"It's voilà, you louse. From the French, literally to 'see there.' Vwa-la. Very easy. Repeat after me."
I supposed it was Jim who broke out in a guffaw. "Well, la-ti-da, Perfesser. Are we here for a grammar lesson, or to get us some grub?"
126
"Right, you two," the other one said. "he's coming. He's big. And I'm hungry. We could divvy his horse up, too. What the hell. We don't need a plan. Look at that ice patch, there. He hits that ice and he's down. And there we are, on him and eating in no time flat. He'll be so surprised that he won't even stand a chance to fight us off."
My blood burned in my veins. One innocent traveller, prey to three waiting vampyres? It was wrong. I thought of John Reed. It was just his sort of low trick. None of the vampyres were John Reed, but I pictured him in my mind. I imagined what I would, even after all these years, like to do to him. I had two stakes up my sleeves. I wished I had brought my daggers, but stakes were more effective against vampyres in any event.
"Dibs on the dog," the one that was certainly Jim said. "It's been so long since I've had a good dog."
"It was yesterday, idiot. That pug you sucked down at the pub?"
"That was just a wee thing, barely a snack. I dream of a whole-dog meal."
"You can have the dog. I lived off dog through October. I'm so sick of dog I would be happy to never taste another in my life. He's close now. Hide. Behind the bushes there. We'll get him when he slips."
I breathed a sigh of relief when two of them chose the bushes on the opposite side of the road, but one of them was dangerously close to me. Though it was too dark in the brush covering to see me with any clarity, he might scrape against me if he moved so much as an inch.
The horse approached, near but not yet in sight when, in addition to the tramp, tramp, I heard a rush under the hedge, getting closer. I looked and startled when my eyes made out the form of a tremendous beast, the targeted dog, whose black-and-white colour made him a distinct object against the trees. It passed me, and the vampyres, without noticing, thank goodness. The horse
127
followed--a tall steed, and on its back, a rider. An ordinary traveller taking the shortcut to Millcote, he stood not a chance against three vampyres--without warning or assistance.
Before he passed, I scrambled out of the bushes, stakes in hand at the ready, to wave him down before he hit the sheet of ice glazing the causeway. Unfortunately, he took absolutely no notice of me. I closed my eyes as if I could shut out the sliding sound and an exclamation of "What the deuce now?"
Man and horse were down. The dog came bounding back to see his master in a predicament and, hearing the horse groan, began to bark until the evening hills echoed the sound, which was as booming loud as the dog's great size would allow. He snuffed around the prostrate horse and man, then he ran up to me as if he'd known I was there all along.
Jim was first to come out of the bushes straight after me. As evidence of his love of dogs, or lack of sense, he went straight for the dog to slake his thirst instead of accosting me. The rider was still down, as if trying to gather his bearings, when Jim grabbed the dog around the neck and bit into him. The dog gave a yelp, but never tried to fight, and I dodged straight at them, ably staking the feeding Jim straight through the back into the heart--as I'd imagined I could do to John Reed all those years ago when I played with my stakes and a drawing of John in the dirt.
My aim must have been dead-on, for Jim arched his back, looked as if he would turn and come after me, and dissolved into a heap of dust straightaway! Where there had been a vampyre, there were only some dusty old clothes. I drew closer to look. Dust. Curious, that! I surged with an immediate feeling of satisfaction and triumph.
Vampyres were going to be much easier to dispose of than zombies; much less messy anyway. I brushed my hands and retrieved the stake. Perhaps I had a knack for this sort of thing after all. I reached out to pet the poor dog. His injury didn't seem to be bad, just a small puncture between his shoulder blades. He let me pat his head for
128
but an instant before he sniffed at the pile and trotted off dutifully to check on his master.
Where were the other two? Had they gone stiff with fright at the sight of such capable vampyre slaying from such an otherwise unassuming young lady? At no appearance from them, I followed the dog to check on the traveller, by this time struggling himself free of his steed. His efforts were so vigorous, I thought, gratefully, that he could not be very hurt.
"Are you injured, sir?" I asked.
