by Luccia Gray
“No, I am not, because I am not ‘one of them’ or ‘one of us’, I am ‘one of me’.”
She had picked up a pan, which she was beating against my back. “One of me? What the hell’s one of you? You’re not worth the bread you eat. You ungrateful rat!”
I was on the floor by then, and she was still knocking the pan on my back.
“I would rather be one of ‘her’ than one of ‘you’ any day.”
“Don’t you dare answer me back or correct my grammar. You’d be dead in a ditch if I hadn’t kept you, do you hear me? Nobody wanted you because you ain’t nothing to nobody. You’re just a useless brat!”
“You’re nasty and spiteful. I hate you!” I could feel my head splitting as she pulled my hair and lifted me to my feet. Drops of blood from my head trickled down my neck.
“I knew we never should’ve come here! Look what you’ve become!” She pushed me into the long, narrow pantry behind the door and locked me in.
“Please let me out!” I banged on the door. “I can’t breathe!”
I opened my eyes as wide as I could, but I couldn’t see a thing. I heard the familiar scratching in the storeroom, and screamed again. “Please open the door! There are mice and it’s dark!”
“Who do you think you are, eating the same food as the masters and wearing the same clothes? You’re no better than a filthy street urchin!”
I twisted the handle, kicked, and pounded the thick wooden door. “You are worse than Eve, who ruined us all, and even worse than Delilah. You will end up like Jezebel!”
She didn’t reply. I was alone in the dark cupboard. The cut hurt and the pain was sharp. I wiped the dripping blood with my dress sleeves and cried helplessly. More blood trickled from my bruised knuckles as they smashed on the unyielding door. My chest was heaving uncontrollably, and I was sure I would die if someone didn’t open the door soon.
I must have fainted. I was dragged out of the room and hugged by someone who smelled of scones and jam. I looked up at a friendly, worried face.
“What’s she done to you?” Beth shook her head as she washed my face with a cloth. I put my hand to my hair and felt the warm, sticky blood on my hands.
“Why did she do this? Whatever got into her?” She hugged me and wiped my hands.
“That woman’s got a short temper,” said Simon. “She’s a good match for Mason. He gives her what she deserves. Bitch.”
“Simon, be careful what you say. She’s her mother after all.”
“Some mother. I ‘ad a mother like ‘er too. Hope she’s in Newgate or ‘anged.”
“Don’t cry, Nell. She won’t do it again. Simon, go and tell Mrs. Mason what’s happened.”
“What good would that do? Mrs. Mason’s in her own little world, ain’t she? She don’t give a fig about any of us no more,” said Simon.
“You’re right. Since Mr. Rochester died and Michael left, she ain’t been herself,” said Beth nodding at Simon.
“Then she married that mean swine, who causes havoc whenever he’s here and she don’t care. We’ll have to look after Nell ourselves, Beth.”
“Perhaps you’re right, Simon, but Jenny needs to be put in her place. Fancy bashing up your own daughter like that. It ain’t right.”
“It was my fault. I am a horrible, ugly and ungrateful person.”
“Don’t you say that again, Nell. You’re a beautiful girl, and no–one ain’t got no right to treat you like this.”
I hugged Beth and could not help giggling. “No–one has got the right to treat me like this, you mean.”
“Good for you, Nell. You’re clever, and pretty. Mrs. Mason will look after you. You won’t be a servant like us, working fourteen hours a day.”
Simon interrupted sternly. “If Jenny does this again, I’m telling Mrs. Mason. I don’t care what you say, Nell. It ain’t right. Mrs. Mason needs to start finding out what’s going on at Eyre Hall, or there’ll be trouble. Mark my words.”
Beth whispered something in Simon’s ear. He kissed her and squeezed her waist, and she giggled and said, “Later.” I thought they made a lovely couple. They were always laughing and holding hands. Simon was slow and clumsy, but kind, and Beth was clever and impatient, but affectionate. They were happy and well–matched. I wondered if they would marry and leave Eyre Hall, or stay on like Cook and Joseph. I prayed they would stay.
