There followed a disturbing silence. Mr. Carter had put our situation in stark relief. I believe he surprised himself as well by being so bold. But he had no other option. Barring such an unhappy prognosis, Edward would of course have made the trip with me.
“Listen, my old friend.” Mr. Carter pitched his voice low and filled it with authority. “I, too, am a father. Your child will love you whether you can see him or not. However, if you miss the chance to behold your son, you will miss one of life’s great joys. I urge you, still that restless nature. A few days of enforced leisure sounds like an eternity, but I promise you, it is not. Besides, the specialist will not be available for another month.”
I watched my husband react to this advice. At first, Edward’s features contorted with emotion that betrayed the full measure of his helplessness. But slowly, the sensibility of Mr. Carter’s remarks moved him to acceptance. Mr. Carter did not speak out of pettiness. He spoke as a healer and a friend. Edward knew this. I did, too.
“Leah can go with you,” suggested Edward, turning toward me.
“No,” I reminded him, “she cannot. Her sister is having a baby this week or the next. I promised she could travel to Headley to assist.”
“You cannot make the trip alone.” My husband was not commanding me, but merely stating what to him seemed obvious.
“Of course I can. Remember that I was only ten when my aunt put me in a carriage bound for Lowood Institution, and that was a trip of fifty miles.”
“Lowood!” said Mr. Carter. “You must be grown from hearty stock to have survived such a miserable place!”
True. When I was sent to Lowood Institution, a “charitable” boarding school for girls, it was a blessing to be away from my cold aunt and cruel cousins. But the school was a dismal place, one that used the pretense of Christian charity as an excuse for deprivation. The Reverend Robert Brocklehurst, the supervisor of the school, attempted to explain away our starvation, poor living conditions, and harsh treatment by pronouncing such measures necessary for the sake of our characters. Yet while we starved, while we shivered in the cold, while we darned threadbare stockings to make them last, money intended for our care dressed the Brocklehurst family in fine clothes, fed them lavish meals, and decorated their home to their expensive tastes.
An epidemic of deadly typhus ran rampant through the school my first winter there—made all the more virulent, sadly, because the living conditions were dire and the occupants were weak—and though I escaped without contracting the foul disease, many others at Lowood were taken. Without those human sacrifices, we would have suffered even longer from the stern deprivations impressed upon us by Reverend Brocklehurst—for the resulting discoveries so horrified other wealthy and benevolent individuals that they paid to build us a new school in a better location, improved our diet and clothing allowances, and removed Reverend Brocklehurst from a position of authority.
“I can accompany you, Jane.” Mrs. Fairfax stood in the shadows of the portico into the hallway, her quiet intrusion startling all of us. Tendrils of ivy climbed up the lattice and wove their way down the other side. New leaves of soft green blended with the older, darker ones.
“Thank you,” I said to her, “but no. That is kind of you, but you are too dearly needed here. Earlier today you offered your help with our correspondence. There will be requests regarding Thornfield. They should be answered without delay. Master will appreciate your secretarial skills, and I know that no one would watch over Ned more closely than you. With you here, I can leave my son without worrying.”
This was a lie, and we all knew it. Of course I would worry. How could I not? My heart fluttered and my mouth went dry. I did not want to leave my son. I hated to leave my husband. But I could not accept Mrs. Fairfax’s offer. The gentle housekeeper was beyond middle age when I met her, and over the past year, she had moved more slowly and with more effort. A trip to London would be arduous, and I had no desire to see her suffer. Besides, she was accustomed to running a household and to Edward’s ways. With her here, I knew that neither of my boys would lack for anything.
“It is a long way,” Mrs. Fairfax said. “Are you sure you want to travel alone?”
For a tick, I nearly gave in. I nearly said that the visit would need to wait.
But as I stood there in the garden, torn between worry over Adèle and concern for my son and husband, Mr. Carter provided an answer to my dilemma. “My wife has been wanting to visit London. She could accompany Mrs. Rochester from Millcote. They can leave either Saturday or Sunday evening, depending on whether Mrs. Rochester would like to accompany us to church.”
