by Luccia Gray
Practical, household affairs also improved. The food was much better, because Mrs. Kirkpatrick employed a new cook and made sure the meals were varied and to our liking. She always asked us what we preferred as she prepared the weekly menu. More servants were employed and the whole house was open and cleaned regularly, because Mrs. Kirkpatrick said she didn’t like locked rooms in a house. She also made sure our weekends and holidays were complete with scheduled activities such as reading the Bible and the classics, horse riding, music and singing. Helen loved outdoor activities and sport, so Michael promised he’d teach her to swim. She also begged to learn how to dance, but her mother said that would have to wait at least two years, when she would go to finishing school in Cheltenham, while I was at Oxford.
Mrs. Benson was appointed a new young girl to help her in Cove Cottage, which was a much-needed improvement, although it meant Helen and I had to be more creative about finding ways to be alone together. I was sure Betty had been given strict orders by Mr. Kirkpatrick to watch over us. But it didn’t matter, because I knew I’d marry Helen as soon as her parents authorised the wedding. When we were at home, we spent almost all day together. We had breakfast, lunch, and dinner side by side; we studied, read, rode, and strolled along the beach together every single day. There were plenty of secret passages and hideouts at Manderley. I had the advantage that I knew them all. Some were easy to find, but others would be kept secret from Mr. and Mrs. Kirkpatrick, at least until we married, or were officially engaged. I didn’t dare risk Helen’s stepfather’s wrath.
***
Chapter XXIX – The Light and the Darkness
1870 was a hard year for us all. The agony commenced on the 9th of June when Mr. Dickens died quite suddenly. He had expressly requested a private funeral, so Michael and I were not able to attend. The date and place had been kept a secret, but Mr. Collins was kind enough to inform me that he would be buried in Poets’ Corner at Westminster Abbey, in the early morning of June 14th. When we arrived the following day, the spot chosen for his eternal rest, under the statue of Shakespeare and next to the great Handel, was covered in flowers and tears, and the grave remained open for the many mourners who paid their last tribute to such a great man.
Mr. Dickens’ character had been such an extraordinary combination of intellectual and moral integrity that it was impossible not to venerate him. I had no doubt that we had lost the foremost Englishman of our age, and I had lost an exceptional friend. He was a literary genius, as well as the kindest and most generous person I had ever known. I was so upset that I spent the next day in tears, walking along the cobbled streets where he had taken me, supported by Michael. Mr. Collins came too. I had a lump in my throat for days, which wouldn’t allow me to eat or sleep.
If he hadn’t encouraged me to write The Asylum and brought my case to the attention of Lord Shaftsbury and parliament, I might have been obliged to return to the Retreat. As a result of Mr. Dickens’ intervention, Michael had been asked to sit on a Select Lunacy Committee in the House of Lords with an aim to modify the manner in which sane persons could be detained in asylums. Lord Shaftsbury had also asked Michael if he was prepared to take part in the education reforms Gladstone’s government was dedicated to promoting. Michael was not fond of London, but he was becoming used to his monthly visits for Select Committee meetings.
Michael’s pilchard business was coming along very prosperously. He had negotiated with the admiralty for a contract to supply the Royal Navy with canned fish. He was always very busy and made me feel so proud. I missed him when he was away, but he was so loving when he was at home that I really couldn’t bring myself to complain. Michael had invested part of the profits in education by offering scholarships to grammar schools and colleges. I had also donated most of the profit from The Asylum to making Grimsby Retreat one of the most modern and well-equipped asylums in England.
Our marriage had been blessed by the birth of James, who was a cheerful, clever and obedient child. Michael adored our son. He read stories to him even before he could speak. Later, he taught him to read and found time to play with him every day. Michael was also very caring with Helen and considerate with Max, who admired him greatly. They chatted for hours about politics, and although Max’s father was very much a Conservative, Michael was making young Max into a staunch Liberal.