He was swearing under his breath, words I ought perhaps not to have known, but some of my Lowood inmates had been rough girls from working families.
"Can I do anything?" I asked.
"You must stand aside," he answered as he rose, first to his knees, then to his feet. I didn't move very much away, for he yet looked unsteady on his feet. Indeed, his footing was on the ice and he began to slide. I reached out. He was a large man, quite tall and solid for his size. I couldn't support him, but I must have lent him enough of something to grab on to until his feet found purchase, for he righted himself without taking us both to the ground.
Noise distracted us, a heaving, stamping, and clattering, accompanied by barking and baying, as his horse scrambled on the ice, with the dog running and making a to-do all around him. The stranger urged me out of the way. I stood back and watched, but did not remove myself from the scene. Still no sign of the vampyres, but I sensed them lying in wait. The horse managed to rise and the dog was silenced with a "Down, Pilot!"
The traveller stooped and felt his foot and leg, as if trying whether they were sound. Apparently something ailed them, for he halted to the stile whence I had just risen and sat down. Sure enough, the two vampyres bolted from their hiding places, one gripping me by the waist, the other fighting off the dog, who was no willing victim now that he was aware of the danger. Pilot charged full force at his assailant.
129
"Don't move and you might live," the man holding me tightly against him whispered in my ear. His breath, surely fetid, heated my neck, but happily I could not smell him through the chill night air.
Live? For another few minutes, perhaps, if I gave in as easily as all that. I elbowed him in the gut, sharp and without restraint, and he recoiled. Before he could recover, I spun around and performed a jumping kick move that Miss Temple had demonstrated with such grace. My skirts flew out awkwardly. I lacked her elegance, but the kick was effective just the same, knocking him to the ground, dazed. I wasted no time in raising my stake and driving it home through his chest. He burst into a fine dust that wafted like smoke in the night breeze.
"If you are hurt and want help, sir, I can fetch someone either from Thornfield Hall or from Hay," I said absently to the lone traveller while looking after what might have become of his dog.
"Thank you. I shall recover. I have no broken bones, I think." He now broke off and groaned as he no doubt tried to move his leg. "Only a sprain."
I spied his dog then, tearing flesh in a zombielike frenzy from the vampyre pinned under him. Of course, it didn't kill the vampyre, but it must have occasioned some pain. The creature struggled to protect his face with his hands. It made it most convenient to reach around to the side of the large, furry beast atop him and jab him right through the rib cage. Strangely, I gave him a solid stab, but he didn't burst. With the vampyre thrashing about to avoid the jaws of the attacking dog, I must have missed. I tried again. Poof! Success. The dog shook the bit of cloth left in his teeth, then groaned as if wondering what had become of his opponent. Still, being a dog, he simply shook his head and trotted quite happily away, back to his master's side.
I crossed the road back to the traveller as well. I hazarded to get close to see what was wrong with his leg, which he still examined with such concentration as to be apparently oblivious of all that
130
had gone on around him. He stood up and tried his foot, but the result extorted an involuntary "Ugh!"
The moon was waxing bright, I could see him plainly. His figure was enveloped in a riding cloak, fur-collared and steel-clasped. Its details were not apparent, but I traced the general points of some height and considerable breadth of chest. He had dark, wild hair framing a tanned face with stern features and a heavy brow. His eyes and gathered eyebrows looked ireful and thwarted. He was past youth but had not reached middle age. He might perhaps be thirty. Though I had no fear of vampyres, I had expected to have some uneasiness around men. Yet I felt no fear of him, and but little shyness. Had he been handsome in the more classic sense, a heroic-looking golden god of a young gentleman, I should not have dared to stand thus questioning him against his will, and offering my services un-asked. I had hardly ever seen a handsome youth and had never in my life spoken to one.
If even this stranger had smiled and been good-humoured to me when I addressed him, had he thanked me for my heroic actions in saving his life, I should have gone on my way and not felt any vocation to renew inquiries. But the frown, the roughness of the traveller, and his ignorance to the general chaos in his midst intrigued me. He set me strangely at ease while making me want to stay, even to annoy him with my offer to help. I retained my station when he waved to me to go.