Edward’s shoulders relaxed. Mrs. Fairfax let go of the breath she had been holding and with her gnarled hands smoothed the snowy muslin apron she always wore. My insides untwisted, slowly.
So it was settled.
I would check on Adèle.
I would go to London.
Once I made my decision, a frisson of excitement stirred within me.
London! I was bound for London!
In his youth, Edward had traveled to the capitals of Europe and farther, to the island of Jamaica. Oh, such wondrous sights he’d seen! But I had never visited beyond the local counties.
In my childhood, books of adventure had been my constant companions. I spent many solitary hours weaving fantasies about the great wide world. Of course, I had heard much of London and its various sights. I supposed that Mrs. Brayton would want to promenade in Hyde Park where all the ton, the high society, went to be seen. Perhaps we would visit Fortnum and Mason and shop for spices. Certainly, a grand lady like her would take me to visit a milliner so I could replace my much worn hat.
As I considered these options, there came the happy realization my trip would also permit me to visit Hatchards bookshop on Piccadilly. I could replenish our library and replace many of the volumes lost in the fire at Thornfield Hall! The prospect delighted me beyond words.
The library that had served Adèle and me as our schoolroom at Thornfield was now nothing more than a feathery pile of ashes. Gone were the floor-to-ceiling glass-fronted bookcases with their volumes of light literature, poetry, biography, travels, and romances. How I missed them! Especially at night when I read to Edward and Mrs. Fairfax, who often fell asleep to the sound of my voice with her knitting still in her hands.
This was a trip long overdue.
We could procrastinate no longer.
I was eager to see my former student—and London. But I hated to leave Ned and Edward!
My emotions warred against each other. I fought to keep my face from exposing my dilemma. This was a time for duty, not for indulgent sentiment.
“I will guard Ned as if he were my own son,” Mrs. Fairfax assured me, trembling with emotion.
I knew she meant it.
She inclined her head and added, “But Master is correct. You are not accustomed to the city. How will you cope without a chaperone?”
I nearly said, “Quite well,” but stopped my tongue lest she think me impertinent. “I shall have Mrs. Carter for companionship to London, and I will be in Mrs. Captain Brayton’s capable hands thereafter.”
Or so I hoped. I couldn’t imagine a society lady having any long-lasting interest in me. However, based on our husbands’ friendship, perhaps we would find common ground.
“This might work well. Lucy has been insisting you come for a visit. She is lonely in that big house.” With this, Edward laughed softly. “What a pair you will make.”
“Do you not think we shall get along?”
“On the contrary. I know you will. You are genuinely kindhearted. That’s one of the qualities I love about you. Lucy is also. Both of you are highly intelligent, although at first meeting one might be so dazzled by her finery that one might fail to see her wit.”
“Then it is settled.” Mr. Carter rose to his feet. “How long will it take you to pack, Mrs. Rochester?”
“I shall start preparations,” said Mrs. Fairfax. Over the next hour
, she bustled with activity, overseeing my efforts. But as she stared down into my portmanteau, a soft “tsk, tsk” escaped her.
“Pity your wardrobe is so plain,” the housekeeper said. “At least there are the newer dresses made from fabric you ordered from the warehouse in Millcote. They will have to do.”
I nodded. One frock was an amethyst that flattered my green eyes. The other, my favorite and the most recent, perfectly copied the jewel-like color of a glass of claret.
I tucked a well-worn copy of Waverley in my portmanteau, one of the few books at Ferndean—left behind, I presumed, by one of the Rochester men while on a hunting trip.
Reflecting again on the treasures I might find at Hatchards, I turned back to my packing. I added two pencils, a charcoal stub, and a vegetable gum rubber for removing stray pencil marks, along with my sketch pad, to my bag.
“You should pack one serviceable dress, too,” Mrs. Fairfax said. “Your black silk would be useful. Black always travels well.”