“Simon, bring me the tub, and put some water on the stove, we’re going to give Nell a proper bath, aren’t we, miss? I’ll plait your hair and then you’ll wear your pretty Sunday dress. How’s that for a treat?”
I cried again as I threw my arms around her neck and pressed my lips onto her warm and fleshy cheek. “Thank you, Beth.”
“We can’t let madam see you like this, can we?”
“Beth, there are mice in the pantry. I heard them scratching and screeching.”
“For crying out loud! Simon, filthy rats again. We won’t never get rid of ‘em. Get some more arsenic when you go into Hay, we’ve run out. Cook’ll go berserk if she finds out.”
I told Mrs. Mason I had slipped down the stairs, because I had a bruise on my cheek, a bump and a bandage at the back of my head, and scraped knuckles. She was very upset and said I could have some extra pudding. I wished she could be my mother. I would never ever answer her back or be cheeky to her.
After dinner, we walked outside to see the full moon. Mrs. Mason said it was a magical night. She assured me that full moons cast light on our troubles and bring us our hearts’ desires. She invited me to make a wish, which I should never disclose, until it came true. I made my wish, although I knew it would never happen. I was glad that she was in higher spirits, at last. I wondered what she had wished.
***
Chapter III – Annette Receives John’s Letters
The last few months had been quiet at Eyre Hall; my uncle had returned to Jamaica after the wedding, Adele was still in Venice with Mr. Greenwood, and I had not seen or heard from John since the end of the summer, when he returned to college. Jane had been busy editing the final version of her novel, and was much recovered from her malady, which I guessed was no longer physical. She seemed melancholic; at times it was as though she was silently wasting away. Fortunately, Nell, with her bright and merry character, was often able to bring a smile to Jane’s face.
I had been glad to return from finishing school in Belgium at the beginning of the summer. I had not enjoyed my stay in Brussels, and strangely, I was looking forward to returning to Eyre Hall. I had never expected to feel so at home in this grand, lonely house, but I did. I enjoyed walking about the grounds with the dogs, and wandering around the house. I imagined how my mother must have felt when she first arrived. She must have had difficulty adapting to the chilly dampness and would have missed the fresh, sharp sea breeze, as I did, but now it seemed so familiar and safe. The sturdy walls protected me as much as they had imprisoned my poor mother, Bertha Mason Rochester.
There was no attic at Eyre Hall, but I often walked up to Jane’s tower room, and gazed out of the window, over the hills, where I guessed busy Millcote lay, and I wondered if my mother had had the same view, but of course, she had been a prisoner in a windowless room, where I was born. Perhaps that was why I couldn’t bear any type of confinement. I longed to see the sky and smell fresh air, at all times. Could a baby remember such early events? Could I remember my mother’s appearance if I tried hard enough? Sometimes I thought I saw her face peering at me as she swirled her brown dress amidst the tree trunks. She would have danced even in confinement. I was sure she wore a brown dress, and her face was ugly and twisted like the knots on the trees, but she smiled at me. She was glad I had come back. I would not feel so comfortable here if she were not pleased with my presence.
I had been to the parish cemetery and wandered around the tombstones reading the names, dates of birth and death, and farewell lines from the Bible. The Rochesters had a great vault inside the church. I had often observed the marble tomb and the kneeling angel who guarded them
. The first Rochesters to be buried were Damer de Rochester, slain at Marston Moor in 1644, during the civil wars, and his wife Elizabeth, over two hundred years ago. I wondered what it would feel like to know where my ancestors lay and what their names were.
My mother’s remains, on the other hand, lay outside the church, on the edge of the graveyard, below a blank tombstone. I often went there and prayed for her and for myself, on my own. Once, Jane had taken a longer than usual walk with Nell, and saw me sitting by the empty stone.
“Annette, come back with us, my darling, you’ll catch your death of cold sitting there, on the damp ground.”
“Yes, Mrs. Mason,” I answered head bent, tearing myself away from my mother’s side.
“It would please me if you were to call me Jane, Annette.”
