by Luccia Gray
Once more, my years of happiness did not last long. Following publication and success, she ate less and became more irritable. I was away in London more often, dealing with publishers and critics. She obviously missed me and substituted my absence with more laudanum, unaware of how dangerous a substance it was when used carelessly. I had always been careful to supply the minimum dose, but she must have overlooked my advice.
When her cousin Mary came to visit, she was much surprised and shocked by Jane’s excessive loss of weight and the cough which seemed to accompany her all day long. Both Dr. Carter and I protested, but Mary insisted, and against my wishes took her away without her medicine. I knew the worst was to come. She would convulse, get worse, and either become a lifelong lunatic or take her own life. Laudanum was a one way street. I knew that, but it was good for her, it made her a better person, and it gave her a new life. What did she have before it? Misery? Pain? Loss? The dead wimp she had given birth to visited her dreams nightly, followed her around the house during the day, calling “mummy” in the afternoons, and playing hide and seek in the evenings. She was convinced the creature was alive! She would have lost her reason without her medicine.
Carter had tried to convince me to send her to an institution, but I refused. I had already had a mad wife, and I preferred a drugged wife to a lunatic, but Mary was not in agreement. Her husband, the self-righteous clergyman, Mr. Wharton, was of the opinion that God was to be her saviour. What had God ever saved her from? If it hadn’t been for me, she would be sweating in India with her mystical cousin, surrounded by little black, devilish children. No more laudanum, Mary and her husband sentenced. When I told her of my misgivings regarding Jane’s future without the miraculous substance, she offered to take care of Jane if she became permanently indisposed. On that argument, I agreed.
Jane cried bitterly, grabbing my clothes wildly, whispering in my ear that she needed my love, and begging me to take her up to our chamber for a nap. When I refused, she dropped to her knees, hugging my legs and shouting she loved me and accusing me of killing her. It was a pitiful scene. If I could call Cronus to reverse the handles on the clock of time, and I were to return to that moment, she would not leave, because that was the last time I saw my beloved, meek, Jane.
She was brought back to me some months later. But the person who returned was not my Jane. It was another woman. A woman who had decided God had saved her and that she should repay him. She moved out of my chambers again, back with John, making him into a spineless intellectual. She spent all day looking after him, hugging him, reading to him, and pandering to him. What was left of the day was spent with Adele, reading, writing poetry and letters. She took to attending daily services at Mr. Wood’s chapel, and running a Sunday school for children who worked during the week. She also set up two parish schools, one in Hay for the local tenants’ children, and another in Millcote for millworkers’ children.
She insisted that John should attend Rugby instead of the local grammar school as I had done, because she wanted him to go to Oxford. I told her that no Rochester had ever been to university, or needed to work for a living. He had the tenants and the land, what more could he possibly need? If that wasn’t reason enough to infuriate me, she refused to obey me and constantly tried to convert me to her way of seeing the world, because she said it would save me. I needed no saving, except from her madness! She said she had been reborn, and her role was to help fallen women, so she contacted Mr. Dickens, even visited him in London, and planned to embark on her useless hospice for poor flappers, but I put my foot down on that occasion.
Thus have been my last ten years, reader, no wonder I took to London, to the opera, the theatre, my club, my gay friends. What was I to do? My wife had taken to a world of nunnery, completely ignoring my needs. Now that I was sick in bed and in my last days, my demons came to haunt me. My health was frail, I was no longer strong, my wife defied me, my mad Creole wife had returned to haunt me yet again. What else was in store for me? Why could I not rest in peace? Why must I always be reminded of what I wished to forget? I refused to recollect things that should never have happened in my final moments. I wanted some peace! Was that too much to ask for?
***
Chapter VI Daphne’s Tale
That evening Miss Adele and Mrs. Rochester had dinner early, at 7:30, then Miss Adele went up to write her letters. When I returned to the dining room to withdraw the plates, my mistress asked me to sit down with her at the table, because she needed to speak to me.
“Michael, Adele has informed me that you have collaborated with her in hiding her correspondence with Mr. Greenwood.” She spoke sternly.
“It is true, Mrs. Rochester. I have no excuse. I am truly sorry if my conduct has offended you. Miss Adele insisted very much that it should be kept a secret, and I know Mr. Greenwood to be a respectable London author, according to the literary magazines in the library. That is why I agreed to help her.”
“You have explained your reasons, and although your motivation is genuine, I am upset with your behaviour. In the future, I would like to be able to trust you to be loyal to me before anyone else in this household. I do not like secrets. There have been too many. Do you understand, Michael? I thought I could trust you. I need to know I can trust you.” She sounded upset, and I felt devastated that she should even consider I had let her down, so I replied as quickly and earnestly as I could.
“You can trust me, madam. Please forgive me. It will never happen again. You have my word. I would never ever do anything you would not approve of, madam. Never. You saved our lives. I, we, owe you everything.”
She must have realised how upset I was, because her face relaxed as it melted into a warm friendly smile.