I soon realised that Helen and Max would make a happy couple. Helen enlivened his moody character, and Max appeased her nervousness. I could imagine how their mutual respect would lead to a happy union. At first, Michael and I worried about their close friendship. Max was five years older than Helen, and they were so obviously in love that we didn’t know how much longer we would be able to keep them from intimacy. Fortunately, they were both away during term time. Helen had promised me she would complete her two years at Cheltenham Ladies College before she made any decisions regarding her future; Michael had made Max promise he would finish his studies at Christ Church, but as we suspected, they asked for permission to marry as soon as Helen was eighteen and Max was twenty-three. His father had indeed predicted his son’s future accurately. They now had a lively little girl, whom they called Beatrice, and Manderley was once more alive with the cries of a baby and the bustle of nannies, parents and grandparents fussing over her.
Children are indeed a blessing, and Michael and I were overjoyed with our grandchild. Michael said he hoped we would have many more.
My cousins Mary and Diana had written a letter, in an attempt to justify their actions while I was an outlaw. It wasn’t an apology, and I couldn’t bring myself to forgive them for the way they had treated Michael. I replied telling them I couldn’t understand or forget their cruel behaviour towards us. I haven’t had news from them since. However, Michael had heard that the admiral had died and Diana had moved to Wales with Mary, whose husband was bedridden after a stroke. I was glad they had each other for mutual support during their difficult times.
I took over Manderley, easily and willingly. It was such a beautiful house that it was a pleasure to run. I never imagined my life would be filled with so much light and love, and I thanked God every day that I had found Michael and Helen, and that James was born, because they had given me a second chance of happiness.
The following years were busy, but peaceful. I wrote the second and third part of The Asylum, describing the lives and vicissitudes of some of the inmates after their release. They were very successful. People like to read about hopeful situations, second chances and happy endings, and although I’m not convinced they always exist, I’m sure it’s worth believing in and aiming for a better life for each one of us.
We visited Westminster Abbey every year to place one of the many wreaths on Mr. Dickens’ gravestone, and spent some days with Adele, Mr. Greenwood, Susan and Dante. Shortly after our visit on the third anniversary of Dickens’ death, we received news of Adele’s accident. She had been run over by a carriage. We returned to London and found the best physicians, with Harry’s advice, but they all convened that they would have to partially amputate her leg, so she would be confined to a wheelchair. She seemed in good spirits when we had last seen her in June, but the following Christmas, her wound reopened and the doctors were unable to stop the bleeding. She died of a haemorrhage on the second of January, 1874. Mr. Greenwood informed us that her desire had been to rest in the family vault with her father, so we all returned to Eyre Hall for the first time since John and Annette’s wedding.
When I remembered the wretched, broken woman who received Richard Mason’s visit almost nine years ago at Eyre Hall, I couldn’t believe I had been allowed to be transformed into a new woman, with an extraordinary home, an adoring husband, two wonderful children and a granddaughter.
Yet sometimes, as I sat at my desk, I cried for Mr. Dickens and for Adele, who left us when they were too young, and for Mr. Greenwood, Susan, Dante, John and Annette, who are enduring discontentment in their lives, and I remembered Bacon’s wise words - in order for the light to shine so brightl
y, the darkness must be present.
Happiness cannot be everlasting. I cried bitterly for Michael and myself. One of us would have to attend the other’s funeral. I selfishly prayed it would not be me, because I would never be able to smile at the sun or gaze at the moon with joy, if Michael were not by my side. I knew he would suffer without me too, and I knew that he would probably be the widower, due to our age difference, so I made Helen and Max promise they would look after Michael and James when I died.
I had never seen such a bleak house as Eyre Hall, or at least so it seemed to me. A dark silence seemed to cover the rooms like a heavy blanket, and the trees whispered agonising cries. Annette’s face was pale and drawn, and my son had aged a decade. I wondered why they were so discontented, but did not dare ask. Susan, who was expecting her fourth child, also looked very depressed; although Mr. Greenwood suggested that his daughter-in-law was suffering from melancholy, we all knew about her financial and marital problems. I congratulated myself on my wonderful, doting husband, whom I loved more each day that passed.
