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

by Luccia Gray

  He took out a notebook and pencil and started taking notes of my instructions. “Have you decided in which church?”

  “The interment will take place in Hay church and be officiated by Bishop Templar who is, I mean was, a personal friend of Mr. Rochester’s. Mr. Wood and Mr. Blake, the Vicar at Millcote, will assist in the ceremony.”

  “Very well. I suggest the funeral should be advertised in the local and national papers. All residents and tenants are welcome to visit Eyre Hall and pay their last respects to Mr. Rochester before the funeral. Is that correct?” I nodded.

  “Will you require food or servants for the occasion?”

  “My housekeeper and Cook will make the necessary arrangements.”

  “Would you like any personal invitations sent?”

  “Yes, to the Ingrams, the Leas and Eghams, to his London Traveller’s Club in Pall Mall, and to my editors in London, Mr. Spencer at Barnes & Spencer in The Strand. That will be all.”

  “May I suggest some flowers for Mr. Rochester’s chamber and the reception room?”

  “Of course.”

  “And keepsakes? We have many types of lockets available which we can fill with locks of Mr. Rochester’s hair.”

  “No keepsakes, Mr. Tempest. He is in our hearts.”

  “Any photographs? We have an excellent photographer who…”

  “No photographs!” I surprised myself by raising my voice. “Thank you,” I added more calmly.

  “Mourning clothes?”

  “I have asked Miss Adele, a close friend of the family, to make arrangements for the purchase of mourning clothes from her London milliners.”

  “Then the matter of the funeral itself. I suggest a hearse with four horses, four mourning coaches with forty-three plumes of ostrich feathers…”

  “Mr. Tempest, the very best hearse and carriage.”

  “How many carriages will you require for the mourners?”

  “No carriages. We shall walk to Hay church. As you may be aware, it is just outside the gates of Eyre Hall.”

  “But it is cold and it may rain…”

  “No carriages, Mr. Tempest.”

  “As you wish, madam. Do I understand the coffin itself should also be the best? That is strong elm shell, with mattress, lined with…”

  “Mr. Tempest! I said the best of everything. It is displeasing for me to discuss these details.”

  “I was an apprentice in the firm when his father, God rest his soul, was buried. That was a grand ceremony. No Rochester has died since then, thirty-three years ago.”

  “Then do whatever you have to do to make it a grand ceremony too.”

  “Madam, the mutes, the pages, the feathermen, the coachmen…”

  “For God’s sake!” I stood up exasperated, and Michael knocked on the open door. “Can I help you, Mrs. Rochester?”

  “Mr. Tempest, could you excuse us for a few minutes please? Perhaps you would like a refreshment in the drawing room?” He walked out, curved like a hook over his notebook, mumbling disapprovingly.

  I put my arms around Michael and closed my eyes, as he stroked my hair. “That man was driving me quite mad.”

  “He is only doing his job.”

  “Hold me tight. I’m completely useless without you by my side. I could fall asleep right here, right now.” I felt so safe with him, as if we were alone in the world. “Tell him to go away,” I moaned.

  “Have you finished making the funeral arrangements?”

  “No, I haven’t. Where were you, Michael? Why did you leave me with him? I needed you,” I reproached him.

  “Eating. I was famished. I hadn’t eaten in hours. It’s raining and muddy. It took hours to get to Millcote and back. It’s four o’clock in the morning,” he complained quietly.

  “I’m sorry, Michael. You must be exhausted, too.”

  “Shall I help you with Mr. Tempest?”

  “Thank you, Michael. Tell him to come back and we’ll finish with this as quickly as possible. Can you deal with him?”

  I watched carefully as Michael discussed all the details and negotiated the price, looking at me when he was unsure. I smiled or nodded when I agreed and looked serious or shook my head slightly when I wanted him to negotiate or dissent. He understood my gestures, and less than thirty minutes later Mr. Tempest read a summary of our purchase.

  “Perfect, Mr. Tempest,” I smiled, as I extended my hand. “A pleasure to do business with you. Thank you so much for your kind help and useful suggestions.”

