by Luccia Gray
“My advice is to think cool-headedly. You are not to be married for some years yet, so for the moment you can have both worlds, with discretion and respect. Once you are married, you must honour your wife and family above all things.”
“I’m sure you are right, as always, Mother.
“What are you going to do after…when Father …? You are still so young.”
“Perhaps I’ll write another novel, who knows? Of course I shall continue with my social work.”
Michael returned to clear the breakfast plates and kindle the fire. I had always been fond of Michael, but I had never really noticed him before. I had taken his continuous presence for granted, as if he were part of my house. Michael, always so well-groomed with his turned-up collar and cravat, crisp white shirt, and a pleasant smile on his face. I recognised the buttons on his dark waistcoat, which I had once seen almost bursting on my husband’s stocky chest. I noticed how much better it fitted tall, sleek Michael.
From the moment I had felt the lust in his look and melted under the desire in his touch, he became real. I had discovered his eyes were honey-coloured with a dark hazel rim around the iris, and there was a darker speck on his left eye, touching his pupil. He smelled of morning dew, and his voice embraced me like the summer sun. My eyes followed him inevitably, like two lost kittens. I yielded inexplicably to his charms because he made me feel safe and contented. Was this the love my son was experiencing? Could it be an older, married woman like me? I shuddered guiltily.
“Michael, I’ll be having lunch in my room at twelve, some cold meat, bread, and milk.”
“Cook has some fine-looking peaches. Would you like one?”
“Yes, I’d like a peach.” How could he always know what I wanted?
John stood up and turned to leave. I stood up to see him to the door.
“Mother, I promised to have lunch with Bishop Templar and then bring him to Eyre Hall for dinner. You’ve finished your cake. What did you find?”
“A button.” I held it up for him to see. It was a large red button with two little holes in the centre. He took it from me, examining it closely.
“It means you will meet your true love.” I shot a look at Michael, who was standing by the door, his eyes fixed on me, and I blushed like a sixteen-year-old. I turned to my son and spoke quickly. “What nonsense!”
“Mother, you are so beautiful.” He hugged and kissed me. “Everyone loves you!” Suddenly he turned to Michael and said, “Don’t you think she is the most beautiful woman in the county, Michael?”
I spoke quickly before he could even attempt an answer.
“What was your fortune, John?”
“I’m getting married. Adele is making a journey, and Annette will be coming into money. Mr. Mason got the worst one, I’m afraid he’s going to remain a bachelor. I hope yours comes true, Mother. I really do. You deserve to be happy.”
He hugged me once more, kissing both cheeks.
“Thank you, darling. John, just one question before you go. Is she married?”
“No!” he chuckled. “Of course not!”
“Thank God,” I sighed.
“What are you thinking of?” He walked to the door grinning and turned.
“By the way, Mother, on my way back, I’ll also be picking up Mr. Mason and Miss Annette Mason at the inn and bringing them home for dinner tonight.”
I noticed he emphasised the word ‘Miss’. The protective walls I had built around my son began to fracture. My angel was being lured away from the heaven I had built, and Lucifer was trying to slip through the cracks. My breath cut sharply into my chest. She was much worse than a dozen married women chasing after him.
“What time will you arrive?”
“We’ll be here before six, in plenty of time for dinner.”
“Will you ask Leah to show them to their rooms? Dinner will be at eight sharp. I expect everyone to be in the dining room by then. You will help Simon bring your father down. He will meet Miss Annette Mason and sit with us for the first course, then you will take him up again. He needs to rest.”
“Don’t worry, Mother, it will be all right. They will be courteous and pleasant guests.”
He turned to leave and walked to the door, holding my button in the air.
“Do you want your button?”
“Of course I do.”
He turned to Michael. “On second thoughts, I think Michael will make better use of it than you.” And put it in his hand before leaving the room.
“Well,” I asked Michael, “what do you think of Miss Mason?”
“She’s very striking, Mrs. Rochester.”
“Striking?”
“Exotic looking. Long dark curly hair, large brown eyes and colourful clothes.”
“Anything else?” I couldn’t believe Michael was also attracted by the infernal creature.
“She looked very gay in John’s company.”
“I’ve heard enough!” I turned away, irritated by the thought of her with my son.
“I forgot the most important thing. She is, pardon me, but she is most unrefined and coarse.”
I surprised myself by laughing out loud when I realised he had been teasing me all along.
“That’s a relief!” I said, turning back to him, and we held each other’s smiles for some seconds, and suddenly the girl seemed insignificant. I realised I must be in love with this marvellous boy, who was able to make me feel contentment while my world was crumbling around me.
“What is she really like?”
“She reminds me of Shakespeare’s Dark Lady. She is dark, like a Spaniard, with large dull black eyes and heavy eyelids, dun skin and long coarse hair, like black wires. Her lips are pale and her cheeks quite flat, and she has a sharp voice with a strange accent when she speaks.”
“You don’t find her attractive?”
“Absolutely not. I am in love with a lady who has lively green eyes, pale cream skin, rosy round cheeks, smooth wavy auburn hair and soft coral lips.”
“Really?”
“And her voice is like music to my ears.”