I was heartbroken by Adele’s death, but I never imagined this visit to Eyre Hall would change our lives once again so unexpectedly.
***
Chapter XXX – Return to Eyre Hall
Eyre Hall, January 1874.
“So, the little imp has had a little imp of her own,” I said, smiling at my sister, who had indeed become a handsome woman. The last time I had seen her, seven years ago, she was a plain little waif, who hid behind our mother’s skirts.
Helen glared back at me and raised her chin before replying. “Your niece is called Beatrice.”
I wasn’t sure when she was a child. My mother wasn’t herself at the time. She would have bought any story Michael had told her, but looking at Helen now I had no doubt that she was my mother’s daughter. Her hair, her eyes, and her demeanour were a perfect replica of my mother.
The man I supposed was her husband moved towards me with a menacing scowl. He was a tall, gentlemanly type, well-dressed and clearly well-bred. I had heard young Mr. de Winter had inherited a grand estate and a fortune.
Michael grabbed his arm before Helen’s husband reached me. “Ignore him, Max. He’s an idiot who’s not worth our time.”
I wouldn’t mind letting off some steam with either of them, even if I ended up with a bruised eye. It would be worth the fun, and just watching my mother’s distress would be an appreciated reward.
“Hello Beatrice,” I said, wiggling my finger at the baby in the pram. Then I looked at Helen. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your husband, sister?”
Michael stepped forward with a furrowed brow. I knew he’d pick up the gauntlet. I’d be able to have some fun after all. “I won’t let you upset your mother, John. She’s troubled enough with Adele’s death. Show her some compassion, for once.”
Perhaps I could still persuade him to fight with me. “Afraid I’ll beat you down again, are you, Michael?”
“You did not beat him fairly.” My sister walked up to Michael and put her hand through his arm. “I was there. Michael wouldn’t fight you and you took advantage of that in a cowardly way.”
He had refused to fight back, making the excuse that a fight would upset my mother. He was a cunning bastard. “We’ll never know what would have happened, will we?” I replied, challenging Michael, but he shook his head and turned to walk away with Helen.
“In any case, it did the trick. It brought my mother to her knees before you.”
Michael swung round and grabbed my lapels. “Your mother will always be on a pedestal when she is with me, and you know it, so don’t provoke a fight you know you’ll lose.”
I laughed. “I know no such thing.”
This time it was Max who pulled him away. “Let’s go, Michael. Jane’s waiting for us in the drawing room with Annette.”
“Go ahead, rush away,” I said.
Michael pulled away from Max, glaring at me. “After the funeral, John Rochester.”
“I’d be delighted, Michael Kirkpatrick.”
My mother and Annette walked out of the dining room with linked arms, holding handkerchiefs to their eyes. Michael rushed to my mother’s side, putting his arm over her shoulder and kissing her cheek. I knew it was a gesture meant to spite me.
The funeral was a miserable affair. We all loved merry, forthright Adele. She was never one to mince her words, but she always meant well. My father, who was also most probably her father too, as my mother claimed, hadn’t been fair to her, but she never held it against him. She said he had saved her from living as an orphan in Paris, so although he refused to allow her to use our surname, Adele Varens adored my father and was a loyal friend to my mother.
Adele was practically my second mother when I was a child. I loved her dearly when I was younger, and a small part of me wondered whether I could have been more caring towards her in the last years, but after my mother’s betrayal, I found it impossible to feel affection for anyone in the family who didn’t hate Michael Kirkpatrick. Even though I couldn’t summon the love I should have felt, it filled me with hope and contentment that so many other people cried her loss in an honest manifestation of their appreciation. I was sorry, for once, that I couldn’t love someone who deserved to be loved, so I feigned pain, which wasn’t too hard as I watched that servant embrace my mother.