  “Mrs. Rochester, the pleasure is mine. We are most honoured at Tempest Undertakers to be able to include the Rochester family as our most distinguished clients.”

  Susan showed him out and we were alone again. I held him close, breathing deeply to inhale the safety he radiated. “You know, Michael, you are very good at this.”

  “At embracing you?”

  I could feel his smile. “Yes, you are good at that, too. But I meant at organising and negotiating. You’re clever, quick and intuitive, and you have a talent for dealing with people calmly and persuasively.”

  “I do?”

  “You do. You did it with Dr. Carter and now with Mr. Tempest. I’m sure you get your own way with Mrs. Leah, Simon admires you, and I bet the girls eat out of your hand. Adele asks you to help her write her letters and poems. You are such a resourceful person.”

  “If you say so, but my only concern is to serve you, as best as I can.”

  “You are like a hidden treasure. You were right next to me for years, but I had never really seen you.”

  He held me tighter in silence. I had almost relaxed into slumber, when he spoke softly into my hair. “I knew you were the brightest jewel in the world the first day I saw you.”

  No one had ever shown me such tenderness as Michael. Edward had loved me as honestly and completely as he could, but he was anything but gentle. Edward had been forceful and demanding, both physically and emotionally. He enjoyed lively discussions, where he always claimed the upper hand, and he was most commanding in the bedroom to his own needs and desires. He was generous and loving, but demanded absolute obedience and submission on my part. I complied at first, but when I was no longer totally submissive, our relationship disintegrated. My submission had kept us together. I had to make sure our relationship was not based on Michael’s submission to me. I wanted a companion, not a dutiful servant.

  “I should go upstairs and get an hour’s sleep, and you should too, Michael.” He nodded and we walked into the hall, and then took our separate ways upstairs and downstairs

  ***

  Chapter XXV Blackmail

  I watched her walk up the stairs strenuously, slowly pulling her meagre weight, and hoped she would be able to sleep. I knew tomorrow would be an even more arduous day. No one at Eyre Hall slept more than three hours that night. The extra kitchen hands and servants arrived before dawn. As the sun rose, the bells tolled nine times in the churches at Hay and Millcote, announcing Mr. Rochester’s passing, followed by sixty-four peals ringing relentlessly in honour of his years among the living. An hour later, the first townspeople wishing to pay their last respects arrived at Eyre Hall. We were all busy until after lunch, when another batch of helpers arrived, and Mrs. Leah allowed us a few hours rest while they took over the chores. Susan, Beth, Christy and Cook retired for a nap. Simon said he had to go to Hay for an errand and I went to the library to oversee the accounts, as Mrs. Rochester had asked me to do. Before dinner, Leah called me down to the kitchen, because Simon had returned in a deplorable condition.

  I entered the drawing room to the unusual humming sound of the guests eating, drinking and mumbling. In spite of the overcast evening, the room was aglow with the furious fire and the plentiful wax candles scattered around all the tables and shelves.

  Mrs. Rochester was standing by the mantelpiece conversing with a solemn-looking elderly couple dressed in black. The gentleman stooped crookedly over his short plump wife, who was holding a black kerchief to her red eyes
. I recognized the Mayor of Millcote and his wife, because they had been dinner guests at Eyre Hall on several occasions. I approached my mistress and asked her if she needed the library.

  She turned her worn and weary eyes towards mine, making an effort to smile. “Yes, thank you, Michael. I shall be using it shortly.”

  It pained me to bring her more bad news, but the situation was serious and her intervention inevitable. I drew the heavy curtains, kindled the fire and lit the oil lamps and candles. Moments later she followed me into the library. “What is the matter, Michael?”

  “You are in danger, Mrs. Rochester. We both are.”

  “Why? What has happened?”

  “Last night someone attacked Simon, and two of his fingers were amputated.”

  She jumped towards me and screamed, “Heavens! Why has no one informed me?”

  “He has just returned from Hay. Mrs. Leah and Christy tried to alleviate his pain and cure the wound, but he needs a doctor.”

  “Dr. Carter must see him at once; but why are we in danger?”

