Midsummer at Eyre Hall: Book Three Eyre Hall Trilogy

by Luccia Gray

  When I returned just before sunset, she was still sitting by the window, looking at a vivid rainbow, which flooded the dark buildings with a warm evening tinge of colour. She turned, smiled and held out her hand. “Michael, look. Isn’t it beautiful?”

  I kissed her fingers before looking out over Ilfracombe, which did indeed seem the most beautiful sight I had seen for a long time. I knelt down by her side, still holding her hand. “Tomorrow, we shall go for a walk, Jane. Would you like that?”

  Her fingers trailed down my face. “Yes, Michael. I’d like that very much. I’m feeling quite stiff sitting here all day, in spite of the lovely view.”

  “I’ve brought you some bath oils, combs, hair clips, and perfume.”

  “Thank you, Michael.”

  “I’ve also bought you leather lace-up boots, a bonnet and a cape. I hope you like them.”

  “I’m sure I will. Show me.”

  “It’s not what you’re used to, but Ilfracombe is a very small town, and there’s no time for a dressmaker.”

  I brought them over and showed them to her by the light of the window.

  She smiled. “The boots are perfect.”

  I knew at once she didn’t like the cape or the bonnet. “I know you don’t like brown, but the only other colours were black or charcoal grey.”

  “The cape and bonnet look warm. It’s like a disguise. Nobody will recognise me.” She lay back on the armchair, sighed and rubbed her palms down the woollen blanket on her knees. That wasn’t a good sign. I knew it meant she was upset, as of course she had every reason to be.

  “Did you read A Christmas Carol?”

  “Yes, I did. I read the part about the Christmas past, that can’t be changed. It’s over and done. Then I read the Christmas present, and that’s all we can deal with, isn’t it? I didn’t read the ghost of the future, because instead I wrote a letter to Mr. Dickens. He has often asked me to contribute a serialised novel to his monthly magazine, and I’ve always declined, preferring to publish complete triple volumes, but I think I’ll try my hand at a serialised novel, this time. What do you think, Michael?”

  “I think that’s an excellent idea, Jane. I’ll have the letter sent from Bristol, just in case. Make sure you tell Mr. Dickens no one must know our whereabouts. If we’re caught…” I stopped. Her face contorted as if she were in pain and tears slid down her cheeks.

  I knelt down again, put my arms around her and begged her not to cry, promising everything would be all right. She held me tight and our tears mingled until they were almost dry.

  The following day it stopped raining, and we even had some sunny intervals. In spite of the piercing wind, we walked up a hill, one of the many to be found around Ilfracombe, surrounding the town like waves rising and falling, hill upon hill of green and red-brown slopes, and secluded valleys. When we climbed even those which seemed lowest, we came upon a rugged precipice and a sheer view over the furious black sea, which we had crossed a few days earlier. I was overjoyed when Jane ate another hearty meal on our return. I had reduced the drops she was taking, so she was less lethargic, and her appetite was improving.

  After our short stay in Ilfracombe, Jane was looking much better, but we had to move on. I bought a horse and wagon to drive us to St Ives. When I showed Jane the long, heavy vehicle, with two wooden benches, mostly used to transport goods, she covered her mouth and laughed. “Joseph would be so upset if he saw me riding this cart.”

  “I’m sorry, Jane. We don’t have much money, and that’s all I could manage with…”

  She took my hand and smiled. “Michael, thank you for rescuing me from the asylum. You saved my life, and I can never thank you enough. I don’t mind how we travel, as long as we’re together.”

  I realised she was overjoyed because she was free and alive, but I was sure the time would come when she’d miss the comforts of being the mistress of Eyre Hall and the Rochester Estate. “Jane, you deserve so much more.”

  “But Michael,” she waved at the sky, “this is so much more than I ever hoped for when I was chained in that dreadful basement. The colours of the sky and the sea.” She breathed in deeply. “It smells so clean and fresh. I love it. Thank you for bringing me here.”

  “We still have a long journey ahead. At least four days in this wagon.”

  She approached the animal, smoothing its untidy mane with her delicate fingers, and smiled. “The horse looks worse than I felt when we arrived.”

