be present at the final act. How ironic that the black dress I had brought along in case of Lady Ellen’s death was now put to use in the worst circumstance possible.

We travelled down to the churchyard by closed carriage in a drizzling rain, my face shrouded in a heavy veil and when I left the carriage, my tears mixed with those from heaven. Richard supported me as I stood by the grave for the final prayers. At the moment when the little white coffin was taken up to be lowered into the earth, I felt the world around me swaying and remembered no more.

I awoke and found myself lying in bed looking up at a strange ceiling. I heard a noise and turning my head saw Richard looking at me with a face full of concern.

“What happened?” I asked him.

“You fainted my dear. Uncle David insisted that we bring you into the parsonage to recover.”

“What time is it?” I asked and he told it was five o’clock. Gradually it came back to me – the mourners in black standing around the grave in the drizzling rain, the small white coffin holding the body of our son; how I had kissed it and laid a single red rose upon it, the final prayers and then … nothing.

Lillian came into the room. “How are you, my dear?” she said. How was I? I, who had just seen my child’s body committed to the earth? I swallowed the retort which rose to my lips – she meant well. “Better, thank you,” I said.

“Please stay the night with us,” she said. “Richard will stay with you.” I felt too exhausted to do anything but agree.

“Your maid Marie is here,” she said. “She will look after you too.”

“Elizabeth,” I said faintly, and she assured me that Elizabeth was in good health and being well looked after by Anna.

I could not hold my eyes open any more and fell asleep again.

The following morning, I felt a little better and after Marie helped me to dress, I ate a little porridge before the coach took me, Richard and Marie back to Grasmere Hall.
Everyone has been so kind and sympathetic. They brought Elizabeth to me and I held her close until she squealed and I realized that I was holding her too tightly, so I released my grip on her. She looked frightened and I nearly burst into tears again. Anna led her away to the nursery making soothing noises and telling her that Mummy wasn’t very well.

The following day I was still lying in bed at the insistence of the apothecary who had visited with a restorative draught for me to drink, when I was informed that I had a visitor. To my extreme surprise it was Lady Ellen. She came to sit by my bedside. Marie stood by and Lady Ellen politely asked her if she would excuse us for a while. Marie looked surprised, but curtseyed and left the room.

“I came to see you, my dear, because I know what it is like to lose a child – in fact I lost two.”

I reached out to her and she took my hand.

“It is so cruel, Lady Ellen, and I know, I just know that in the future babies like Richard will be saved.” Then realising what I had said, I stopped and blushed.

Lady Ellen smiled. “I believe you my dear because I believe you have the gift of second sight. I have it to a degree myself and I believe that you will have more children and I do not believe you will lose any more.”

“How do you know about the second sight?” I asked her in a whisper.

“Just some remarks you have made,” she replied

“But does it not stand to reason?“ I said. “Just as we know more than the Tudors did, so in centuries to come, there will be knowledge that we cannot imagine.”

“I believe you, but let me caution you to have a care in what you say, even to your husband. Thankfully we no longer live in an era when wise women were burnt as witches, but people might still imagine that you were losing your mind,” she said, looking very serious.

“I promise to take your advice, Lady Ellen,” I said. “I have been careless, and I will be more careful in future.” I knew that by my admission I was confirming her feelings about me, but I felt instinctively that I could trust her.

“How will I ever recover from the loss of my son?” I asked her.

“You will my dear; time heals all wounds, but you will never forget him. I remember my own lost children Robert and Elizabeth and I think of them every day.”

I worried about how the news of our loss would be received back in Oxford and found it difficult to face the sympathy which would inevitably be expressed. Richard kindly offered to write to my parents, Sarah, Lucy, and the Studleigh Park family, and also Mrs Danvers and Mr Anderson. It was very kind of him as I did not know how I could face writing.

I should mention that I know Richard had suffered from the loss of our son as well. I know it is not considered manly for a husband to show his feelings, but I had seen his red eyes and knew that he had wept privately on more than one occasion.

Sunday 25th September
Today we attended the service at St Oswald’s. Before it started, we visited the grave of our son and left some fresh flowers. I managed to keep my emotions under control – just a few tears escaped my eyes. Richard had arranged for a temporary wooden cross but it will be replaced with a small gravestone as soon as it is complete. I would like to have been there for the dedication, but it will be some weeks until it is ready, and Richard needs to return to Oxford as we have already been away longer than expected. Richard’s Uncle David has promised to take especial care of Richard’s grave and see that fresh flowers are placed on it every week. That makes me feel much happier than I have been in weeks.

Wednesday 28th September
On Thursday we will have a family farewell dinner before we leave on Friday. This afternoon I received a request from Lady Ellen to attend her in the drawing room. When I entered the room, she was seated as usual in front of the fire. I curtseyed and took the seat opposite her – two women in black gowns.

“Thank you for coming to see me, my dear. I wanted to see you because I do not believe I will be here when you next visit and I wanted to speak to you. Now do not look at me like that, I have lived a good life, a privileged life, but now I am ready to go and join my husband Donald in the afterlife where my old bones will no longer ache from the cold. When I go, I expect Richard will want to come here but I do not want you to come; I can’t explain why but I have my reasons. Just bring some fresh flowers to my resting place when you next visit – that is all I ask.”

“I will comply with your request, Lady Ellen,” I replied.

“Remember, one day you might find yourself in my position, many years from now.”

I did not like to think of that since it would mean that I was to become the dowager Lady Leonora, but realistically I suppose it might happen. Women as a rule do tend to live longer than their husbands provided that they survive childbirth.

“I intend to leave most of my jewelry to you, my dear, with some items for Lucy and Sarah, and you in turn can leave it to your children.”

This is the second time she had referred to my children; she seems to think that I will have a number of them.

“Finally, my dear, I want to say how pleased I am that Richard married you; you have made a very good wife to him and I know that like so many men, he depends upon your support. Now, I can see that you are looking a little tired, so I suggest you have a rest, and I will see you again at the farewell dinner tomorrow.”

I stood and knelt before her and kissed her hand. She in turn rested her hand on my head in a blessing and said quietly:

“The Lord bless you, and keep you:
The Lord make his face to shine upon you, and be gracious unto you:
The Lord lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace”.

“Amen,” I said.

Thursday 29th September
Today I received a very kind letter from Mr William Wordsworth expressing the condolences of his family on the loss of our son. Coming from someone who lost two children last year, I know that they are all cognisant of how we are feeling. He did conclude by saying that they are now settled into a new house, Rydall Mount which is infinitely better than their previous abode and they hope that the next time we are at Grasmere that we will do them the honour of visiting them. That is something I would certainly like to do.

The dinner this evening was a fairly sombre affair even though we did our best to lighten the occasion. We did not keep a late night since we ae to leave for Oxford in the morning. In addition to Sir John and Lady Elizabeth and Lady Ellen who sat next to me, the Rev David and his wife Lillian also attended.

To be continued

Author's note: The poem quoted from is 'Funeral Blues' by W.H. Auden written in 1936