I nodded and walked back to the house with them, wondering if she had asked me to call her by her Christian name because she had become fond of me, or because she did not like to be addressed by my uncle and mother’s surname.
She surprised me by saying, “I’ll have to speak to Mr. Woods about the headstone. We shall go to Millcote and order a stonemason to cut a marble slab with your mother’s name on it, and her date of birth and death. Would that please you, Annette?”
Her offer brought a lump to my throat and a sting to my eyes. I could not reply, so she spoke again. “We can go next week. You need some new dresses, and so do I. I have lost weight, and you need to look like the young and fashionable woman you are. We will go on Thursday. It is when Mrs. Spark, the dressmaker, is in the store.”
Jane did not seem to expect an answer. She was obviously aware of my distress. She turned to Nell who was asking her the names of the flowers and trees, which Jane patiently told her. They picked various leaves and Jane suggested they dry the flowers and the leaves, and stick them in a notebook with their names. I marvelled at her patience and affection towards Nell. It was such a pity Jane had never had a daughter of her own, and that Nell should have such an unsuitable mother. Jenny Rosset was so obviously my uncle’s whore, and probably anyone else’s if they were prepared to pay her charges. I disliked her enormously, and could not understand why she had ever been employed at Eyre Hall. Fortunately, she spent most of her time sewing below stairs, except when she was summoned to my uncle’s chamber.
I wondered if Jane would have cared for me, if I had stayed at Eyre Hall, as she cared for Adele. Could she have loved me? Did she read my mind? When we arrived back in the house, she turned to me again and spoke softly. “Annette, my dearest, I’m very glad you are here at Eyre Hall with me. Remember, this is your home now.” She squeezed my hand. “Will you join us for tea in the library?” I nodded and followed them into the cosy room.
Although we had been living in the same house for almost six months, I rarely saw Jane, who spent most of the time in her room reading with Nell, or writing her novel. We occasionally had lunch or dinner together, but she seldom spoke, and ate barely enough to nourish a sparrow.
At the end of the summer, she had asked me to take care of household matters, such as menus and dealing with the staff, especially weekly meetings with the imposing Mrs. Leah. I had agreed because it was the least I could do to return her kindness to me. In any case, Mrs. Leah ran the household more effectively than I ever could. Our regular meetings were a mere formality.
I had longed to be back at Eyre Hall was because I would be seeing John once again. My feelings for John had deepened. He was in my thoughts often, but I did not know how he felt. We had become very close during the summer, but he told me once again when he left, that our only relationship could be as close relatives. He would soon be master of the Rochester estate, and he had to marry according to his mother’s wishes. I understood his loyalty, although it pained me greatly. On the other hand, although my uncle had assured me Mr. Rochester was my father, I was almost sure that it was a lie. If he had already met Jane, why would he have a child with my mother, the lunatic he had locked in his attic?
It often plagued me that I would never know who my father was, but I knew he had to be a wicked man. Who else would violate a helpless, mad woman in a cold, damp attic, and abandon his daughter mercilessly? Indeed, I had no wish to ever meet such a man, but I did often wonder who he was. Could he have been a servant? An employee? An acquaintance? A casual visitor? A friend of Mr. Rochester’s? Who else could have had access to the attic?
My past was a mystery, and my future was uncertain. I could not marry the man I loved, so should I marry someone else? It would have to be a marriage of convenience to a man chosen by my uncle or Jane, because I would never fall in love again. Yet if I did not marry, what should I do? I used to enjoy teaching when I was at Saint Mary’s Convent in Jamaica. Jane would have liked me to be involved in the parish schools in or near the Rochester estate, but I was no longer interested in teaching. I realised I must do something to fill my days, but what? I would like to have children of my own, and be the mother I never had, but would I be a good mother?
Last night I saw John from my window. He had returned to Eyre Hall for the Christmas holidays. I had not heard from him since the summer. Not a letter, not a visit, not even to see his mother. I supposed he was too busy getting on with his own life to worry about his family at boring Eyre Hall. I had already retired to my room when he arrived, and although I longed to rush down and greet him, I realised it would not be appropriate, so I tossed and turned in my bed all night and rushed down to an early breakfast the next morning.
