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

by Luccia Gray

  “I don’t know what I want anymore.”

  “Let me decide, then. Let me kiss you again.”

  I let him kiss me because my mind was in a dream. Everything that had happened since I had arrived in England was unreal. I had stepped into a fairy tale and met a prince, who would look after me forever and ever in his magic castle. I would not have to think or worry about anything ever again. It was comforting to feel his lips on mine and his hands holding my wrists against the bed. I felt wanted and needed and I had never felt anything similar before. It was a thrilling feeling of power. I had something he wanted. I freed my hands, pushed him away, and jumped up from the bed.

  He chased me around the room until I let him catch me and kiss me again, this time crushing me against the wall.

  “Be still,” he whispered. “Don’t struggle so, like a wild frantic bird that is rending its own plumage in its desperation. I will not hurt you.”

  I stopped resisting and let him take over my lips and my mind once more. When I dropped back into reality and remembered that he was engaged to another woman, I pushed him away. “John, you are engaged. Please leave me alone.”

  “I will not be married for at least two years,” he laughed.

  “But you will marry her?”

  “Of course, and you will marry too.”

  “I will not marry anyone I do not love.”

  “Neither will I.”

  “But we cannot be married.”

  “Of course not.”

  “So, why do you want to kiss me?”

  “Because I like you.”

  “You like me?”

  “Yes, I like you very much.”

  “So, you kiss all the girls you like?”

  “Only the girls I run over first.”

  “Everything is a joke for you. You’re toying with my feelings.”

  “I'm not toying with you. I'm getting to know you. We are getting to know each other, aren’t we?”

  He brushed his fingers along my face and I felt soft and safe once more. “I’d like to get to know you. I don’t know anyone in England,” I whispered.

  “You will be safe here at Eyre Hall.”

  The second interruption was my uncle, who knocked on the adjoining door. “Annette, are you ready? We will be going down to dinner in half an hour.”

  “Yes, Uncle, I will be ready on time,” I shouted back.

  I turned to John and admitted yet again of being terrified of meeting his parents. John was surprised at my misgivings and tried to comfort me, assuring me his parents were the kindest people in England.

  Before leaving he took my hand, kissed it, and said, “Whatever happens, Annette, remember this: we are more than friends, and more than husband and wife, we are family. My father, my mother, Adele, you and I and even your uncle, Mr. Mason, we have a bond which will never be broken. You are part of my life and you always will be, and that makes me very happy.” Then his head leaned against my forehead, where he dropped a soft, warm kiss as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and whispered, “I will see you later, Annette,” before sliding out of my chamber.

  I dreaded meeting my father and his wife. I was terrified of not being up to their expectations, of being dismissed or ridiculed and of losing everything I had, which was nothing of my own. I had nowhere to go back to, neither had I any means of returning home. Where was my home? Would this house be my home from now on? What would I do here? What would become of me if they threw me out? My uncle was ruined and we had nowhere to go in Jamaica or in England. My future lay in the hands of the people who had ill-treated and killed my mother and I had to be amiable to them. Would I ever have to bear a greater humiliation? I cried bitterly.

  ***

  Chapter XXI The Last Supper

  My wife insisted I come down to dinner. I decided to humour her as I would not have many more opportunities to do so. My time was coming to a close, and I was grateful for it. What kind of a life had I been living these past months, alone in my room day after day, haunted by devilish creatures of the past? Even Jane seldom came to see me, and when she did, it was to vex me with accusations. She would never understand how much I had loved her and needed her, or she would not speak to me in that manner. I feared my angel no longer loved what was left of me. My authority was waning, and the worst of it was that I did not care. I was weary of plotting, scheming, lying, and pretending, and all of it to protect her! I required a peaceable existence in my final days.

