All Hallows at Eyre Hall: The Breathtaking Sequel to Jane Eyre (The Eyre Hall Trilogy Book 1)

by Luccia Gray

  Mrs. Leah was much softer and kinder, because she never wanted to hurt us. She just liked to tickle us and rub us softly till we swooned, and we swooned nicely. Susan didn’t like our baths, so she had her bath on her own, when we finished.

  Mrs. Leah started her story.

  “This happened in the time my mother’s mother was serving in a prosperous household below the moors. The story, the true story, was told to her by the housekeeper, who had first-hand knowledge of the events. It was towards the end of October and a very wealthy gentleman from the south of England, Mr. Woodstone, was travelling to an inn in the north for peace and recuperation. On his way there befell a terrible snowstorm, and he was forced to stop at a remote Manor House. The occupants were an angry looking landlord and two young servants.

  “He was allowed to stay and reluctantly shown to an old run down bedchamber, which had obviously not been used in years. It was furnished with an unhinged bookcase with few books with faded bindings and yellowing pages, a single, solitary four-poster bed, a worm-ridden bedside table, and an unstable chair perched in front of the chimney opposite the open fireplace.

  “The walls were simply whitewashed, but on a closer examination, he saw that some words had been scratched on either side of the shattered casements. He was able to distinguish the word ‘Catherine,’ who he guessed had been the former inhabitant. That night, when he fell asleep, he had a terrible nightmare in which ghosts in black cloaks followed him mercilessly across the white windy moors. When he opened his eyes, he saw a woman knocking fiercely at the window, trying to enter. She was dressed in a long, white garment and had long, dark hair and a beautiful face with tears running down from her terrified eyes.

  “He screamed and the other occupants arrived. The owner, Mr. Clifford, was most distressed and asked the traveller to sleep in his own chamber, saying he would spend the night at the window, lest the ghost should return. He said he had been waiting for the ghost to come for many years since her tragic death, because they had not been able to say goodbye, so she was unable to enter the next world. The next morning when the traveller returned to his room to recover his clothes, Mr. Clifford was found dead by the window. The traveller looked up to the wall where he had seen Catherine’s name and beside it someone had added a heart with an arrow and the word Clifford beside it. Mr. Woodstone called the servants, and they acknowledged she had returned to take him away with her. At last, they would be together forever.”

  When she finished, Christy asked why their love was impossible, and she wanted to know the rest of the story.

  “The rest of the story is not important,” said Miss Leah with great authority. “It is an important lesson in life,” she added, looking straight at Michael once more. “Intrigued by his strange words and unable to sleep, he asked Mr. Clifford’s servants if they knew the story of their master’s love, and it so happened they did. However, this is not a ghost story for Halloween nights. It is a true story, which may help us reflect on our place in the world.”

  I found it odd how she kept looking at Michael, as if she were speaking to him, because he always seemed to be exactly in his place. He always used fine words and had those fine manners. I must have been missing something. I would remember to ask Simon afterwards if there was any gossip I should know about.

  Michael was very popular with the girls at Millcote, but I only ever saw him getting friendly with one of them. It surprised me, he could have had any of them, but he preferred the widowed Jenny Rosset. She was older than the rest, but a mighty good-looking woman and very sparse with her favours. She wouldn’t have naught to do with the young lads, probably thought they was too young and too skint.

  After her husband died, she was in dire straits at times, had two little ones to look after, too. Once she told me Michael was teaching her to read. What a waste of time I says to her, with all his reading, he’s still a valet. Don’t need to read to be a servant, so what’s the point in making all the effort. Mrs. Rochester, she told me off every week for not going to Sunday school, said that’s what I got Sunday afternoons off for. I preferred to go and meet my friends in Hay, or Millcote, if I could get a ride. I didn’t want to waste time learning to read and sew. I wanted to be a cook when I was older. I loved cooking.