“It is difficult to know what is on your mind. You speak so little, yet I am sure you have a great deal to say.”
“I don’t like speaking much. I prefer listening and reading.”
“And writing? Adele also told me you helped her write poems.”
“That is an exaggeration, madam. I only advised as to the use of certain words. My mother read the sonnets of Shakespeare and Sydney. We copied them, all of them, and read them, learned many by heart, so I am acquainted with the vocabulary and style.”
“Do you like reading novels too, or only poetry?”
“Although I read mainly poetry and the Bible, I also enjoy reading prose. I have read Pilgrim’s Progress, and I enjoy reading Mr. Charles Dickens’ novels. I read your novel, Daphne, too, madam.”
“You did?”
“Adele gave me a copy to read and let me keep it. I enjoyed it very much.”
“What was it about the novel that you liked?”
“I liked the way in which it was written, and the plot was cleverly disclosed. Anyone who starts reading will want to finish it, to know how it ends.”
She looked at me placidly, as if she wished me to continue, so I did. I had wanted to talk to her about the novel many times.
“None of the characters are who they seem to be. For example, Daphne, the narrator, appears to be an innocent and naive young governess, but really she’s the strongest character, standing by the man she loves throughout the tragic events, and helping him to pull through. Jessica, the deceased wife, whom everyone seemed to admire, was really an unstable lunatic, who was also driving her husband and daughter to insanity. She is the evil character. On the other hand, Leonard appears to be a desolate widower, but the truth is, he is glad his wife has died, although he feels guilty because of his feelings. Amy, their only daughter, who seems to hate her father and love her mother, was actually terrified of her mother and loved her unapproachable father. I liked the way their real motivations and feelings evolved gradually throughout the novel.”
“Life is quite like that, don’t you think? Nothing is what it first appears to be.”
“It depends. In my world, most people are what they appear. I think it’s in the secluded world behind the fortress-like walls of the ancient mansion where ma
squerades are encouraged. I’m glad the novel ends with reality and truth.”
“And what is the reality and truth of the novel?”
“The truth is uncovered the day Jessica’s body is discovered on the beach. The real facts regarding her life and death are disclosed. Leonard is able to tell his story and, thereby, he is freed from his guilt. Amy can understand, forgive, and bid her mother farewell. Jessica’s body is buried at last, albeit in unblessed ground, and the ghost leaves the house to roam in purgatory. Daphne and Leonard are able to admit their love and are finally free to marry.”
“Many critics disliked my ending. Some said it was immoral, because Leonard was absolved of covering up Jessica’s suicide and concocting the funeral farce, which was an affront to the sacred sacrament. Others considered that the relationship between the governess and the master was improper, especially with a young girl in the house. Of course many critics saw the novel’s strong points, some of which you have pointed out. In any case, all the fuss made me decide I would not write another novel.”
She paused and turned away, looking into the hearth absently. “I’m not sure Leonard was innocent anymore.”
The flames danced on her contorted face.
“You could clarify that aspect with a sequel. What happened to their marriage?”
“No sequel is needed. In the last pages I explained exactly what happened after the marriage. They had two sons and lived happily ever after. Amen.”
“In the real world a marriage is never an end. It is a new beginning.”
“Not in this case. I’m quite sure. No sequel. No more novels. I wrote the novel at a difficult time in my life, after my daughter was stillborn. In spite of its success, it brings unpleasant memories.”
Her thoughts wandered with her eyes, this time to the window, fixing themselves somewhere on the leafy horizon. I was sure she would write another novel, and I had my heart set on being one of the main characters.
She signed and turned back to me, ruffling her dress as she did when she was agitated.
“Once we have found Susan a suitable occupation, we will have to find one for you, Michael. Perhaps Adele is right and you are wasted here at Eyre Hall. Have you thought of religious studies? Clergymen are always needed all over the country, even overseas.”
“I would not like to leave Eyre Hall, ever.”
“Ever is a long time, Michael. Don’t you miss London?”
“London is busy and noisy. There are too many people…I would prefer to stay in the provinces, here in the north, at Eyre Hall.”
“If you are so attached to this property and this area, perhaps you could stay nearby. Mr. Wood is advancing in age and will retire within a few years. Would you like to be his apprentice?”
“I have never thought of leading a religious life, madam. I like being a valet. I could become a butler, if ever you needed one, I mean. I would certainly never work in another household.”
“Your loyalty is touching, but wouldn’t you like to prepare Sunday sermons, advise parishioners, console the relatives of the dead, and carry out baptisms, weddings and funerals? You could help at the Sunday school or the parish school, too. Would you like to study at Oxford? I am sure you would pass the exams.”
“Not if it means leaving Eyre Hall.”
“There is a big world waiting for you, Michael. We cannot keep you in this secluded corner of the globe. You are silent. What is the matter?”
“You and everyone at Eyre Hall are the only family I know. I am not ready to leave... not yet..." I stopped speaking, realising I had spoken too anxiously, but I could not bear the thought of being sent away. She looked at me probingly for some seconds before speaking.