He walked towards me and I started trembling, anticipating the magic words which made my head spin to elation.
“May I?” he whispered.
“You may,” I whispered back.
“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on, mistress.”
His fingers swept over my cheeks, down to my jaw line and across my throat. His lips drew nearer to mine and he whispered, “May I kiss you?”
I tilted my head back and stretched on tiptoe to receive his embrace and whispered, “Yes, Michael, kiss me.”
His arms locked around my waist. I was deliciously trapped in a fragment of a frieze he had sculpted in my mind, oblivious to anything except his skin. He broke the spell by reminding me that the door was open and I landed back down to my hearth rug. When I recovered my breath and my senses, I told Michael how I felt.
“They can’t be intimate. What is it he sees in her?”
“She is very unlike Miss Haywood.”
“Precisely! Elizabeth is fair, blue-eyed and extremely refined.”
“He has been attracted to the exact opposite type of person. Perhaps he is not ready to settle down and be married yet. Is it a cry for freedom?”
“He did mention he was feeling pressured into taking responsibilities. Perhaps I’m pushing him too hard…or too fast, but he will have to carry out his duty soon. I don’t want him to waste his youth like his father did.”
“Annette has intelligent and generous eyes. I do not think she is a malevolent person, like her uncle.”
“Very perceptive of you, Michael, but even so, I think I will be able to handle Mr. Mason. I know what he wants. But she is a mystery and must be kept away from my son at all costs. There is a slight possibility, it is only very slight, but I will not take any risks, that they may be related. But I can’t think about that now. We will cross that bridge when we come to it.”
“May
I keep your button as a token?” He held it up to me and I wondered why John had given it to him in the first place.
“Of course.” I pressed it in his palm, closed his hand and wrapped both my hands around his. “You have my heart in your hands; look after it well.”
“With my life.”
***
Part Three Like a Dream
‘Is it true,’ she said, ‘that England is like a dream? Because one of my friends who married an Englishman wrote and told me so. She said this place London is like a cold dark dream sometimes. I want to wake up.’
‘Well,’ I answered annoyed, ‘that is precisely how your beautiful island seems to me, quite unreal and like a dream.’
‘But how can rivers and mountains and the sea be unreal?’
‘And how can millions of people, their houses and their streets be unreal?’
‘More easily,’ she said, ‘much more easily. Yes a big city must be like a dream.’
‘No, this is unreal and like a dream,’ I thought.
Wide Sargasso Sea by Jean Rhys (1966). Conversation between Bertha Mason and Edward Rochester in Jamaica, just before their wedding.
***
“.... Everything in life seems unreal.”
“Except me: I am substantial enough—touch me.”
“You, sir, are the most phantom-like of all: you are a mere dream.”
He held out his hand, laughing. “Is that a dream?” said he, placing it close to my eyes. He had a rounded, muscular, and vigorous hand, as well as a long, strong arm.
“Yes; though I touch it, it is a dream,” said I, as I put it down from before my face.
Jane Eyre, Chapter XXV. Conversation between Jane Eyre and Edward Rochester in Thornfield Hall the night before their first interrupted wedding.
***
Chapter XX Annette’s Dream
After lunch, my uncle instructed me to pack, because we would be moving to Eyre Hall that very evening. I was told to put on my best dress for dinner, as I would be meeting both Mr. and Mrs. Rochester. My uncle reassured me not to worry, because I had already met Adele and John and they would be my allies during my stay.
For months I had been anticipating what I would feel on my arrival in England. I had imagined an idyllic green land with clear blue skies and sturdy stone castles settled by sophisticated pale-skinned people. I prayed to God that it would not be my vault as it had been my mother’s. She too had imagined she would walk into a green and pleasant land, but instead found a satanic garret as a home and an unhallowed plot as her grave.
John had reassured me that Eyre Hall was a comfortable oasis in the middle of the inhospitable moorlands. He thought the world of his parents, especially his mother, who had been responsible for my mother’s death, although he was naturally unaware of this detail. The fact he would be there with me and seemed to be on my side, reassured me, although I knew I could never trust a Rochester.
My uncle instructed me to be polite and affectionate with Mr. Rochester, although Mrs. Rochester would be my benefactress from then on. He seemed to think she would be agreeable to both of us, and reminded me I should keep an open mind regarding my future, following her instructions in order to procure a suitable husband. When I reminded him how she had manipulated her husband, my father, to destroy my mother and steal her generous dowry, he told me it had happened a long time ago and I should learn to forgive her.
The speed at which Mrs. Rochester had evolved from sorceress to accomplice shocked me; however, I had no choice but to follow my uncle’s instructions. Since my departure from the convent, I was alone in the world, and, moreover, I now found myself alone in an unknown country. Everything I owned had been given to me by Mr. Rochester or Mr. Mason. I had no money or possibility of earning any of my own accord. I was even more of a pawn than my mother had been. My worst enemy had to procure my board, lodging, dowry, and a husband. I was inescapably trapped.