  Next it was Christy’s turn. She told the story of the Gytrash, an ancient legend her grandmother once told her about a huge, wild dog, half spirit and half animal that roamed the moors at night in search of human prey. He was especially keen on stalking solitary travellers on lonely roads on stormy nights.

  “So this tale is about one such traveller, an uncle of mine, who was on his way home on foot after a visit to my father, his brother. He heard footsteps, as if an animal were creeping up behind him and started running, the animal ran too, and my uncle tripped over a stone and fell to the ground. Nobody knows what happened, but the next morning they found him lying on the ground. They thought he was dead, but he was breathing, so they carried him home and he never spoke again. His spirit had gone. He never ate, drank, or spoke until he died ten days later without even blinking his eyes in all that time. My father said the terror had killed him, and my mother said the Gytrash had taken his soul.”

  After telling the stories, the sun had set completely. We lit all the candles, and I helped Cook prepare the cakes for the soulers. We put them on trays to be taken out to the back door. Cook said we should also leave some around the house for the souls who might come during the night. Leah frightened us all by saying that all the candles and fires should remain lit all night, so the souls could find their way around the house.

  Simon went up to accompany Dr. Carter on his daily visit to Mr. Rochester and Michael went up to kindle all the hearths and replace the waning candles. Leah said she was tired and retired to her parlour. The rest of us stayed up late, eating soul cakes, drinking Cook’s brandy and telling more ghost stories in the hope of seeing something bloodcurdling to talk about the next day.

  Strange things happened at Eyre Hall that evening. Later that night, Simon said Mrs. Rochester had seen a ghost in the library, and Dr. Carter, who was with her, had rushed out of the house, pale as death, mumbling something about devils in the room. After that, Leah spent the night walking around the downstairs rooms, saying something was going to happen that night.

  Then Miss Adele and Master John arrived, making so much noise they would have frightened the souls away. Leah came down quite distraught and bolted her parlour door, the rest fell asleep, but I had drunk so much brandy I was feeling too excited to sleep, so I went upstairs with the last wick of a candle and saw plenty of strange things.

  The library door was open and I saw two black silhouettes, one was like a ghost with a cloak and the other was a tall man, they were both walking up the stairs. The man was carrying a heavy bag and they went into to Mrs. Rochester’s room. I was terrified, but walked up the stairs, in case Mrs. Rochester needed my help. I heard whispering and saw lights flickering under her door.

  Thanks to the brandy, I managed to find the courage to knock on her door and ask her if she needed help. Miss Adele opened the door, quite startled to see me, and told me to go to bed immediately. She accused me of being drunk and said she would tell the mistress in the morning, who would no doubt fire me, if I didn’t go down to bed at once. I insisted I had seen a ghost, but she slapped me hard, and told me to get out. I started crying and suddenly Michael appeared.

  He said he had come up when he had heard the noise. He took me downstairs and told me not to cry, because he would frighten the ghost away. I had never been so close to Michael before. My legs were trembling, and his hands were holding me firmly as we walked down the stairs. He smelt sweet, like the mistress’s perfume. I told him I was afraid, because I had seen a ghost in the library, and he held me in his arms for a while in the kitchen, then he kissed my cheek, where Miss Adele had hit me, and told me to go to bed, or the ghosts might return. So I did. I dreamed I was in his arms all night.

  ***


  Chapter XV Kidnapped

  I was walking down the stairs after my evening visit to Mr. Rochester, who was more agitated than usual. His condition had worsened greatly in the last week. His mind had deteriorated even faster than his putrid body, and I feared the worst in the coming days. Simon approached me in the hall, and I was surprised that he was not carrying my hat, cape, and walking stick.

  “Good evening, Dr. Carter. Mrs. Rochester would like to speak to you in the library.”

  “In the library?” I had always been received in the drawing room, and anyway, I was anxious to get home for my dinner. I opened my pocket watch. “It’s rather late. Is Mrs. Rochester unwell, Simon?”

  “She don't look too well to me,” he mumbled, as he ushered me into the library.