"I cannot think of leaving you, sir, at so late an hour, in this solitary lane, until I see you are fit to mount your horse." Besides, more vampyres might be on the way. I hadn't even imagined them out and about in the world and not safely confined at Gateshead, but here they were. I supposed there might be a great many of them waiting to take advantage of a steady diet of poor, working folk in an industrial town such as Millcote, or, for a treat, perhaps the sweet farmers from a village such as Hay.
He looked at me. "A young woman like you ought to be at home
131
yourself. If you have a home in this neighbourhood. Where do you come from?"
"From just below. I am not at all afraid of being out late when it is moonlit. I will run over to Hay for you with pleasure, if you wish it. Indeed, I am going there to post a letter." Better I, a studied young fighter of evil things, took the journey than one so oblivious of the dangers of the world as he.
"You live just below--do you mean at that house with the battlements?" He pointed to Thornfield Hall, on which the moon cast a hoary gleam, bringing it out, distinct and pale, from the woods, which by contrast with the western sky now seemed one mass of shadow.
"Yes, sir."
"Whose house is it?"
"Mr. Rochester's."
"Do you know Mr. Rochester?"
"No." I laughed a little for it sounded odd to live in the man's house and not know him. "I have never seen him."
"He is not resident, then?"
"No. Not for many months."
"Can you tell me where he is?"
"I cannot."
"You are not a servant at the hall, of course. You are--" He stopped, ran his eye over my dress, which, as usual, was quite simple: a black merino cloak, a black beaver bonnet; neither of them half fine enough for a lady's maid. He seemed puzzled to decide what I was. I helped him.
"I am the governess."
"Ah, the governess!" He rubbed his growth of beard, a dark stubble along his square jaw. "Deuce take me if I had not forgotten! The governess!"
My raiment again underwent scrutiny. In two minutes he rose from the stile. His face expressed pain when he tried to move.
132
"I cannot commission you to fetch help," he said, "but you may help me a little yourself, if you will be so kind."
"Yes, sir."
"Try to get hold of my horse's bridle and lead him to me. You are not afraid?"
"Of you, not at all. But of the horse? I have no experience. Let us see." I went up to the tall steed. I endeavoured to catch the bridle, but the horse was spirited and would not let me come near its head. I jumped when it snorted near me, and I laughed. I couldn't help it. To be afraid of a horse? How silly. I sobered and tried again, though in vain. I, who had killed vampyres, ended zombies, and conquered a bokor, was mortally afraid of a horse's trampling hooves. The traveller waited and watched for some time, and at last he laughed, too.
"I see," he said. "You might bring me to the horse instead. I must beg of you to come here."
I did.
"Excuse me," he continued. "Necessity compels me to make you useful." He laid a heavy hand on my shoulder and, leaning on me with some stress, limped to his horse. Having once caught the bridle, he mastered it directly and sprang to his saddle, grimacing as he made the effort, for it must have wrenched his sprain.
"Now," he said, releasing his underlip from a hard bite, "just hand me my whip. It lies there under the hedge."
I sought and found it, as well as the muff I had abandoned earlier as I hid along with it.
"Thank you. Make haste with the letter to Hay and return as fast as you can."
A touch of a spurred heel made his horse first start and rear, then bound away. The dog rushed in his traces. All three vanished.
"Like heath that, in the wilderness, the wild wind whirls away," I said into the night air. I took up my muff and walked on.
My help had been needed and, eventually, willingly claimed. I had given it. I was pleased to have done something. At least, I told myself, this was the reason for the fire in my veins, the tingle that
133
ran up and down my spine. The new face, too, was like a new picture introduced to the gallery of memory. Rough-hewn and masculine, it stood out from all the others. The dark whiskers, the bold line of his jaw, here was a man who was used to being in command. No doubt it was injury that rendered him oblivious. The pain must have been great. I imagined him capable of slaying scores of vampyres if left to his own devices, and in good health without injury. The idea of it was still before me in mind when I entered Hay and slipped the letter into the post office. I saw it as I walked fast downhill all the way home.