John collected us in his cab at the inn as the day was beginning to fade. Bishop Templar, whom he introduced as his headmaster and mentor, was already inside. The bishop was a large round-shaped man with puffy red cheeks and plenty of curly grey hair. His watery eyes shone as he smiled warmly, making me feel comfortable at once. My uncle and I sat facing them for the short ride. I watched them in dead silence while they spoke affably about trivial matters such as the weather.
John hit the cast iron lion-head doorknocker energetically, and the sturdy valet I had seen delivering a note to my uncle pulled open the heavy door. I looked around in awe at the mahogany-panelled hall and shimmering chandeliers. Feeling as vulnerable as a feather in the wind, I forced a smile while the servants lined up to greet us. My hand was trembling as the housekeeper, who John introduced as Mrs. Leah, wished me a good evening. Her piercing black eyes terrified me. I was sure I had seen her before in a nightmare. I turned to my uncle, who smiled stiffly as he shook her hand. The rest of the servants bowed as John introduced them jovially, then he turned to the housekeeper. “Leah, don’t bother to show us up, just tell me where they’ll be staying.”
“Mrs. Rochester has instructed me to accompany all the guests to their rooms and make sure everything is to their liking, Master John,” was her curt reply.
John smiled and relinquished the job of guide to the zealous housekeeper. “Very well, Leah, by all means do us the honours.”
I followed her up the staircase, floating over the soft crimson carpet and along the glossy darkness of the long galleries leading to our chambers. I was entranced by the brass adornments, cut glass candleholders and gilt framed portraits. The house vibrated with wealth. It was almost ostentatious, but not quite. I looked up to the third floor, wondering if there was an attic like the one at Thornfield, and shivered. My uncle held my arm and led me on.
Bishop Templar was allocated the Blue Room on the left wing of the first floor, next to Mr. Rochester’s room. We were invited to look inside. Pale blue curtains, picture frames and bedcovers lit the dark room, which overlooked the laurel orchard to the west of the house, above the dining room and the drawing room. We walked back towards the stairs and along to the end of the gallery in the east wing, where we were shown to the adjacent Golden Rooms which Mrs. Leah told us were used for special guests. They were beautiful rooms with mustard curtains and bedcovers adorned with gilded ornamentation. Large bay windows overlooked the east wing and the hills, which blocked our view of neighbouring Hay.
I drew the curtains; the moon was large and shone brightly. I watched the hills, imagining a town full of busy people beyond, people who lived in their homes with their brothers and sisters and knew who their parents were. My uncle told Mrs. Leah he would like to have some Madeira wine in the drawing room before dinner and disappeared with her down the gallery, leaving me alone with John, who slipped into my chamber closing the door behind him. I felt trapped once more.
“John, please open the door. We can’t be alone together!”
“Why not?”
“Because we can’t.”
“Are you afraid of me?”
“Of course not.”
“You are. You are afraid of me. Why?”
“I am not afraid of you.”
“Do you think I might want to kiss you?”
“No, of course not.”
“Well, you’re wrong. I do want to kiss you.”
“John!”
“I’ve wanted to kiss you since the first day I saw you.”
“Please don’t come any closer.”
“I’ve wanted to be alone with you and tell you how I feel.”
“John, we are related, please don’t talk like that!”
“We are not blood relations.”
“John, I warn you, I will scream.”
“Just one kiss and then I’ll leave.”
“What do you take me for?”
“A very beautiful woman.”
I wanted to scream, but instead I froze. He came closer and held out his right hand, asking for mine, which I gave
him. He drew it to his lips, then held out his left hand, asking for mine once more, and kissed it too.
“Has anyone kissed you before?” he whispered, as he pulled me closer.
“Never,” I confessed.
“Good, then you’ll never forget this kiss and neither will I,” he added, enclosing me in his arms, gathering me to his breast, and pressing his lips on mine. “You are so lovely, Annette.”
He pulled me onto the bed. “Let me kiss you once more.”
I made no effort to pull away, drawn as I was like a wave to the sea, and he grazed his lips against mine once more, softly teasing at first, then insisting on deepening the kiss. I allowed him to enter my heart, because I knew he was the only man I ever wanted to kiss again. Although I also knew he was the only man I should never kiss again. There was nothing I could do to stop him, or to stop myself. Perhaps I should have tried harder to keep him away, but I didn’t seem to have the slightest control over my body or my life. My present and my future were in other people’s hands. Was I just a puppet? Could I decide where to go and what to do? Clearly, no. So I let him decide for me until we heard a knock on the door and sat up abruptly.
“Who is it?” he asked irritably.
“Beth, Master John,” was the anxious reply.
“We better let her in,” he said, as he pulled me up. “Come in, Beth.”
Seconds later a young maid stood at the threshold with a blank expression.
“Master John, Mrs. Leah has asked me to come and see if Miss Annette needs any help getting dressed.”
They both looked at me expecting a reply, but once more I did not know what to say, so John finally spoke. “Thank you, Beth, but Miss Annette does not need any help.”
When she left the room, he turned back to me and smiled. “You could have told her to stay, but you didn’t. Why didn’t you tell her to stay and help you?”
“I don’t know. I was confused. I didn’t know what to say. No one has ever helped me dress,” I mumbled.
“You wanted me to stay, didn’t you?”
He smiled triumphantly.
