by Luccia Gray
“We will be having dinner guests the day after tomorrow, on All Hallows. It would be pleasant if the Bishop came too.”
“Annette Mason and her uncle?”
My flesh shuddered on hearing her name coming from my son’s lips.
“What do you know about them?”
“I met her quite by chance. I nearly crushed her with my horse while she was walking from Hay in this direction, so I took her back to the inn.”
I was too shocked to speak.
“She sprained her ankle and hit her head on a stone. She told me she was waiting to be invited to Eyre Hall.”
“What else did she tell you?”
“She told me Father was her uncle by his first wife’s deceased brother and she wished to meet him.”
I shuddered once more, feeling the blood drain from my head.
“Don’t worry, Mother. Adele told me about Father’s first marriage some time ago, but she made me promise that I would never tell you I knew. She said you wanted to forget and so did Father. But that was a long time ago. Who cares about that poor madwoman now?”
I was still speechless and quite dazed. It was too cruel to be true. They had already made their first move.
“I can see you are tired, Mother. Let’s talk tomorrow. I will ride out in the morning to visit Bishop Templar and stay till the evening.”
“I will tell Leah to prepare the Bishop’s room. Ask him to stay for a few days. It will be too late to leave after dinner.”
“Of course. How is Father? Can I see him? Everyone tells me he is well, but he looks worse every time I come.”
“Dr. Carter has never lied about his condition. It is irreversible. We can only endeavour to avoid as much pain as we can. Unfortunately, that is all.”
“I can’t bear to think of him dying.”
“There will be time to grieve. Now is the time to rejoice. He is alive, at the moment. There is no point in mourning ahead of time. He will be pleased to see you, I’m sure.”
“Shall I go up now?”
“Wait until tomorrow morning. He is probably sleeping now. Go to the dining room. I’m sure Michael has brought you something to eat.”
He bent down to kiss me before leaving. I was exhausted physically and mentally since Mason’s visit. I sat at my desk and reread the first pages of my novel. Nobody knew about my new venture and I wanted to keep it that way until it was completed. Simon’s clumsy hands dropped the coal and the wood noisily while he lit the fire, spreading the soot and wood chippings around the carpet freely.
“Need anything else, ma’am?”
“No, Simon, thank you. Please attend Mr. Rochester; he is uneasy today. Make sure he is comfortable and has everything he needs.”
Simon turned to leave, tripping up on the carpet and knocking over a china vase on the sideboard, which miraculously survived the fall, before shutting the door with a loud bang. I never understood what Edward saw in this clumsy young man. Of course, after Mason’s visit yesterday, everything was falling into place. The name sounded familiar when I saw it on the accounts. Monthly amount due to Miss Daisy Pickering: fifty pounds. Simon had told me when he first came that he had worked for an actress with that name. I never understood until I saw her name on the accounts, why Edward had insisted on bringing him to Eyre Hall to work as a valet. Fortunately he is patient and resourceful with Edward, and at least now he has learned to speak so we can understand him, and he looks a great deal cleaner.
Michael returned moments later to ask me if I needed anything before retiring. He always looked so dependable and seemed so capable. He was the only person in the house I trusted completely. I wanted to ask him to sit down and listen to my heavy load and advise me about what to do, but instead I thanked him and asked him to kindle the fire and bring me some tea. I returned to my papers once more with his voice in my mind. When he returned, I spoke to him.
“Michael, would you sit down with me for a few minutes? I would like to talk to someone and I’m afraid everyone has retired.”
“Of course, Mrs. Rochester. A problem shared is a problem halved.”
He smiled and I felt myself succumb and smile back. I sighed and relaxed. How could he make me feel so at ease, just by smiling at me?
“Imagine a person you love and trust is not the person you thought he was. You had imagined he was honest, noble, and worthy of your devotion, but you discover you were mistaken. He has not told you the truth. He has kept many secrets from you. There is one serious secret. The event happened a long time ago. It was an evil, heartless deed, which this person committed.”
I waited for him to speak. He took his time.
“Sometimes there is a good intention behind a lie. Some lies are meant to avoid sorrow.”
“But if the purpose of the lie is to conceal an evil deed and to make a person seem better than he really is, because he wants to hide a horrendous crime against a poor child and an innocent young girl? What if the aim of the lie is to cover up treachery? Once the secret is disclosed, there is no going back. It cannot be undone or unsaid. What can be done?”
He observed me quietly for some seconds before replying. “The person who has lied will be brought to justice. For God will bring every deed into judgment, with every secret thing, whether good or evil.”
“I trust that will be the case, but what of those who remain? Who will assist those who have been deceived and wronged?”
“Perhaps something can be done by another nobler person to repair the event in some way?”
“Yes, I suppose there is something that can be done to repair it to some extent, but it would be most painful.”
“Sometimes we have to suffer injustice and hard times, but the Lord upholds all that fall and raises up all those that are bowed down. The person who finds it in his or her heart to repair a wrong deed, even though it may bring some discomfort, will be rewarded.”
“I wish it were easier to do good and to repair this particular deception.”
“It would be even more difficult for a good person, like you, to do the wrong thing.”