When I came to the stile, I stopped a minute, looked around, and listened, with an idea that a horse's hooves might ring on the causeway, and that a rider in a cloak, and a Newfoundland dog, might again show up. I saw only the hedge and a pollard willow before me, rising up still and straight to meet the moonbeams. I heard only the faintest waft of wind roaming fitful amongst the trees around Thornfield, a mile distant, and when I glanced down in the direction of the murmur, my eye caught a light kindling in a window. It reminded me that I was late, and I hurried on.
I did not like reentering Thornfield. To pass its threshold was to return to stagnation. To cross the silent hall, to ascend the dark-some staircase, was to quell the faint excitement wakened by my walk. I lingered at the gates, then on the lawn. I paced on the pavement. The shutters of the glass door were closed. I could not see into the house, and both my eyes and spirit seemed drawn from it to the sky overhead, a black sea absolved from taint of cloud. The moon ascended in solemn march. Little things recall us to earth; the clock struck in the hall. That sufficed. I turned from moon and stars and headed for the door, but something on the third story caught my notice. Was it Grace Poole sitting in the window, also lost in contemplation of the moon? It probably was, strange woman. Who knew what a waxing moon meant to her? I opened a side door and went in.
The high-hung bronze lamp suffused a warm glow on the staircase
134
that shone into the hall. Yet a light seemed to come from another direction. I followed the glow to see the great dining-room doors stood open and a genial fire burned in the grate, glancing on marble hearth and brass fire irons, and revealing purple draperies and polished furniture in the most pleasant radiance. It revealed, too, a group near the mantelpiece. I had scarcely caught it, and scarcely become aware of a cheerful mingling of voices, amongst which I seemed to distinguish the tones of Adele, when the door closed.
I hastened to Mrs. Fairfax's room. There was a fire there, too, but no candle, and no Mrs. Fairfax. Instead, all alone, sitting upright on the rug, and gazing with grav
ity at the blaze, I beheld a black-and-white, long-haired dog.
"Pilot?" I said, remembering its name. He got up, came over, and started sniffing my skirts. I caressed him, checking the bite marks on his neck, and he wagged his great tail. I rang the bell, for I wanted a candle.
Leah entered.
"What dog is this?"
"He came with master."
"With whom?"
"With master--Mr. Rochester--he is just arrived."
My heart stopped a second, then started racing. "Indeed! And is Mrs. Fairfax with him?"
"Yes, and Miss Adele. They are in the dining room, and John has gone for the surgeon. Master has had an accident. His horse fell and his ankle is sprained."
"In Hay Lane?"
"Yes, coming downhill. It slipped on some ice."
"Ah! Bring me a candle, will you, Leah?"
Leah brought it. She entered, followed by Mrs. Fairfax, who repeated the news, adding that Mr. Carter, the surgeon, had come, and was now with Mr. Rochester. Then she hurried out to give orders about tea, and I went upstairs to take off my things.
135
"Mr. Rochester." I repeated the name aloud as I changed in my room. All I could see was that rugged, masculine face. Mr. Rochester, indeed.
CHAPTER 16
MR. ROCHESTER, IT SEEMED, by the surgeon's orders, went to bed early that night and stayed in bed late the next day. When he did come down, it was to attend to business. His agent and some of his tenants had arrived and were waiting to speak with him.
Adele and I had to vacate the library. While Mr. Rochester remained in residence, it would be in daily use as a reception room for callers. A fire was lit in an apartment upstairs, and there I carried our books and arranged our future schoolroom. I discerned over the morning that Thornfield hall was a changed place. No longer silent as a church, it echoed every hour or two to a knock at the door, or a clang of the bell. Steps, too, often traversed the hall, and new voices spoke in different keys below. A rill from the outer world was flowing through it, and I loved it. Though, for my part, I would have liked it even better had I got to play a more active role. It seemed vampyres seldom came so close to Thornfield.
Jane Slayre Page 14