  I was relieved that she was recovering her sense of humour. “I imagine it’s had a hard life, pulling cartloads full of heavy goods for years.”

  “Well, let’s not tire it too much, then. We’re in no hurry. They’ll never find us here, on our way to Land’s End. I never imagined I’d travel this far. If I’d known Devon was so beautiful, I would have come before. I’m sure Cornwall is even more beautiful. King Arthur should know we’ll be visiting the land he so bravely defended against the Saxon invaders.”

  “We’ll love Cornwall. Blains was always talking about what a wonderful place it was, inhabited by the best people in England.”

  I tried to sound cheerful, but I was desperately worried about our future. I hadn’t seen Blains since I came back from my first voyage. I wasn’t even sure if he was still at St. Ives, or if he had returned to sea. I hoped his family would help us, although we would have to lie to them.

  Last night, I had told Jane our story. We were Mr and Mrs. Stewart, my mother’s maiden name, and we used to live in London, but Jane had suffered a miscarriage and the doctor had recommended some months by the sea, so we would be staying in Cornwall for a few months until she recovered.

  Jane nodded in agreement, but I was worried about her. Our life would no longer be as comfortable as we had been used to. The money Harry had lent me was fast running out. I hoped Blains would be able to help me find a job, and we would be living in a simple country house with no luxuries. I did not know how long this situation would continue. Probably for months, perhaps even years.

  Jane was more optimistic than I was. She said she was convinced we would be happy in our new life. She hoped we’d find a way to be united again with Helen. She was still convinced that her son would finally give in, after what had happened, but I feared John would never forgive either of us, especially as we had escaped yet again.

  I missed Jane. Even when I was with her, she was not with me. She was often lost in her thoughts, struggling with her nightmares and hiding from her demons. She hadn’t told me everything that had happened at the asylum. I could feel she was keeping something important from me.

  Jane’s health had improved. She had stopped taking laudanum and she was eating more, although she slept restlessly and often woke up with nightmares. It saddened me that she made excuses for not being close to me as we were before. She would stiffen when I told her I loved her and held her at night. Her kisses had become light pecks on my cheek, and her embraces were quick hugs. She never complained, or made demands, and although she didn’t seem discontented, she was never as cheerful, or enthusiastic, as she had been at Eyre Hall. She was becoming another, more distant person, like a candle whose light was slowly waning, and I didn’t know what to do to make her love me again. I was losing her, and I felt as if I were locked out of heaven.

  ***

  Chapter XII– Everything before Us

  We arrived at St Ives almost two months ago. The short January days rolled into February, which was now coming to an end. The nights were shorter, which was a blessing at first, but there were many more hours of daylight to occupy my wandering mind.

  My memory of our journey since Michael rescued me from Grimsby Retreat was scarce and patchy. There were many events I couldn’t remember, and when I asked Michael, he assured me my memories would return when I was ready. Perhaps he was right, but it made me feel as if I had lost part of me, and even if it was not a pleasant part, I’d like to remember what had happened. I was sure part of my tormented dreams were those very events trying to brea
k into my memory.

  I vaguely remembered my stay at Diana and Mary’s homes. I shuddered when I thought of Mr. Wharton’s cold hands pulling me out of the cab and away from Michael, and the admiral’s cruel warnings. I remembered the rainbow and the cliffs in Ilfracombe, but I wasn’t sure how I arrived there. From then onwards, my memory was more reliable, but even two months later, when I woke up in the mornings, I wondered where I was and why I wasn’t at Eyre Hall. At first, I thought I might be losing my mind, but then I became accustomed to the strange emptiness of not remembering.

  I was hardly ever hungry, but Michael and Shirley watched over every morsel I ate, making sure I didn’t miss a single meal. Shirley was Blains’ older sister. She lived with Blains, his wife Rose, and her mother Mrs. Delaney. She looked about my age and was unmarried. It seemed a pity because she would have made a wonderful wife and mother. She was plump and so very warm and friendly. She came to Primrose Cottage every morning to do the cooking and the housework.