  But she would not allow me peace! She wanted me to meet Bertha’s daughter! A monstrous creature I never had any wish to see, let alone meet. Why should she be thrust upon me? I had nothing to do with it, but I did not abandon it. I sent money regularly. Mason, her only living relative, insisted on taking care of it in Jamaica, its rightful place, but I couldn’t argue anymore. I could no longer impose my will. He had brought the thing back, and Jane had become a tyrannical hag, who refused to respect my wishes or understand that everything I did was to protect her.

  So, I was carried down the stairs by my son and my valet. The master of the Rochester Estate - an infirm and feeble old man. I was experiencing one humiliation after another, and in my weakest moment, the ghosts had returned to haunt me. I willingly confessed my one and only crime: I loved Jane Eyre too much. I lied and plotted and even killed for her. It was all for her.

  I took a last look around the house that Jane rebuilt, as I was carried along shorter and breezier corridors than those my grandfather had originally built. I glimpsed the sturdy brick walls and large casement windows along the gallery and smirked at the lavish dark red carpets leading down the stairs. Mrs. Fairfax would never have allowed such a dazzling display at Thornfield.

  Downstairs we crossed the dark panelled hall, and my valet pushed open the dining room door, disclosing a glittering Aladdin’s cave. Dozens of candles and chandeliers illuminated the crystal wine glasses, polished porcelain dishes and shiny steel cutlery, while rich, dark velvet drapery hung loosely around windows, tables and armchairs. The guests sat gravely around the table: my Last Supper. As I was wheeled in, Jane, my graceful seraph, greeted me affectionately at the threshold and I was seated at the head of the table.

  “Good evening ladies and gentlemen. It is my pleasure to have what may be my last public dinner with all of you. I welcome you to my home and hope you enjoy your stay and each other’s company.”

  I waited for the guests to mumble their thank yous and continued speaking. “I would like to thank my wife, Jane Eyre Rochester, for her love and devotion to me, even when I did not deserve it, which has been too often. Jane, I also ask your forgiveness if ever, in an excess of love, I have offended you.”

  Once again I waited for her to acknowledge my comments. She smiled and nodded demurely, but I could tell she had not forgiven me yet. Would she ever?

  “I am here tonight to please you, Jane. Everything I have ever done has been to please you. Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?” I insisted, in the hope that she would acquiesce for the sake of our guests. Her jaws set firmly and her eyes darted fiery sparks. I thought she would chastise me, but the sound of some glasses tapping stole her eyes away from mine. Her brow relaxed and she smiled sweetly at someone else, although her eyes turned quickly back to mine as she finally spoke. “I thank you for allowing us the pleasure of your company and dining with us this evening, Edward, and I dutifully forgive all your minor offences, as I hope you will forgive mine.”

  The stern look returned as she finished the sentence. “Our Lord must forgive the rest.”

  I looked out of the corner of my eye. Only Simon and the other young valet were standing behind me. I wondered who had made her smile and forget her anger, but I had no answer.

  I looked back to the table at my son, as handsome and confident as I had once been. “John, my only son and my worthiest asset, I entreat you to follow your mother’s advice to the letter. She knows best. She always knew better than me. You will be the greatest Rochester if you
do as she bids, and it is my wish that you obey her. Do not neglect my words.”

  “Rest assured, Father, I will be loyal to Mother, and to my gracious surname and heritage.”

  “My dearest, lively and loyal Adele, I should have allowed you to use my surname and you might have married. Jane tells me you have a new suitor, no doubt this gentleman sitting to your left, Mr. Greenwood, I believe. Good evening, sir. You will not toy with my ward, or I shall pursue you from Hell if needs be.”

  “Mr. Rochester, it is an honour to be your guest tonight and I assure you, sir, that my intentions are honourable. We will be departing for Italy shortly, with your permission, and when we return you will have news of my intentions.”

  “Jane will have to deal with that matter because I fear I shall not be here on your return. She will know what to do. She will be the head of this family and this estate and will be respected as such by everyone in this room.”

  I waited once more for everyone to nod and mumble agreement.