I heard the fire crackling and moved my arms closer, rubbing my palms. Michael shot up, brushing past my hands, and kindled the fire. I watched him busy himself and was thankful that he was with me. He turned and smiled and suddenly Annette was no longer a problem. I felt the security that he could solve all of my troubles, or at least that I could cope with all my strife if Michael were by my side.
“Yes, that’s what I thought too.”
“Can I help with anything else, Mrs. Rochester?”
“Are you good with numbers, Michael?”
“What kind of numbers?”
“Household accounts for example.”
“Sometimes I help Mrs. Leah with the bookkeeping.”
“I imagined someone must help her; the accounts are much more ordered of late.”
Why had I not realised he was here to help me all along? How could I have ignored his worthiness?
“I wonder if you would help me with my accounts.”
“I shall try, Mrs. Rochester.”
“In the last few months Mr. Rochester’s illness has worsened, and he has lost all concentration and most of his reason, I’m afraid. Mr. Cooper, his agent, has been running his financial affairs for years, since before we married. In fact, I think he also worked for his father. In any case, I would prefer to supervise the accounts myself, so I have asked Mr. Cooper to bring his books, and here they are.”
I pointed to various thick leather-bound books piled on my desk.
“I must ask for your absolute discretion. No one has seen any of these documents except Mr. Cooper, Mr. Rochester, and me.”
“Mrs. Rochester, you can trust me.”
I knew it was true. I had always known I could depend on him, and now I needed him on my side and by my side.
“I am not satisfied with the way Mr. Cooper handles the accounts. I do not doubt his honesty, but his books seemed most unclear. I have started by ma
king a list of the monthly expenses. Do you think you could check to see if my additions are correct?”
I handed him an open book with several pages of lists of initials and amounts due. There were three separate lists. The first list included payments to specific people, the second list included general expenses of the estate, and the third were other expenses which could not be classified under either of the previous headings.
“I have added the expenses on the three lists separately, then I have added the three totals to produce the full total expenditure, excluding the running of Eyre Hall, which is mostly supervised by Mrs. Leah and recorded in her books.”
I pushed the books over to him. “When that has been finished, we will have to make a similar list with the diverse incomes.”
He turned the pages slowly, looking puzzled. “This must have taken you a long time; there are hundreds of numbers.”
“It has taken almost three months to order the lists and add up the total monthly amounts. Mr. Cooper manages the accounts by alphabetical order instead of date of payment, making it very difficult to classify and oversee them in perspective. It has been excruciating to decipher the regularity of payments and the recipients. I’m dreading doing the same with the income, which is naturally a far greater amount than the expenditure.” I waited while I watched him look through the pages and pass his index finger over the numbers, gauging the work to be done.
“Well, can you help me?”
“I will gladly help you in the evenings, when I finish work.”
“Thank you, Michael. I will put all these books in the library; here is the key. It’s the only key Mrs. Leah does not have, nobody has it, not even Adele.”
He took it and put it in his pocket.
“I shall put the books in the first drawer. The key is in the small purple china vase on the mantelpiece. You may go there and work whenever you wish. Let me know how you get on. When you finish checking the payments, we shall try to ascertain and reorder the income together.”
“Shall I take these books into the library now? They are very heavy.”
I nodded and followed him out of the drawing room and across the entrance hall. I used my key to open the library door. It was cold and dark.
“From tomorrow, light the fireplace here every day. I don’t want you to catch cold.”
We walked across to the table, where he lay the books. “I love this room. I remember you used to let me come in here to read when I first came to Eyre Hall.”
“Yes, you were such a shy little boy, so quiet, always reading and watching me.”
“You were, I mean you are, very kind to me, to everyone.”
We were standing so close I could feel his breath on my cheek. The moonlight was shining on his face, and I looked up to see his eyes glistening in the dark. He looked so solid and dependable, and I felt the need again to touch his face, but I refrained.
“Thank you, Michael. Thank you for helping me and for your loyalty. It means a great deal to me. Leave the books in the drawer and please rest, it is very late.”
“I may start right now.”
“As you wish. Don’t forget to lock the door when you leave. Good night, Michael.”
I forced myself away from his side, perturbed by the feelings his presence was provoking in me. I had not shared a bed with my husband for almost six years, and in all that time, I had felt no need of comfort, as if my womb had closed up and my desire had frozen. I had become the Snow Queen of this icy castle. Recently, and quite suddenly, Michael had transformed. The quiet, insecure young boy had become a handsome and vigorous young man. His presence distracted me. I could sense when he was near me without seeing or hearing him; the sound of his voice brought a smile to my lips, and when he approached me, I trembled with excitement. His presence, no, even the thought of him, stirred something inside my very soul that I failed to fathom, but it was warm and gratifying. Yet, for all its pleasantness, it also disturbed me, because I couldn’t understand my feelings, as if they belonged to someone else, and they did. The snow was melting. I felt myself glow and shine, because I needed him and he was with me.