Finally, to the pile in the trunk, I added a gown of silver gray silk that I had worn only once. The frock featured a modest neckline that I could fill in with a frothy white fichu. Rather than waste time, I chose to continue wearing my gray corded muslin, an everyday dress that would withstand the rigors of travel and not show too much soil. As a final touch, I pinned on my pearl brooch, a token given to me by a beloved teacher, Maria Temple Nasmyth.
Mindful of the changeable autumn weather, I also carried over my arm a soft wool shawl that my cousins Diana and Mary had woven for me. The blanket of brown, maroon, gold, and orange provided a tangible expression of their love.
I twisted a golden key in the lock of the portmanteau, then pinned the key to the inside of my waistband.
On my dresser rested a card that would be hammered to the trunk lid.
MRS. JANE EYRE ROCHESTER
C/O CAPTAIN AUGUSTUS BRAYTON
#24 GROSVENOR SQUARE
LONDON
“You want a good bonnet,” said Mrs. Fairfax, lowering the trunk’s lid and nodding toward my well-worn chapeau.
“I do not own a more fashionable bonnet. My old one must do.”
“Jane, I know you prefer simplicity, but you now reflect on the Rochester name and fortune. Things are different in London. Appearances are everything! You won’t want to appear at Mrs. Brayton’s dinner table dressed too simply. Such a presentation might prove awkward. Why not take the Rochester diamonds with you? The pieces will add interest to your dresses and go a long way toward making up for any deficiencies of style.”
“I suppose you are right.”
After I had first agreed to marry Edward, he wanted to have his mother’s jewelry sent to us by courier from the bank in London, but I declined the offer. When described, the pieces sounded far too grand for me. Typically, I wore no jewelry except my gold wedding band, a recent gift from Edward, or the brooch from Miss Temple. That was enough for me.
Shortly after Ned was born, however, Edward revisited the subject of the Rochester diamonds. “Please, Jane, do not disappoint me. Allow me to properly thank you for giving me a son.”
The pieces had arrived a few days ago. Mrs. Fairfax had brought them to me as I sat rocking little Ned in the nursery. We opened the parcel together. The necklace, earrings, and circlet sparkled like dewdrops on the morning grass against the green velvet lining of the rosewood jewelry box. The sight of such opulence stunned me. “They are magnificent. Just as I remember them.” Mrs. Fairfax sighed.
I handed Ned to Hester and held the necklace up to the sunlight to see the multitude of prisms dance around the room. The pieces might be excessive for my tastes, but I could still admire their beauty and craftsmanship.
“Yes,” I said as I fought a lump in my throat. “They are dazzling.”
But Edward cannot see them, so what use are they? I thought.
With my portmanteau packed and ready to go, I retrieved the jewels and pondered how best to carry them.
“Why not put the jewels in your reticule?” Mrs. Fairfax handed me my purse. “That way they will stay close at hand.”
Following her suggestion, I tucked the velvet bag with the diamonds into my reticule with my wallet.
“I shall tell John to fetch your trunk.”
I thanked her and turned to Hester, who was holding Ned on one hip.
“Come here, little boy,” I said as I took my baby from the nursemaid’s arms. “My darling,” I cooed to him as I walked him around the nursery. He was nearly asleep, and I kissed him repeatedly before settling him down in his crib. “Save them up, little man. I shall be home before you know it, but I hope to deposit enough kisses that you won’t want for any until I return.”
For as long as I dared, I stood beside his bed, gazing in wonder at my sleeping child and stroking the peach fuzz of his hair. A quivering bubble of spit rested on his rosebud lips, and I wiped it away with my linen handkerchief. “Good-bye, my darling. I promise I shall come home soon.”
My breath caught and the room swam before my eyes. Had my mother whispered these selfsame words in my ear before she went to nurse my father? He had been the curate in a large manufacturing town and had caught typhus while ministering to the poor. My mother caught the fever from him. They died within a month of each other.
“I promise I shall come back to you,” I told Ned again with more feeling. I pressed a last kiss onto his rosy cheek and stood up, ignoring the growing pang in my chest.
Mrs. Fairfax accompanied Edward and me down the path leading to the grassy lane. Pausing there, I kissed my husband a tearful good-bye. Withdrawing from his embrace was nearly impossible, but I did it. Mr. Carter offered me his hand as I mounted the stone step and climbed into the doctor’s Stanhope Phaeton.
