by Luccia Gray
She turned to me. “You may live, Carter. Is there anything else I should know? Any other secrets of Mr. Rochester’s?” Michael shot a piercing look. How did he know? How could he know? What did he know? She realised my hesitation meant there was another dark secret.
“It was a long time ago. Mr. Rochester was in Jamaica, after his first marriage. He was most discontent in that distant devilishly hot climate. I received instructions from Mr. Rochester, by means of his agent Mr. Cooper, to clear the way for his return to Thornfield. Mr. Rochester’s brother, Rowland, fell ill and well, he died with some assistance. Mr. Rochester has always been very generous and very kind to me and my family. I have always served him well. We all have.”
“I no longer care about my husband or his misdeeds. They are on his conscience and he will have to make his peace with our creator very soon. As I told you this morning, I am only concerned with my son’s expectations. He has a great future ahead of him. I will not have my son’s name tarnished in any way. He is not responsible for his father’s actions. I will go to any length to protect him, because he is called to great deeds. None of these family secrets must ever affect his good name, whatever it takes. He is a good man, and he will be a great man.”
“I agree, absolutely. My lips are sealed. I will be loyal to you and your son. May I ask about the leasehold you promised me yesterday morning?”
“I keep my promises, Dr. Carter, but I warn you, you will not lie to me again or you will not live to enjoy your leasehold. Ferndean and everyone in it will be burned to a cinder. Do you understand?”
“You have my word and my loyalty.”
“Well, you can start proving where your loyalty lies right now.”
“What can I do for you, madam?”
“Mr. Rochester is suffering. He has been suffering a disgusting illness for months. I think it is time to put an end to his torment, do you agree?”
“Of course, madam. I will…”
“I don’t want to know the details. Just do it as quickly and painlessly as possible. Now get out of my house.”
She unlocked the door and I could not get out fast enough. Simon asked me if I was all right and gave me my accessories. He said I looked as if I had seen a ghost. I told him I had seen a most devilish ghost and rushed out sweating profusely all the way home, in spite of the frosty night.
***
Chapter XVI Helen
When Dr. Carter left I told Simon to retire, because he was no longer needed, locked the door again, and ran back to Michael, putting my arms around him as tears rushed down my cheeks.
“Michael, thank you. What would I do without you?”
“May I embrace you?”
“Yes, you may. Hold me and never let me go.”
Michael was like a rock by my side. He had been there all the time, watching over me for the last five years, and I had never realised until yesterday how much I needed him. Michael, who would serve me unconditionally, unquestioningly. Michael, who understood what I needed before I even knew myself.
“I think I’ll have another brandy.” I sat down by the fire on the hearth rug as he filled my glass, then I asked him to sit by my side. I felt the heat of the fire on my face, and the warmth of the brandy in my chest. I moved in front of him and let the weight of my body fall back on his chest. He nuzzled my hair with his nose.
“I love the scent and smoothness of your hair. It’s like velvet.”
He put his arms around me and I relaxed at last, closing my eyes, trying to imagine my daughter’s countenance. I had seen her face so many times in my dreams, when I thought she was dead, now that I knew she was alive, her features became even more vivid. She was small and thin with large green eyes, wavy blond hair and a lovely smile with little dimples in her cheeks. Her silent shadow had accompanied me every day, now I was sure she was a happy child. I would be able to find her, thanks to Michael, because Dr. Carter would never have felt intimidated enough by me on my own.
“Would you really have killed him, Michael?”
“I will do anything you ask me to do. Anything.”
He stroked my hair once again before asking me, “Did you really want to kill him?”
“For a moment I did. When I thought he had killed my daughter. When I thought of a little girl who is alone in the world, perhaps with people who do not love her. Nine years without my daughter, Michael. All these years thinking she was dead. Feeling guilty and distressed for her death. Yes, I really wanted to kill him.”
“He deserved to die. What he did is unforgiveable.”
“Have you ever killed a man?”
“Many years ago.”