  “When old Mr. Raven died some months ago, Simon was helping his son clear out his father’s possessions and he found a pretty jewel-encased box, which he took without permission. When he arrived back at Eyre Hall, he found a letter inside. He can’t read, so he asked me to read it for him. I lied. I told him it was a letter from Mr. Rochester to you. He put it in your diary three days ago and I replaced it with the letter you received from me.”

  “Why did you do that?”

  “I did not want to upset you any further with Mr. Rochester’s letter, so I took it away.”

  “I still don’t understand, Michael. Why did they amputate Simon’s fingers? How did they find out about the letter?”

  “Some days ago, Simon went out to enjoy himself at the inn and offered the box to a young lady as a present. She showed it to Mr. Raven’s daughter, Shirley, who recognised it as being her grandfather’s and accused the young lady of theft. The girl admitted Simon had given it to her. The person who has amputated Simon’s fingers will be looking for you. He thinks you have the letter and he wants it back.”

  “What is this letter, and why is it so important?”

  “It was written thirty-three years ago in Spanish Town, Jamaica.”

  She walked to the heavy curtains covering the window, then held her hands to her temples. “Not again! Not Jamaica again! Damn the place. Why did he ever go there?”

  I continued, because the situation was urgent. “It is from Mr. Rochester to a certain Mr. Fairfax, his uncle.”

  She turned away from the window, sat on the chair by the desk and sighed, shaking her head. “After all these years, I can’t believe it…Have you got this letter?”

  I sat down on the chair in front of hers on the other side of the desk. “It is a dreadful letter, Mrs. Rochester. I would have liked to spare you the contents. I suppose Mr. Raven came by it and must have been blackmailing Mr. Rochester.”

  I took it out of my pocket and laid it on the table in front of her. Her fingers gently pulled the manuscript towards her and unfolded the letter. I watched the lines across her brow deepen and a dark shadow cross her face. When she finished reading, she dropped the letter on the table, and spoke quietly. “I was indeed married to a monster, but it is over. He is dead.”

  I knelt beside her and held her hand. I had to make her understand the urgency of the situation. “Mrs. Rochester, we are still in danger. Mr. Raven knows you have the letter, and he knows I have read it too.”

  Awareness struck her at once. “Michael, thank goodness they didn’t do anything to you!” She clutched my hands tightly. “What would I do without you?”

  She had to understand that she was the person in danger. “Mr. Raven is determined to get the letter back, and he knows you have it. You are not safe.”

  She pulled her hands away from mine, stroked my cheeks with her fingers, and then told me she needed to think and asked me to draw the curtains.

  “Can I do anything else for you, Mrs. Rochester?”

  “Dr. Carter is in the drawing room, make sure he sees to Simon’s wounds at once, and then come back.”

  ***

  I sat down, reread the letter, and pondered on the situation at hand. I had to destroy it and put an end to the blackmail and the innkeeper’s threats once and for all. I jumped out of the chair restlessly and walked back to the damp casements. Winter snows were drifting through the grey evening air, silently resting on the gravel. Soon the estate would be covered by its white mantle. It was a serene view. I could have watched the snow falling for hours, but the furious gusts of wind whipping the snowflakes mercilessly into whirlwinds reminded me that I had to act.

  I recalled the other crucial moments I had experienced. The humiliations suffered at my Aunt Reed’s house, the misery at Lowood, the death of Helen Burns, the hapless wreck I had been after learning that Edward was already married, how distraught I had felt wandering around the shattered walls and through the devastated interior of Thornfield Hall after it had been burnt down, how I crumbled and disintegrated when I thought my daughter had died, and how I discovered Edward had selfishly and cruelly ripped her away from me. I wiped the tears away from my cheeks and wondered when my life had been pleasant. I could only remember a few brief months after my marriage, before John was born. His cheerful image brought a smile to my face. He was such a wonderful boy!

  I turned back to my desk. Michael had returned and was sitting by the hearth, watching the flames with a furrowed brow. I could count on his loyalty, and my daughter, Helen, was alive somewhere. I could not abandon her again. I had to find her. I also had to make myself respected on the estate and act firmly with Raven. Edward’s misdeeds should be buried with him. I had to take control of my life, or I would be crushed once more by the cruel force of fate or the whims of evil-doers.

