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

by Luccia Gray

  “Well done, Michael.” I put my arms around him. “Hold me, please, hold me tight.” He did and I slid into an unreal timeless world, where only the two of us existed. I buried my face in his chest and knew that everything would be all right.

  He spoke quietly into my hair. “I haven’t slept or eaten. I was sick with worry.”

  “I’m all right. Don’t worry about me. Adele has been looking after me.”

  “What did Junot tell you?”

  “I will tell you what he told me tomorrow, after the funeral.”

  “Why tomorrow?”

  “Trust me.” I kissed his cheek softly and I felt a tremor in my stomach. I winced uneasily.

  He noticed. “What’s wrong? I know something is worrying you. Something he told you. I cannot leave until you tell me. Please, tell me. How can I help you?”

  I promised to tell him after the funeral and finally managed to convince him to leave. I spent the rest of the afternoon at my desk puzzling with numbers, trying to work out Junot’s prediction, until we dressed for the walk to the church where I had married Edward, twice, where John had been christened, and where Bertha and Edward’s ancestors were buried. A little girl was buried there, too, an unknown corpse, not my daughter. Helen was alive, waiting for me to find her. A weight had been lifted from my shoulders and a radiant beam was guiding my path towards a new beginning with Helen and Michael

  ***

  Chapter XXVIII The Funeral

  The gruff old church bells in the single belfry had been tolling ceaselessly all morning in the ancient tower, heralding my funeral. The coffin, where my acquiescent corpse lay, was carried down the stairs and through the front door to my hearse by eight sombre pallbearers; the same men who would later carry my coffin to its final repose and deposit it in the church vault with the rest of my kin. There was only one horse-drawn feathered carriage, which bore my magnificent hearse. Behind me the black train of friends, neighbours, relatives, tenants and servants solemnly walked the quarter of a mile from Eyre Hall to Mr. Wood’s modest temple.

  The Hay district church stood just beyond the gates of Eyre Hall. It was a small village place of worship, which had been erected in my grandfather’s time, almost a hundred years ago, on the site of an older derelict building. It was the church where my grandparents were buried, where my parents married and were buried, and where my brother was buried, too, in the family vault at the front of the altar. It was the same altar where I had married Jane, almost twice, and christened my only son. My unfortunate first wife was buried anonymously in the graveyard, and Jane’s daughter’s tomb lay empty in the vault.

  It was the church where kind-hearted Jane started a Sunday school for the children of the farmers, tenants and young people who were employed during the week. The church where Jane attended mass almost every Sunday, often alone, because I had other matters to attend, or because I was away with other occupations. I was not a faithful husband. It was not in my restless nature. I wished I had stayed with her at Eyre Hall more often. I wished I had stayed with our children, the children we could have had, should have had, but I realised too late that I should not have neglected my family. I was too selfish, too greedy and too profane.

  I had arrived. Mr. Wood was wearing a purple surplice and standing at the church door with a prayer book in his hand; he spoke as my hearse approached. “We receive the body of our brother, Edward Rochester, with confidence in God, the giver of life, who raised the Lord Jesus from the dead.” Seconds later Mr. Blake, the Vicar at Millcote, sprinkled some water and spoke too. “With this water Edward was called to baptism. As Christ went through the deep waters of death for us, so may he bring us to the fullness of resurrection life with Edward and all the redeemed.”

  Inside the temple I could hear some people crying; most had bowed heads and solemn expressions. My wife was covered in mourning weeds. No part of her countenance was visible, but I could see her shoulders trembling. Adele was standing beside her, weeping loudly, she was always far too expressive and excitable. My son was struggling to keep a straight upper lip, but I could see the tears streaming down his face, too.

  The coffin was open, facing the altar. Bishop Templar was reading the introductory psalms and leading the service. The organ Jane persuaded me to generously donate was playing the funeral march. They were all seated now, my good friends the Eshtons and the Ingrams, Jane’s cousins Mrs. Fitzjames and Mrs. Wharton with their husbands, the Mayors, Members of Parliament and factory owners, and of course, the tenants and labourers. Nobody wanted to miss out on such a grand event.

  Life was too short. I would have needed more time to repent and repair my deeds. I used to think I was immortal, immune to death and decay. I believed I was above any law, man-made or divine. I was used to getting my own way and giving orders, which were unconditionally obeyed, so I imagined my life would continue thus forever. I was naive enough to ignore the scriptures. God’s plan was never in my mind, and now that my carcass was dead and buried, I had nowhere to go.