“I sent one of the stable hands on ahead to Millcote with a letter for Lucy,” my husband said. “A rider can outpace you in that carriage, easily. I told him that if he missed the mail pickup in Millcote, he was to hurry on to the next posting inn. The letter should arrive before you and alert her that you are coming. I shall tell her to expect you either Sunday or Monday.”
“Thank you.” My heart raced; my pulse thrummed loudly. Edward’s gaze reflected stoicism, but I detected a tension along his jawline.
He smiled at me, with effort. “Godspeed, my darling.”
“Are you ready, Mrs. Rochester?”
“I am.”
With a clap of the reins, Mr. Carter urged the horses forward.
Chapter 3
October 13, 1820
Dear Lucy,
I have dictated this letter to Mrs. Fairfax, who sends along her best regards. Although the hand is hers, rest assured the words are mine alone! She has become a tremendously helpful amanuensis, serving me whenever Jane is unavailable.
Your requests have not fallen on deaf ears! I send to you my greatest treasure—my bride, Jane Eyre. Care for her as you would any object of great value! I swear to you, Lucy, she is the world to me—her love has brought me such joy and contentment that you will scarce recognize me.
As you might guess, I am over the moon with joy at becoming a father. Our union has been truly blessed. We welcomed Edward Rivers Rochester into our lives six months ago. (We sent you a letter then to let you know of our son’s birth. Did you receive it? I ask because it is not like you to overlook a chance to celebrate.)
Young Ned is thriving. He is plump and active, rolling from here to there, and sitting up with some assistance. He babbles like a mockingbird. Jane tells me he has my own eyes, so dark they seem almost black.
I know it pains my darling girl to leave her son behind. However, a week or so under your watchful eye should do her good. She has always been slight, but Ned’s birth proved difficult, and she needs to regain the weight she lost. I remember what a wonderful cook you have. Please make sure to tempt my wife to eat!
I shall follow before the week is out. I cannot come straightaway because that tyrant doctor Mr. Carter has forbidden me from immediately un
dertaking the strains of travel. He fears I shall go blind. The specter of that disability haunts me, and hangs over my head as precipitously as the sword that threatened Damocles. But as long as I am assured of Jane’s love, I can manage, although I wonder that a young and vital woman could happily play nurse to a blind stump of a man like me.
You are probably wondering why Jane did not wait until we could travel together. Your letter proved most persuasive. Thank you, Lucy, for checking on Adèle. Her recent letters to us have been less than helpful. Jane cares for the girl as if she were her own flesh and blood—so my darling wife declared there was nothing for it but to see to Adèle’s welfare immediately.
Like you, my wife is a woman of strong intentions. When fixated on an outcome, Jane will give it no quarter! The timbre of her voice warns me of her determination; she will visit the school and she will be apprised of Adèle’s well-being. As you will see, Jane is as tenderhearted as she is intelligent. Perhaps she is also responding to the new impulses common with mothers, that sense of attachment that allows a woman to sense when her child needs her. I do not know, but I believe this to be so. We trust that Adèle is merely petulant, as is her wont to be, but concern speeds Jane on her way (and no little guilt that we have been slow to visit before now).
You might ask yourself, who is this stranger who dictates such a fawning letter to the wife of his best friend? I imagine you laughing in wonder, as you ask yourself, who is this man I once knew to be so proud—so stern, so angry, so disgusted with life—who now writes like a mewling youth about his loved one?
I tell you, it is I—and I am Jane Eyre’s husband.
Yours truly,
Edward F. Rochester
Chapter 4
On the road to Millcote, Yorkshire
The clouds parted, only to regroup and grow darker. Mr. Carter and I hurried along to make the best of the dying sun. The wheels of the carriage crushed the sparse fallen leaves, forcing them to release their spicy dying fragrance. The horse pulled the two-wheeled carriage down the country road with ease.
Death of a Schoolgirl: The Jane Eyre Chronicles Page 4