“I would miss you, too, Michael.” She was silent once more and raised her hand to my face, as she had done years ago, when we first met. Her fingers caressed my cheek, arousing my longing heart. She looked as if she had recognised someone, lowered her hand abruptly, and rubbed her skirt before walking away from me towards the casements.
“It is still raining.” She spoke softly, resting her forehead on the windowpane.
I wanted to get up and follow her, but I had been paralysed by her unexpected gesture. Eventually she turned back towards me and spoke stiffly.
“We can return to this conversation regarding your future later on. There is another matter I would like to speak to you about, Michael. It pertains to your sister, Susan. Adele would like Susan to accompany her to Italy. She may already have mentioned it to you.”
“She has, Mrs. Rochester. When she showed me Mr. Greenwood’s letter in which he offered to take her to Italy, Miss Adele told me she could not go alone. I myself suggested she should take Susan with her.”
“You did?”
“Yes, I did. My sister is very intelligent and well read, but she herself will never have the means to travel to the continent to further her education and knowledge. I think if she accompanies Adele, it would be an ideal opportunity for her. Susan speaks a little French and Italian. My mother had an Italian grammar book and she made us copy the translations of Dante’s Inferno. I knew one day Italian would be useful to us. My mother had a great belief in the Lord. She reminded us that, ‘The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge, fools despise wisdom and instruction’, and said that everything we learned would come in useful one day, because knowledge would turn away evil and help us understand our paths in life.”
“You were fortunate to have such a wise mother, Michael. You must miss her.” Her expression became softer once more, and I replied too quickly.
“I used to, before I came to Eyre Hall.”
Her expression changed once more and her hand moved. I knew she wanted to touch me again. I willed her to touch me again. I imagined her fingers caressing my cheeks, but this time I would take her hand and kiss it.
“I’m glad you are contented here, Michael.”
Her gaze was fixed on mine. The candle was waning and the flames flickered on her face, illuminating her sparkling green eyes, which softened with a caring smile. I had never been so close to her while we looked into each other’s eyes. I concentrated hard on the colour, which I would be recalling all through the night.
“You have grown since the first time I saw you. I can hardly remember the young boy I met at Diana’s house five years ago.”
I wanted to tell her that she had changed over the last five years, too. She had become more beautiful every day. I wanted to tell her I loved her, and I did. I told her silently with all my heart, as I smiled humbly. She heard me, but broke the spell by standing up and moving away again before speaking.
“Have you spoken to Susan about going to Italy with Adele?”
“Not yet, madam. Do you think I should?”
“Perhaps you could speak to her about it first and, tomorrow morning after breakfast, ask Susan to come to the drawing room. Adele and I will discuss the matter with her. I’m sure Adele would like to leave as soon as.... when Mr. Rochester ...”
Her eyes roamed to the window once more, hiding anxious thoughts behind her creased brows. I understood she wanted to be left alone, so I thanked her and left the room.
Minutes later, while we were having dinner downstairs in the kitchen, I was called up to the front door. The young master, John, had arrived unexpectedly. Mrs. Leah was most upset because his bedroom was not prepared. Cook had to make dinner for him, and Beth had already cleared up the stove and put the food in storage. Fortunately, the master was happy to have some sandwiches and some hot broth that remained on the stove, which I served while Daisy prepared his room.
***
I knew if I went to my chamber I would be unable to sleep. I would lie in bed for hours listening to the wind swaying the trees and the rain beating against the roof and gushing down the casements. So instead, I sat at my desk reading through the papers Mr. Cooper had delivered. The names were all there and the numbers in neat even handwriting, but my mind kept wandering back to his hazel eyes, his hypnotisi
ng look, and his captivating smile. Why did I touch him? Why did I need to touch him? Why did the thought of losing him alarm me so? Why did I feel agitated and anxious? Why did I feel the earth was moving under my feet and my head swirling?
I had noticed a peculiar feeling when he was near. I found myself searching for his thoughtful, pleasant countenance while I ate, wrote, or read. I was both contented and at ease in the safety of his gaze, and right then, just the thought of seeing him entering the room quickened my breathing. I must have been losing my reason.
My son’s arrival was a most pleasant surprise, which forced me out of my disquieting thoughts. “John, it is wonderful to see you! How long will you be staying?”
“We have been given a week’s break for midterm.”
“That’s wonderful, darling! What will you do tomorrow?”
“I would like to visit Bishop Templar tomorrow morning. I have not seen him for months.”
“That’s a good idea, John. The bishop is an intelligent and honest man. He has helped you and taught you well.”
“Do you like him, Mother?”
“Of course I do. I told you, his opinions on social reform gave me much interest in starting my parish school work, and he has been such a positive influence on you.”
“There are rumours, and many people who speak ill of him since he left Rugby.”
“Do not pay attention to them, John. They are feeble minded and spiteful. We both know he is a good man.”
“He would like to visit Father before…it is too late. Can I invite him to come for dinner this week?”