  The room was sombre, and the air was indeed full of rage. She was sitting at the desk, facing the door as we entered. The curtains were drawn, the fireplace had been reduced to glowing embers and only a small candle on the desk lit her visage, which was stern and redder than the flames. She got up and approached us with firm steps.

  “Thank you, Simon. We are not to be disturbed under any circumstances. Do you understand?” The servant nodded and left.

  Mrs. Rochester locked the door and tucked the key in her dress pocket. She had the look of a tigress on her unusually flushed face. I trembled, as she turned towards me and raised her hand high above her head and slapped it down on my face, so hard that she knocked me onto the floor. My head hit the mantel first on my way down and then landed on the hearth rug. She stood beside me, put both hands on the mantelpiece and kicked my side with her boots until I begged her to stop. When I tried to get up, she pressed her foot firmly on my chest shouting, “Don’t you dare move, you disgusting toad!”

  Then she took the fire stoker and poked my thigh, after thrusting it into the embers. I screamed and heard Simon’s voice on the other side of the door asking if everything was all right.

  She ignored him and continued her insults and insane attack with the stoker. Moments later, I heard Michael’s voice behind the door. “Mrs. Rochester, open the door please, it’s Michael.”

  The madness left her eyes for a moment. She dropped the stoker and walked to the door. I heard Michael’s voice insisting, “Mrs. Rochester, let me help you.”

  I dared not turn my head, which I was protecting from her blows with my arms. I heard the shuffle of her dress as she took out the key, then the metallic click as it turned in the keyhole, then footsteps, and the key turned on the lock once more. At last someone would help me. I heard the valet ask her what had happened and I shouted for help.

  “Michael, help me. She’s gone mad!”

  “He killed my daughter! He killed my daughter!” She repeated it time and time again. Edward must have confessed in a final moment of remorse. I was lost! My reputation, my leasehold, all would vanish!

  “I want to kill him, Michael! I shall kill him!”

  I sat up. Shaken by the words and blurry eyed, I saw the strangest sight.

  She was sobbing, her head resting on his chest while the valet was stroking her hair and saying, “It’s all right. I’m here now. I’ll do it.”

  I screamed for help once more, convinced they were going to kill me. Michael bent down and grabbed my lapels. I closed my eyes in a state of shock; he pulled me up and threw me into the armchair.

  “Michael, I had a stillborn daughter, that’s what they told me, Edward and Carter, nine years ago. Today, my husband confessed on his deathbed that the baby girl had come to take him away, and she was haunting him because he had ordered her death. They murdered her! They lied to me. They told me she was dead, and they took her away from me. How could they do that to her? To me? Why did they do such a horrendous thing?”

  “You have some questions to answer before I kill you, Dr. Carter,” warned Michael, grabbing my lapels once again and pushing me further into the armchair.

  “Wait! Let me explain. Mr. Rochester did not want any more children, especially not a baby girl. That was the only motive. He asked me to dispose of the child, and I did.” This time it was the valet who punched my face so hard that my ears started ringing. I cried out for dear life. “You’ll never find her if you kill me!”

  “You murdered my daughter!” She picked up the poker once more, and I shouted before she thrust it into my stomach.

  “I did no such thing. Your daughter is alive!” I pleaded.

  “What! Don’t you dare lie to me again!” The stoker was in the air above my head, waiting to land. I put my arms up in defence.

  “I didn’t kill her! I couldn’t do it, although he asked me to,” I sobbed, and her arms dropped to her side. “She was such a pretty little girl,” I added.

  “Michael, my daughter is alive!” The stoker fell to the floor, and she turned to the valet, taking his hands and looking fervently at him.

  He turned to me. “Tell us what happened, Dr. Carter.”

  There was an unnatural familiarity between them. How dare she defy all the laws of decency and decorum and maintain intimacy with a valet while her husband lay on his deathbed?

  “Speak!” she shouted, with fire in her eyes.