“What happened?”
“You would not want to know. I had a hard two years while Susan and I were orphans, alone in the world at the workhouse in London, with no home and nowhere to go, until you took us in.”
“Poor Michael and Susan. Defenceless. Perhaps my poor little girl is alone.”
“Perhaps she is with a good family, who wanted to have a child.” He tightened his grip, as if to reassure me that she was well.
“I wish to God you’re right, but I have to find her. She is my daughter, my little girl, and they tore her away from me.”
“We should give her a name. We can’t just call her little girl. She needs a name.”
“Yes, she does. I was going to call her Helen. Helen was my best friend at Lowood, an institution for orphans, where I lived from the age of eight to eighteen.”
“Were you an orphan, too?”
“Yes, I was. My parents died when I was a child and my aunt, Mrs. Reed, took me in, but she hated me, and so did my cousins. When I was eight they sent me away to an institution called Lowood, which was an ominous place in a foggy, damp valley. We were half-starved. The little ones were severely neglected, so many of the children were frequently ill. Bouts of typhus spread swiftly in the crowded schoolrooms and dormitories, and the seminary was often turned into a hospital.
“Miraculously I survived and trained to be a teacher. I taught there for two years before applying to work at Thornfield, as a governess to Adele. Then I met Mr. Rochester, whom I thought was unmarried, until our wedding day, when Mr. Mason, Bertha’s half-brother, prevented our marriage at the altar by revealing that my husband was already married. Of course, after her existence was disclosed, I had to leave Thornfield. I went to Morton, where I met three wonderful people: my cousins Mary, Diana, and Saint John Rivers. Diana became Mrs. Fitzjames, and that’s how I met you.”
“Tell me about Helen.”
“Helen Burns was a silent child who was usually absorbed in the companionship of a book, which she loved reading quietly by the glare of the embers. She came from a town on the Scottish border. She was the kindest, sweetest person I ever met. I never heard her complain, even when she was beaten with a rod by Mrs. Scratchet, a vicious teacher, who seemed to enjoy inflicting pain on the weaker girls. Helen never spoke ill of anyone and always saw the best side of all people and events. She was gifted with the ability to see positive qualities in people that were invisible to anybody else’s eyes.”
“Where is she now?”
“When we were still children, Helen became ill with consumption, and I was no longer allowed to see her or speak to her, but I disobeyed the rules and crept into the seminary where she was taken. She was wrapped in a dark blanket, which exuded a deathly smell of camphor and burnt vinegar, but I did not care. I nestled close to her and we wrapped each other with our arms. Even as she was dying, she was resigned to her fate. I remember she told me she was happy, and I should not grieve when she died, because she knew she was dying; she said that by dying she would escape sufferings. She said, ‘I believe. I have faith: I am going to God.’
“She died in my arms one night. She was buried in Brocklebridge churchyard without a headstone or any other mark, but I remembered the exact place. Fifteen years after her death, when my baby died, I returned. The spot was covered by a grassy mound and I had a grey marble ta
blet inscribed with the word ‘Resurgam’ erected there.”
“You said you left Thornfield and met your cousins, so when did you return?”
“My cousin Saint John Rivers proposed to me. He wanted to be a missionary in India and decided I would be the perfect missionary’s wife, but I did not accept. I did not love him, and I did not feel any calling to venture into a life of sacrifice in India. I heard that Bertha had burned down Thornfield and killed herself, so I returned to the Rochester Estate in search of Edward. He was living in Ferndean, maimed and disfigured, but alive. He had lost his eyesight and the use of his left arm. We married and I nursed him back to health. Well, Michael, that’s my life before I married Mr. Rochester. I think I’ll have some more brandy.”
He refilled my glass and returned to my side, strumming my head with his fingers once more.
“He sounds like a terrifying person.”