  I looked back towards the hearth, where Michael was now standing. Our eyes met and he walked to my side and asked softly, “Can I bring you something to eat or drink?”

  “Not now, Michael.”

  “Have you decided what should be done?”

  “Yes, Michael. Have the carriage prepared and tell Mr. Briggs I wish him to accompany us on an errand. We shall go to the inn and solve this problem once and for all.”

  ***

  I had received a telegraphic message before sunrise informing me of my client Mr. Rochester’s death, and requiring my presence at Eyre Hall at once. I had collected all of Mr. Rochester’s papers in my offices in St. Martin’s Lane as required, and then taken the Scotch Express from King’s Cross at ten o’clock. I had arrived at York at four o’clock, exhausted and famished, not having taken a morsel to my mouth since the previous evening. Fortunately I had satisfied my hunger and quenched my thirst with the banquet splendidly laid out in the drawing room at Eyre Hall. I was sitting comfortably by the fireplace, smoking my pipe, and conversing with Mr. Cooper when the young valet, carrying my coat and hat, informed me that Mrs. Rochester was waiting for me in the carriage and wished me to accompany her on an urgent errand forthwith. I had no choice but to force a smile, bid good evening to Cooper, and follow the young man out into the bitter night.

  The snow had set. It was an icy evening as the three of us sat inside the swaying carriage. Mrs. Rochester’s stern face was looking directly at me. Her eyes were covered by the dark shadow her bonnet cast, but her jaws were tight and her lips pressed and thin. Whatever business we had to deal with was most definitely not pleasant. She was silent; however, I ventured to ask where we were going.

  “To the Rochester Arms, in Hay,” she answered drily.

  “May I ask why?”

  “Mr. Briggs, I am being blackmailed.”

  “By whom?”

  “By Mr. Raven. He had a letter my late husband wrote many years ago to Mr. Fairfax from Spanish Town, Jamaica.”

  “Good God!” I gasped. It must have been the letter he wrote regarding his father’s death! But how could Raven have got hold
of it? How did she have it in her possession? I looked at the valet uncomfortably.

  “You must be aware that this is a very delicate and private matter, madam.”

  “I have complete confidence in Michael,” she snapped. “He came across the letter and recovered it for me.”

  In spite of the cold, heat began to surge from my churning guts up towards my brows. I took out a kerchief and wiped the sweat away before speaking. “I can explain everything…”

  “I want no explanations, Mr. Briggs. I leave that matter to your own conscience, and in any case, the matter is not of my encumbrance. It occurred years before I met Mr. Rochester. I don’t care about the gossip, but I will not allow the matter to be known to my son. Do you understand? He must never know who his father really was. I do not want him to feel responsible for his father’s crimes.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Rochester.”

  “When we arrive, you will tell Mr. Raven that he will receive us immediately in private rooms to discuss his tenancy, and this matter will be sorted out once and for all.”

  I nodded and wiped the sweat away again. The ghosts of the past were back. Old Mr. Rochester was claiming his vengeance. His son had died and the gates of Hell had opened to receive him and his accomplices. “The dead should not be troubled, or the consequences could be devastating, if…”

  “Mr. Briggs, I do not believe in ghosts, and, in any case, I have harmed no one. I have nothing to fear, neither has my son. Is that clear?”

  I nodded, but I knew demons had been set loose on the Rochester Estate and the consequences were unpredictable.

  ***

  Inside the inn, Michael and I waited patiently by a table while Briggs arranged our meeting with the host. I remembered the last time I had entered the inn, after discovering the burnt ruins of Thornfield Hall twenty-two years ago. It had not changed much; the large figured papering on the walls, the flowered patterns and colour of the carpet looked familiar. It was vulgarly decorated with dark wooden furniture and large tinselled ornaments on the tables. The portrait of George the Third and another of the Prince of Wales were still there, but a larger painting of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert had pride of place over the mantelpiece. All this was made visible by the light of the same oil lamp hanging from the ceiling and the same blazing hearth.