  Michael would leave before breakfast to help Blains on his dairy farm, and came home for a late lunch; sometimes he’d go back in the afternoons. He was always home in the evenings, so I was never alone, which was good, because I was terrified that the people I saw in my dreams would really appear one day.

  Michael and Blains had worked very hard to make the cottage a comfortable home. It had been abandoned some years earlier by a local family, who moved to Bristol, so the rent was low. We stayed at the inn in Saint Ives, overlooking the sea, for the first fourteen days, while they repaired our new dwelling.

  The cottage had two small bedrooms and a large kitchen. The rest was one big room, a combination of hall, dining room, drawing room, and study, so we were always together, and it felt peaceful. It had a cosy fireplace, a dining table and four chairs, a writing desk, and a long couch with two smaller armchairs.

  The floorboards were polished and covered with several brown, furry rugs. There were hand-made cushions on the long couch, and some cross-stitch pictures and black and white prints on the walls. Shirley had made the curtains to match the couch covers. The cottage was pretty and clean, and I didn’t miss any of the luxuries of Eyre Hall.

  I should have been grateful and happy, but I wasn’t. Numbness would have described my state most adequately. I seemed to have lost part of my feelings, as if my mind couldn’t remember how to be happy, but I wasn’t discontented.

  Thankfully, I was able to fill many of my hours by writing The Asylum, the serialised novel I had been sending Mr. Dickens. When I was writing, I fell into a trance in which time flew by. I would sit by the window after breakfast, and when lunch was ready, it hardly seemed a few minutes had passed. I followed the same ritual after lunch and time disappeared again as I lit the candles and realised the evening was already falling. The days passed uneventfully, and although I felt exhausted when I went to bed, I couldn’t sleep. My back and shoulders ached, and my fingers were stiff from holding my quill, but my physical pains were not the worst.

  Sometimes Michael suggested going for a walk. He would help me put on my coat and bonnet, and hold my hand as we walked to one of the beautiful beaches. He would ask me if I liked the view, and I would nod. I knew it was a beautiful place, but it was like looking at a pretty portrait, which was dusty and faded. I didn’t tell Michael. He had enough to worry about. I had no idea how he was paying for the house, the food, or the maid, and I couldn’t bring myself to ask, because I didn’t care. Michael watched me patiently, when he wasn’t working with Blains, or busy fixing something around the cottage or in the yard, or stables. There was a garden, which would probably have flowers in spring, but at that time the ground was grey and barren.

  I dreaded sleep because it allowed the demons to take over my mind. I had nightmares every day; angry dragons with forked tongues invaded my dreams, terrifying me. Michael was kind and loving. He held me with strong arms and consoled me with soft words and caresses, but I didn’t respond. I knew I was being ungrateful, because I didn’t deserve his kindness, and he was trying his best to make me happy, but I wasn’t, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

  I began to feel restless. I needed to have a reason to leave the house, so I asked Shirley about the village school and we visited one morning. The teacher was a pleasant but untrained young girl. I offered my services as a French teacher and she was delighted. I started teaching mostly French two afternoons a week. I enjoyed being with the children, because it kept my mind off the asylum and reminded me of my humble origins. Shirley took me there or sometimes Michael would drive me in our old cart. When the weather was nice, I would walk; it wasn’t very far, and I enjoyed having some time to myself.

  I should have been grateful, and although Michael tried his best to make my life pleasing, I wasn’t happy. His arms wrapped around me at night didn’t comfort me and his kisses no longer pleased me like they used to. Unfriendly faces and ugly dragons with long, poisonous tongues, visited me every night in my dreams. I often woke up and couldn’t remember where I was. Sometimes I thought I was at Eyre Hall, before this nightmare began, other times I was in a cell at the Retreat. I missed Helen, and I felt guilty for making Michael work so hard and worry so much about me, but there seemed to be nothing I could do about it.

  I felt that I had failed everyone. My son hated me, the archbishop thought I was a madwoman, and my cousins had turned their backs on me. I had abandoned Helen and I knew nothing about Annette or Adele. Michael was overworked and worried, but the worst part was that although I knew I should be upset, I couldn’t bring myself to care.