Adele had been confined to a wheelchair for the last year, after she had been run over by a carriage. They had had to amputate most of her left leg, but the wound refused to heal properly. My mother spent a fortune on the best doctors, until one night, Adele bled to death. Her husband told me she was as white as a sheet, without a single drop of blood left in her body, and although he was devastated, he confessed that her last months had been full of pain and misery.
Mr. Greenwood’s son, the drunken and worthless painter Dante, and daughter-in-law Susan, stood by the broken man. Michael kissed his sister and shook hands with Dante. Brother and sister had fallen out when I told Michael that Susan had betrayed him by telling me where he had been hiding with my mother, but they had made amends. Susan had apparently been looking after Adele, as well as her own children, while putting up with a worthless husband, and now she would have to look after her aged father-in-law. No doubt my mother was paying her well for her services. I didn’t trust her any more than I trusted her damned brother.
I watched my beautiful wife dry her tears in another pew, as far away from me as she could sit. I didn’t blame her. She didn’t deserve the person I had become, but we all knew who to thank for that. Michael had destroyed my family, and now it would all be his. I had thought about it for a long time, and there was no other solution to the family’s predicament.
The service ended and we all walked back towards the house, heads bent, most still holding back their tears. I wondered how many people would mourn my death. Probably not many if I were to die at this moment. Why didn’t I care?
I approached my mother and told her I needed to speak to her, Michael, Helen and her husband at once, in the library.
They all sat as I paced the room, wondering where to start. Annette held her hands firmly on her lap, her lips pursed and her expression stern. She hated me, although probably not more than I deserved, but it was still painful to watch. We could have been happy, but I had an unavoidable duty to this land and an agonising grudge, as well as an empty space in my soul which no one could fill, not even the woman I still loved.
Annette had agreed to let me speak on her behalf. I stopped pacing and stood in front of my audience. “You’ve probably noticed that Annette and I are no longer living as husband and wife,” I said and waited for them to digest the news.
“I’m afraid it hasn’t worked out between us. We had two wonderful years, doing our best to procure an heir for Eyre Hall and the Rochester Estate, but the happy event never took place. Perhaps if we had had a son, or even a daughter, things would have been different, but we didn’t, couldn’t, and our marriage suffered as a result.”
Annette sat still as a statue, while the others fidgeted and looked uneasily at each other, waiting for me to continue.
“Annette tried to convince me that it didn’t matter, but I knew an heir was vital.” I paused to look at her. “And I had to know if I could father a child.”
Annette’s face reddened with rage, or perhaps it was pain? In any case, she was silent, as she had promised.
“So, I sowed my seed far and wide, in the hope of proving to myself that I could father a child.” I chuckled. “And do you know what?” I looked at my mother’s shocked face before continuing. “Not one of my mistresses had a child.”
My mother’s eyes pierced me. She wasn’t angry. She was devastated. I had failed her yet again. “John, you should never have been so disrespectful to your wife.”
“You are right, Mother.” I turned to Annette. “I’m sorry if I caused my wife distress, but I had to know.”
Annette moved at last. She wiped her tears and my mother rushed to her side, taking her hand.
“Why do you want us to know this?” asked my mother.
“Because it is of utmost importance to all of you, as you will soon learn.”
Helen also moved to Annette’s side, putting her arms around her. Mother and daughter, both so empathetic and caring. No wonder they were so easy to fool.
“I cannot have any children and we are no longer in love.” I paused after the lie. We were still in love, but her abhorrence and my insecurities had prevailed. “So the only logical course of action is to terminate our marriage.”
Michael held my stare and spoke. “You have no need to inform us of anything regarding your marriage. This is a private matter and should remain between the two of you.”
“I’m afraid it affects all of you. You see, I have decided to leave England. I’m returning to Boston, where I plan to start a new life. I have been offered a position at the School of Divinity. Eyre Hall is no longer my priority.”