  “Bishop Templar, I thank you for counselling and guiding my son. You have been a great influence in his academic and spiritual progress. I trust you will continue to do so, in a disinterested manner, when I am no longer present.”

  “Naturally, Mr. Rochester. John is one of my most valued pupils, and I will always watch over his advancement and advise him in spiritual and academic matters.”

  I turned to the devil at my table. “Richard, we meet again. I see you are in better health than me, for the moment. Beware, you are observing what lies ahead and not too far away, I fear. You are welcome in this house because Jane, who is a far better person than I am, wishes it to be so. We both did what we had to do twenty-three years ago, and here now sitting beside you I observe the results of our deeds. We each fulfilled our duty, and my wife, who is the most generous person on Earth, because she is not bound by any obligation, wishes my duty to be continued, even after my death. Jane will see to it that Miss Annette Mason is provided with a dowry and a husband, and anything else she needs forthwith.”

  “Thank you, Edward. Miss Annette Mason and I both appreciate your kindness and Mrs. Rochester’s generosity.”

  “So you should,” I mumbled loud enough for all to hear before adding, “Can she not speak?”

  “I am most grateful and honoured to be your ward, sir.”

  “Let me look at you. Yes, you remind me of her. That dark, beautiful, and quite...”

  “Edward!” Jane interrupted me before I could tell them that she looked just like her mad, enticing mother and that she was a fatherless wench, who had come to steal my last peaceful moments.

  “She has returned to haunt me!”

  “Edward, you are looking at Annette. She is not a ghost. Annette is our guest at Eyre Hall. Naturally she looks like her aunt, but her looks are not her election. None of us decide what colour our hair or our eyes are, do we dear?”

  “You are too good for me Jane, too good for all of them,” I mumbled helplessly.

  “Nonsense, we are all good Christians sitting around this table. Please, Edward, let us have our first course together, peaceably. Bishop Templar, would you be so kind as to say Grace please?”

  I turned to the ambitious clergyman, wondering wretchedly if he would dare to court my widow.

  “Naturally, Mrs. Rochester. It is an honour to be present on such a special occasion with the whole Rochester family together. I will gladly say a very special Grace at this extraordinary table we all have the privilege to be sharing.”

  He joined his hands and closed his eyes, as if God could really hear him and I wished I believed. I wished I had believed in God for one single second in my life, so I could grasp that second and believe again, but I couldn’t. I saw nothing. I felt nothing. Nothing more. Just death, quiet, and blackness. No guardian angels. No demons. I closed my eyes and listened to his prayer in case he had the power of summoning God to come to me, but why should He answer my call? After all, I had ignored Him all my life.

  “Dear Lord, we ask you to be present at our table tonight, and we thank you for all these gifts which we are about to receive from thy bounty. We also thank you for all the blessings conferred upon us throughout our lives and humbly ask forgiveness for all our sins, so that we may feast in Paradise with thee, Amen.”

  When I opened my eyes Jane was staring at me. “Are you all right, dear?” she asked.

  “Perfectly,” I lied.

  “Thank you, Bishop Templar.” Everyone else mumbled their thank yous once more, as Jane nodded to the servants. “I think we can start our meal now.”

  ***

  I was trembling by the time the food arrived, but Adele squeezed my hand. “It’s all right, Annette. It’s all over now. He will not speak to you again. Breathe or you’ll suffocate!”

  I smiled, speechless, as the soup was poured into my bowl.

  “Napkin on your lap, elbows away from the table, big spoon across the top for the soup and bread roll to your left. Come on eat up, it’s warm and delicious,” Adele prompted helpfully.

  Water and wine were poured into the sparkling crystal glasses. I sipped slowly as I watched John chatting to his father. The old man smiled dotingly at his jovial son. They obviously understood each other, like the fish and the sea. John was so innocent and naïve, he obviously knew nothing about his parents’ sins; or was he one of them, out to break my heart and my mind?