“Not the Edward I met twenty-three years ago. I loved him dearly. He was an adoring husband, at first. We had some wonderful years together, until my daughter…Helen was born and taken away from me. Everything changed then. I wanted more children and he did not. I became very melancholic and I wrote my novel. He was bored at Eyre Hall, with me, with young John. I became involved in the local Sunday school and the parish school. I suppose we gradually stopped loving each other and started leading separate lives. Now I realise what kind of a person he was, from the beginning. I don’t understand how I could have loved him so much and been so blind.”
We were both silent for a long time, listening to the crackling of the furious hearth. I could feel his breath on my hair and the flames glowing on my face. I wished the moment of peace and warmth would last forever. At last Michael spoke. “What shall we do about Helen?”
“I don’t know yet. I shall think of something soon. First, I need to sort out matters at Eyre Hall. I need your help tomorrow, Michael. I cannot wait for Carter to act quickly. I cannot remain here a moment longer. I have to go to London and start looking for Helen, as soon as possible, and I cannot leave while Edward is in his final moments. After tomorrow’s dinner, while we are in the drawing room, go up to his room and give him some more medicine. It will be a relief for him and for all of us, and he will feel nothing. He wanted to kill a little baby girl, he does not deserve a peaceful death. When it is done, come down to the drawing room. I will be with the guests. Ask me if I would like the library fire to be put out and wait for me there. Could you do that for me?”
“I told you, I would do anything you asked me to do.”
I was feeling light-headed, warm and sleepy, and it felt so good to lie in his arms and speak to him. Everything that had happened was so far away and hazy.
“After the week’s wake and the funeral, we will go to London to find Helen.”
I must have fallen asleep. When I woke up, I was cradled in his arms and he was stroking my hair, which was hanging loosely over my shoulders. “May I kiss you, mistress?” he whispered, lowering his face to mine. I must have said, “You may,” because I remember feeling the softness and warmth of his lips on mine, but the rest of what happened that night is a blur. I woke the next morning in my bedroom with the sun in my face, feeling rested and renewed. I turned to find Adele sleeping placidly by my side.
***
Chapter XVII Merriment at the Rochester Arms
Mr. Mason had invited me to join him and Annette for dinner at the Rochester Arms in Hay, and I asked Adele if she would like to accompany me. Adele seldom left the house, now that my father was bedridden, and guests were infrequent, so I was sure the dinner would be an amusing interlude for her. Mr. Raven frequently organised entertaining banquets on merry occasions, like this evening’s All Hallows Eve dinner, as his father, old Mr. Raven, used to.
Adele had always been like a devoted older sister. I loved her dearly, and I was overjoyed for her contentment. I wished her to be happy, marry, and perhaps even have a family, although my mother would be very lonely at Eyre Hall once she left. Adele had told me all about Mr. Greenwood, her new suitor from London, who would be arriving the following evening. She was planning to travel with him to Italy to an encounter with her long-lost mother.
Life at Eyre Hall was no doubt dull for merry Adele. My mother was very distracted of late, worried no doubt about my father’s health and immersed in her occupations running the Estate, as well as her absorbing charity work. I often wondered what would become of her, once father was no longer with us. Her life had been so devoted to him, especially in these last few years. I was worried that she would become an eccentric recluse, although I would make sure that never happened, because I would always look after her.
Adele was apprehensive, although excited, about meeting her mother at last, but even happier at the prospect of leaving Eyre Hall for a time and becoming Mr. Greenwood’s travel companion. I was glad that I should be finishing my studies next June, so would then return home and help my mother with the running of the estate. She wanted me to embark on a political career, but I was not sure if that is what I wanted to do.
I wanted to travel to the United States and be acquainted with the new land and its courageous people first hand. I would also have liked to visit our prosperous colonies in the West Indies, although my father had always told me it was a devilish place; I was sure he was exaggerating. I was also keen to visit Europe, although again, my father had warned me against fickle European women. I knew he had a disastrous experience with his first Caribbean wife, who was Mr. Mason’s sister and Annette’s aunt. Adele’s French mother had also betrayed him, and he had had a succession of capricious and disloyal women until he was fortunate enough to meet my mother and find peace and stability at last.