As I expected, I was the first to sit at the breakfast table. Fred brought in eggs, toast, and bacon. I asked for some of Cook’s cakes and tea. My stomach was too full of butterflies to be able to make room for cooked food. John barged in, as he always did when he entered a room, before I had finished my tea. I stood up and he walked over to me, hugged me and kissed me on both cheeks as if he were very happy to see me. He was carrying a package in his hand, which he thrust into mine.
“I hope you’ve finished breakfast, because I’m afraid you’ll have to leave now, Annette.”
“Leave?”
“These are your letters. I want you to go to your room and read them right now, at once! Then come down. I’ll be waiting for you in the drawing room.”
I looked down at the ribboned parcel, quite stunned.
“Hurry up! Before mother comes down.” Then he turned me around, pushing me towards the door. “And read them in the exact order they are placed. Ignore the dates they were written.”
I walked up to my room in a daze, sat at my bureau, undid the ribbon, and cast away the coloured paper which revealed a red velvet box with a golden key. I unlocked it and lifted the lid, revealing a small bundle of letters packed against the crimson silk lining.
Dearest cousin Annette,
I hope this letter, my sixth, finds you well. I have written to you every fortnight since we last spoke, in September. I am sorry that you have not received my previous letters, and neither will you be receiving this one yet, because it will remain in my possession, for the moment. This will be my last letter, for now. I will soon be giving all of them the freedom they deserve by offering them to you, their rightful owner.
I can hardly wait for the next two weeks to pass, because then we will meet again at Eyre Hall for Christmas. I have so many things I want to share with you. I discovered, as I think we both did, the last time we were together, that our affinity was unique. Ours is a union that is forged by our family ties and fortified by our exceptional connection. We will always be part of each other’s lives. Whatever happens, our futures are knotted, and that certainty makes me a very happy man.
You are more than a cousin, or a friend, and more than my betrothed. You are my conscience, my soul, and my mirror. I more than love you; I admire you and respect you, as I will never respect any other woman. I long to take your hand in mine, and look into your bewitching eyes, as you tell me all about your stay in Belgium and your plans for the spring, because I trust you will not be leaving Eyre H
all again. It will always be our home.
Your loving cousin,
John Eyre Rochester
I folded the letter and wiped the tear which had slipped down my cheek with the back of my hand.
My Dearest Annette,
Sometimes I dream, Annette. I dream that now that poor Elizabeth has died and I am free from my engagement, we could get to know each other better, after all, and decide whether our attraction was a passing phase or if we have real, lasting feelings for each other. Feelings which could grow into love and companionship. I know cousins are allowed a special licence for marriage, and if I was to propose and you were to accept me, then we could apply.
I would be master of Eyre Hall, and you would be the mistress. You would make a fine Mistress of Eyre Hall. We would have at least six children, boys and girls, some darker like you and my father, and some blonder, like my mother and me. The first boy would be called Edward, like my father, and the first girl, Jane, like my mother, but you will chose the names of all the others. Does that please you? Or would you prefer the first to be called like your father and your mother? You see, we are already having our first quarrel! I should love to have these arguments with you, and I should especially like to make up, after the disagreements.
I’m sure you are blushing now and that your eyes are bright with desire, as mine are, and I want to thank you for those unforgettable, intimate moments we have shared, which will always make our relationship special, whatever happens in the future.
I blushed at the memory of our closeness. We had had a great deal of time on our own. Jane was mostly writing, reading with Nell, or absent in her own world, and everyone else was away, so we had had plenty of time for excursions and privacy. John had showed me around Hay and Millcote, and we even went as far as York one day to visit the Minster. We kissed and cuddled, and more than once, I had pushed his insistent hands away from my most intimate secrets, for fear of going beyond propriety and losing my most valued treasure. He had said he would wait and made me promise that I should bestow my first and only gift to him, although I was unsure whether I would be able to keep such a scandalous promise.