***
Chapter VII Jenny
Jenny’s tiny room was cosy and warm. It even looked like a home. The bed was squeezed under a sloping roof, which was so low in the corner where the bedstead was that I hit my head on the ceiling every time I got up. Jenny and the two children slept in this same bed (the only one in the room), facing the window with its thick, loosely hanging, mauve curtains. A matching cloth covered the small table in the centre of the room, and small, square cushions rested on the three wooden chairs tucked under the table top. Behind the table there was a tall cupboard with three plates, two glasses, a large painted dish, and a set of tea things on the shelves.
I lay on the ruffled hot sheets, clasping her cream coloured spongy arse, and imagining what it would feel like to strike it so hard my fingers would be marked on her skin for weeks. I watched her resting languidly across my chest and pulled her hair, jerking her head violently; she moaned but hardly moved. I had been nice today, for old times. Next time I would make sure I branded her. She would enjoy a good thrashing.
She smelt sweet, her movements were sinuous and her voice soft. The black women I was used to bedding were compliant, but their skin was thicker and their smell was saltier, their movements more abrupt and their cries louder. The latter were more satiating, but the former was saucier. It was harder to find a clean white whore in Jamaica, so Jenny was a treat. Such healthy looking pink flesh, such radiant clear eyes, such defined lips and short shapely upturned nose. So satisfying to lick, knead, and smack into. I had had the pleasure of her company years ago in Jamaica and occasionally on my visits to England, which had been few and far between in recent years, but that would be changing soon. I paid her generously and asked her if she would consider working at Eyre Hall, but she was not enthusiastic.
“I ain’t never worked in a house, and I have no intention. I ain’t a maid. I don’t like saying ‘yes, milady or milord’ and ‘no, milady or milord’.”
“You amaze me, my dear Jenny. You do not care to serve a gentleman or a lady, but you do not object to selling your charms and saying ‘yes, sir’, or ‘how would you like to fuck me, sir’?”
“That’s only occasional and I pick and choose my customers. If I worked in a house, I would be curtseying all day, every day.”
“You will earn double. Whatever Mrs. Rochester pays you, I will give you the same amount too.”
“I don’t want to work there.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a creepy place with weird people.”
“It seems to me that all houses in this country are similar. I can assure you it is more agreeable than the inn, and although this room is comfortable enough, it is cramped, dark and damp. Would you not care to live in a grand house for a change?”
She looked grave and lost in deep thought. “Is there something you aren’t telling me? Have you ever been there, Jenny?”
“No, ain’t never been there. I was at Thornfield, as you know, but I ain’t never been to the new house. It’s in the same spooky place. I bet it’s full of them ghosts I heard at Thornfield. They live in the tree trunks and earth caves around the house. They whisper in the night; sometimes they come out and play mischief.”
“Nonsense, my dear. There are no ghosts at Eyre Hall; neither were there any at Thornfield.”
“They are strange people who live there. Look at that ugly spinster who dresses and acts as if she were fifteen: sinister Leah, pining for the chilling Mr. Rochester, who thinks the house would collapse without her; Simon, who makes fools look brainy; Margaret, who quarrels with all the merchants, nobody wants to take errands there; and Mrs. Rochester, who only wants penniless, abandoned young orphans as servants.”
“You seem to know a great deal about the inhabitants of the house. How is that?”
“People talk. I hear a lot of talk at the inn.”
&nbs
p; “You must work at Eyre Hall. It is my wish.”
“Why?”
“I need a friend in the house. A friend who will tell me what occurs inside.”
“I don’t want Nell living there. She’s a very sensitive girl. She would be frightened.”
“Then you will have to reassure her, won’t you? Think of it this way: she is a pretty girl, so she will be safer at Eyre Hall than with you at the inn. Anyway, you have lost your job there. You will leave of your own accord, or I will ask the innkeeper to dismiss you.”
“But why, Richard? Do I not please you?”
“Indeed you do. That is another reason I want you at the hall. Now that Bertha’s daughter is back home, I plan to be there often in the near future. Once you are there, you will be mine exclusively. Would you like that?”
“I like the way I live now, on my own, with my children. How do you know they need any servants, anyway?”
“I do not. We’ll have to find out, won’t we? Are you still friendly with Leah?”
I met Jenny twenty-three years ago, when my sister had the baby. We needed a wet nurse and Leah called Jenny, who had recently had a baby herself, then she came with me to Jamaica and stayed for over a year. She was a most pleasing companion, very obedient, never argued or contradicted me. She was perhaps a little too eager to please, and even enjoyed bedding my friends. However, I was fond of her, so I asked her to stay, but unexplainably she wanted to return to her cuckold, idiot of a husband in Millcote.
“I see Leah on occasions, but I know someone better.”
“Who?”
“Susan, the parish teacher, lives at Eyre Hall with her brother, Michael, the valet. She teaches my little ones. She’s a good girl, teaches my kids for free, and Mrs. Rochester is fond of her. She’s at Sunday school today. We can go and see her now, if you like.”
“Good idea. Clever girl. Get dressed then, let’s go!”
“What’s the hurry? Sunday school is open till five. I need some coats and boots for the children.”
I gave the artful hussy five more pounds for the afternoon’s pleasure and the children’s clothes. I got a smile and a delicious velvet tongue job in return.