  ***

  Chapter XIII – Epoch of Incredulity

  Susan. Camberwell, London.

  The first days of March had been windy, and today was no exception. I was in a cab, on my way to Adele and my father-in-law, Mr. Greenwood’s home in Camberwell. My brother, Michael, should have married Jane in December, but the wedding had been cancelled and none of us knew exactly what was happening at Eyre Hall, but Adele seemed to think it was bad news, so she had asked me to visit at once. I wasn’t surprised. My brother was a fool to think he could marry the mistress of Eyre Hall. I knew they would never accept him.

  The cab stopped at Adele’s house, which was larger and more lavish than mine, although they were only two, and we were three, Dante, little William and myself, plus there was another baby on the way. They also had more servants. I had to make do with a wet-nurse who also worked as nursemaid for my son, while they had two London maids who travelled in from the East End every day. And now they had Simon and Beth, who had left Eyre Hall, heavens knew why, and were working for Adele as live-in servants. She did occasionally lend me one of the maids, but she could have let me keep her full-time. She knew I didn’t have enough time for the housework, and I couldn’t cook.

  We were very short of money, and Dante wouldn’t listen. He spent his days at the academy painting nude models. He said it didn’t matter because he was an artist and appreciated their beauty, although he loved only me. Yet when I looked at my deformed shape, I wondered if he saw beauty there, because I didn’t. I had told him I didn’t want another child so soon, but he didn’t care and put his needs before mine. I dared not turn him away lest he should search for release elsewhere, so I submitted to his desires, and there I was, bulging again with a new baby I did not want and could hardly feed.

  Dante thought I exaggerated, but he didn’t have to pay the butcher and the baker, or ask Adele for money, now that Jane had stopped sending us an allowance. I couldn’t wait to find out what had happened at Eyre Hall.

  Jane seemed to have money to burn a few months ago, when they came to London. They bought little William heaps of clothes and presents. Jane insisted on furnishing the nursery and even buying him a rocking horse, when he can’t even crawl yet. She said William was her only nephew and godson, so she was prepared to spoil him silly. I hated to have to accept her charity and watch my brother drooling at her side. I had no idea what kind of spell she had cast
on him, but he was mesmerised. He couldn’t keep his eyes or even his hands away from her. It was disgusting the way they took advantage of any excuse to touch each other as if they were a young couple in love. Any fool could see he was just her plaything.

  When Simon opened the door, I asked him what had happened at Eyre Hall.

  “Dreadful things have happened, Susan, I mean Mrs. Greenwood. Dreadful things. I don’t know the half of it. We had to escape in the middle of the night.”

  “What do you mean? And my brother, where’s Michael?”

  “He’s in big trouble. They’re all in big trouble. The archbishop’s gone mad.”

  “What’s the archbishop got to do with anything?”

  “He said we had to sign, but we wouldn’t, so he chucked us out like two dogs in the middle of the night. They beat Joseph and frightened Cook, so they signed. Leah was in bed with fever, she don’t know how it happened. It’s like the devil’s taken over Eyre Hall. It must have been the Sin-Eater’s doing. I told Mrs. Mason not to speak to him. He’s cast a spell…”

  “Simon, what’s wrong with you? Stop rambling. I can’t understand a word you say. Where’s Adele?”

  He led me to the drawing room where Beth was serving tea. They had already started eating.

  “Susan, you’re late as usual,” said Mr. Greenwood, as charming as ever.

  “I couldn’t find a cab.”

  “I always tell you it’s quicker on foot. It’s only a fifteen minute walk.”

  “I’m feeling heavy with the new baby.”

  “A walk will do you good, my dear.”

  I smiled meekly. Just because he had nothing to do all day, didn’t mean I had time to walk around the filthy and windy streets of London.

  Adele approached me and brushed my cheeks with two kisses in the French style. I kissed her too, thinking she was such a snob.

  “How is your new pregnancy, Susan?”

  “I’m tired and heavy, as you can see.”

  “You look well to me. Sit down and have some cake.”