I longed for London society, where I would meet avant-garde artists and poets, like William Morris, Alfred Tennyson or Gabriel Rossetti, although mother would have preferred me to frequent the company of social reformers and politicians, like Bishop Templar and Lord Shaftsbury. However, I was not called to being a philanthropist, like my mother, who willingly offered her time and money to needy orphans. I was a traditional Rochester, like my father. I wanted to enjoy the privileges I had inherited. I feared I had not been called to repair the world’s injustices, as my mother would have wished.
Joseph took us to the inn in our best carriage and waited there with us while we enjoyed the most magical night of the year, the night in which we witnessed the weakening of the barrier between this world and the other, where the dead and supernatural beings abide. I hoped to be able to get to know a supernatural being I had just met, the stunning and enigmatic woman who had suddenly burst into my life. Since the first day I had seen her strewn on the causeway below my horse, I had felt captivated by her glistening eyes. I had never seen such a remarkable looking lady in England. I imagined she took after her aunt, my father’s first wife, and I understood how he must have been spellbound by her striking looks.
I had dreamt about her black almond-shaped eyes shining like smoky quartz, and I longed to caress her flawless olive skin and kiss her dense creamy lips. I had never met a Jamaican woman, and I wondered if they were as compliant as I had been told, even though they were Creoles with English blood. I might follow my father’s footsteps, but I would not commit his same mistakes. Even so, I was looking forward to looking into her face once more, just to see if she stirred the same feelings a second time.
The evening was as dazzling as I had expected. We were given a table in the corner, away from the boisterous villagers, with generous helpings of roast duck and plenty of red wine from France. I had hoped to dance with Annette, and so have the perfect excuse to hold her hand and even squeeze her waist, but in spite of her uncle’s insistence, she refused, due to her sprained ankle. Fortunately, after dinner, Mr. Mason convinced Adele to dance with him and listen to the ghost stories being told, so we were allowed to converse at our secluded table.
I realised that Annette was not the gay, undemanding type of woman I had imagined from her youth a
nd beauty; on the contrary, she was well-read and modest, much like many of the English girls I had met. Of course she was nothing like my fiancée, Elizabeth Harwood. Elizabeth was an English rose, whose transparent skin, coral cheeks and lips were more exquisite than any of Gainsborough’s celebrated portraits. Elizabeth was beautiful, demure, and sweet, nothing like her ambitious and ruthless father, one of the most feared judges at the Inns of Court, where he would like me to be apprenticed, when I finished at Christ Church.
I loved Elizabeth because my mother adored her, and because her father, Judge Haywood, was determined that I should be his son-in-law. Elizabeth was distant and shy, and although she insisted that her greatest wish was to be by my side every day of her life, she didn’t exhibit any passion when she was near me. I suspected she thought of me as a good catch. As an only son, I would inherit a large and prosperous estate, and she was also aware that our marriage would be very beneficial to me.
I have said that I loved Elizabeth, and I did, but I was not in love with her, and now, I was absolutely sure I never had been, and I never would be. I had known it since I met her, but I was sure of it two days ago. I had no doubt that there would never be any passion in our marriage, although we would probably be contented and prosperous. I was sure now that I had never been in love before, because I had never experienced such overwhelming feelings towards a woman, until a few days ago when I met Miss Annette Mason.
Annette had a wild, feral beauty I had never encountered. I was on my way back to Eyre Hall, near Hay, when I beheld a magnificent apparition in the middle of the grey wilderness. She was lying on the causeway, wrapped in a crimson cape while a thick mane of unruly black hair was set free, as her crimson bonnet bounced onto the rocky ground. I unsaddled my horse and rushed to her side, and I realised she was quite real and dreadfully hurt. She sat on the ground crying, as a trickle of blood slid down her bruised forehead, complaining of a sprained ankle, painful arm, and aching head.