  “I took her home for a few days, but of course we couldn’t keep her; she couldn’t be found anywhere nearby. Mr. Rochester would have found out and ruined my life. My wife has a sister who lives in London, and who told her there was a great demand for babies, so she took her there.”

  “My daughter is with your sister-in-law?”

  “No, she could not keep her either. She passed her on to another family, I believe.”

  “You believe?” shouted Michael, pulling my lapels once more.

  “I don’t know who she gave her to. I never asked, and we never talked about it again. We have not seen her for some years, but she will know where the girl is.”

  “I must find her, Michael.”

  She was completely mad, looking at him as if he, a simple valet, could help her find her daughter.

  “What is her name and address?” bullied the impudent valet once again.

  “Mrs. Banks, sixty-four, Sudbourne Road, Brixton, London.”

  “You had better be telling the truth, or it will be your last lie, do you understand?” He towered over me, frightening me to death. He was twice my size and three times younger and stronger. He grabbed my silk scarf, this time almost choking me to death, and lifted me into the chair by the desk.

  “Is that the truth?”

  “I promise, no, I swear it is on my life, on my own son’s life. He made me do it. You know what an evil man he can be, Mrs. Rochester.”

  “Mrs. Rochester, it would be a good idea if Dr. Carter wrote a letter to his sister, informing her of your visit and enquiries.”

  “Of course, Michael, good idea.”

  She handed me her quill and ink, took a piece of writing paper from the drawer, and spread it out in front of me. “Start writing to my dictation.”

  “I need my spectacles, madam. They must have fallen on the floor, when you knocked me over.”

  Michael bent down, feeling the rug with his hands until he found them, and gave them to me. “Write!” ordered Mrs. Rochester, “Dearest whatever you call her…”

  “Dearest Emily.”

  “Dearest Emily, You will remember the infant, the baby girl, I…” She started crying and moved back to the mantelpiece, where Michael was standing, and threw herself disgustingly on his chest again.

  “Michael, I can’t speak. I can’t breathe, help me. I’m going to faint...”

  I stood up, but he told me to sit down. He carried her to the armchair and held her head down between her knees and said, “Breathe slowly, you’ll be all right in a few minutes.” He took a glass and some brandy and handed it to her; she drank and coughed. He handed me another glass, which I drank thirstily. When he asked her if she was feeling better, she nodded bleary-eyed and he asked, “Would you like me to dictate the letter to Dr. Carter?” She nodded and he continued.


  “You will remember the baby girl that was entreated to you in, do you remember the exact date? Month and year?”

  “May, 1856.”

  “ …the baby girl that was entreated to you in May 1856 by my wife to find a suitable family? I must now ask you to reveal the identity and address of the person the child was given to. Her mother, Mrs. Rochester, has great interest in knowing the whereabouts of the child, and you must assist her in every way possible. It is of utmost importance to my integrity, your sister’s and your nephew’s that you should give her all the necessary information she may require to find her daughter. Now sign it.”

  When I had signed, he took it to Mrs. Rochester to read and asked her with great callousness, “What shall we do with him now? I could kill him, if you want me to.” I was terrified by their savage violence, and disgusted by their illicit partnership.

  “You’re both mad! You will never get away with it!”

  “I think we will,” he answered coolly. “I came into the room, caught you attempting to violate Mrs. Rochester, my mistress, and I killed you. It would be that simple, Dr. Carter.”

  I realised they were serious and they were right. Everyone would believe her. The event would bring dishonour to my wife and my son. They would have to leave Ferndean in disgrace. I threw myself at her feet on my knees and begged.

  “Madam, forgive me. Remember, I did not kill your daughter. She is alive, thanks to me. I disobeyed Mr. Rochester. I will be loyal to you for the rest of my days. Please, Mrs. Rochester, find it in your heart to forgive this miserable sinner.”

  “He is more useful alive than dead, don’t you think, Michael?” They looked at each other with disgusting closeness once more. He smiled and said, “If you say so, mistress.” And I was horrified to see the look of the beast with two backs on their faces.