  My uncle sat opposite me to John’s left. He conversed with Bishop Templar, who was sitting on his right. They made an unusual couple, the jovial, pious clergyman and the grim, business-minded settler. Men always seemed to get on however different they were; not so women, who choose their conversation partners far more carefully.

  Adele was easy to converse with. She was a merry and loquacious lady, who had no doubt wasted her youthful years in this dreary mansion, probably helping Mrs. Rochester bring up John and look after her ailing husband. Having been deprived of her rightful surname, as I too had been, she must have had a hard time finding a suitable husband. Technically speaking, she was my half-sister. I knew little of her mother, a French harlot my father had met while he was still married to my tormented mother, according to my uncle. What kind of a man had my father been? An irresponsible lecher? A murderer? A thief? A negligent father? A cruel husband? Did he think he could just ask forgiveness and be accepted into the gates of Heaven? I was not prepared to forgive him as quickly as Adele had. She seemed happy enough now that she was going to Italy to meet her mother with the unconventional-looking poet.

  I had seen unkempt bachelors like Mr. Greenwood in Jamaica and on the ship to England, men with unruly, ragged grey hair, whose waistcoats bloated in an unsightly way under the pressure of their greedy stomachs. They wore soiled trousers and shoes that needed polishing. The London poet did not seem to have a love interest in Adele, although he was certainly in need of a wife. He was pleasant enough, turning to me regularly and asking if I was enjoying the food or my stay in England, as if both things were equally significant to him.

  My gaze bounced back and forth from my father to my half-brother. They both had a similar bone structure and jaw line, but John had a shorter, more refined nose, clearer eyes, fairer hair, and paler skin. His features were more relaxed and his manner was more leisurely than his father’s. I could easily trust him. I wondered why my father had tortured and killed my beautiful mother, the mother I was torn away from. John smiled at me frequently, and I wondered if his zealous mother would allow us to be friends. Could we be friends and yet feel such a strong attraction?

  At the end of the table to my left and opposite my father sat Mrs. Rochester, majestically supervising the banquet. She smiled stiffly as she overlooked the interactions taking place at the table. She hardly ate, fidgeting with the cutlery and sipping the wine, while she chatted politely with Mr. Greenwood and Bishop Templar. The bishop’s eyes twinkled mischievously as they rested on our hostess, and Mr. Greenwood also competed for her attention, no doubt keen to make a good impre
ssion.

  When we had finished the broiled salmon, Mr. Rochester complained of tiredness and was taken up to his room by the two young valets. After her father left and the roast goose and various bottles of wine had been devoured by the hungry guests, Adele asked me to change places so that she could discuss her travel arrangements with Mr. Greenwood over dessert. I agreed meekly, delighted to converse with John again.

  “Well, it wasn’t that bad, was it?” He smiled warmly.

  “Your father is very intimidating. Fortunately, I wasn’t alone with him.”

  “Count your blessings! He’s usually far more talkative and asks tons of questions, but he’s not his usual self anymore. Anyway, as I told you, we’ll look after you. You’re part of the family now.”

  “Your mother was very kind,” I conceded.

  “Why does that bother you?”

  “I’m not sure what to expect from her. She should hate me.”

  “My mother doesn’t hate anyone. Why on earth would she hate you?” he chuckled.

  “I must remind her of her husband’s first wife, and that can’t be pleasing for her.”

  “My mother is not a resentful or vindictive person. On the contrary, she is an honourable and decent person. She has devoted most of her life to helping orphans and setting up charity schools. Why wouldn’t she help you?”

  “I suppose you are right.”

  “You look so beautiful when you are worried. May I go to your room tonight after dinner?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Just to get to know each other.”

  “I wouldn’t trust you in my room again.”

  “I shall try anyway. My room is next to yours.”

  “Your mother is watching us. Please stop looking at me like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like I’m seducing you.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Of course I’m not.”

  He smirked, rubbing his knee against my thigh.

  “Is this your first dinner party, Annette?”

  “I’m afraid so.”