  ***

  It was a ghastly cold funeral. Jane made us walk the freezing and drizzling five hundred yards to the church. We were all soaked and shivering as we paid our hundredth respects to the deceased. How I longed to be back under the Jamaican sun. They morbidly insisted on having an open coffin with wreaths of iris, blue thistles and eucalyptus, and bunches of roses and chrysanthemums at the altar, so the whole church stank of wet wilting flowers and decayed flesh.

  I had never seen so many people dressed in black pressed together in such a reduced space. The women’s heads and faces were draped in black with black veils, as if they were all wearing widow’s weeds. Some idiot at the organ played the death march time and time again, and when that dreadful bore Mr. Greenwood, read Tennyson’s In Memoriam and the poems by Swinburn and Browning, I would have gladly fallen asleep, if my feet had not been so damp and cold.

  Back in the house I decided the time had come to speak frankly to the prosperous widow, so I asked Mrs. Rochester for a private meeting. Surprisingly she agreed at once and asked me to accompany her to the library.

  We sat comfortably, sipping tea by the fireplace. I decided there was no point in beating about the bush. I did not want to be overtaken.

  “I can see you are not lacking suitors Mrs. Rochester, or should I say vultures? You have Mr. Greenwood eating out of your hand and the bishop’s timely visit cannot be attributed to mere chance, can it? I also noticed your editor, Mr. Spencer, was most solicitous…”

  “Please, Mr. Mason, do not offend me. Mr. Greenwood is courting Adele and wishes to gain my approval.”

  “Of course he does.”

  “And Bishop Templar has been a dear friend since John was at Rugby.”

  “Quite!”

  “Mr. Spencer has been trying to persuade me to write another novel for some time; I assure you that is his only interest in me.”

  “What then are your plans, now that you are a free woman?”

  “I am in mourning Mr. Mason. But I have thought about busying myself with a new novel, continuing my charity work and parish schools. I have my son, I have Adele, and now Annette’s finishing school and husband must be procured, too. I assure you, I have no time for suitors.”

  “I have noticed that John is quite taken with Annette.”

  She shot a frozen look at me, which I naturally ignored and continued, “You need not worry. She is keeping well away from him, and it is not easy, because I think she has quite taken a fancy to him. Such an attractive boy, and Annette having spent her life in a convent has no doubt a great deal of contained amorous zeal, she could easily lose control, I fear.”

  “Mr. Mason, mind your language, she is your niece!”

  “John is constantly reminding her that their relation is ‘bloodless’, shall we say? Of course, she thinks she knows better, doesn’t she? She is conveniently convinced they share the same father, and that little white lie is the only thing that is keeping them apart.”

  �
�You know my views on the matter. I will look after her. She will be conveniently educated, and she will marry a man of substance.”

  “Indeed. I wonder if you had thought of investing in Jamaica?”

  “Jamaica?”

  “I owned a plantation, which I had to sell, but it is well worth recovering. There are massive gains in sugar exports from Jamaica.”

  “I am not well enough informed; enlighten me, and explain why you sold it if it was so productive.”

  “I have a little vice, Mrs. Rochester. We men are prone to one type of excess or another, as you well know.”

  “And what is yours, Mr. Mason?”

  “Cards. I enjoy playing and sometimes, inevitably, I lose.”

  “You lost your plantation playing cards?”

  “I’m afraid so, and I’d like to buy it back. We could be business partners, fifty-fifty. You would earn a great deal of money. I would take care of all the work and you would receive high interest at the end of the year, and, of course, the plantation would always be ours.”

  “Go on, please, I am interested. Tell me more about Jamaican plantations. Do you still use slaves? Do children work?”

  “Slavery was abolished in 1833, over thirty years ago. The workers who wish to continue working on British plantations are no longer flogged and they have fair wages and conditions. Indentured workers from India are also arriving of their own free will to work in the new advantageous conditions. Children work, as they do in England, but I assure you, Jane, they are not able to learn even the most rudimentary intellectual skills. Not a single one of them has ever learned to read or write. They are only capable of menial repetitive tasks, such as plantation work. If you had ever seen one of them, you would understand. They are not animals, and although they have some sentiments, neither are they totally humans.”

  “Is the plantation a lucrative business?”

  “Sugar is the most important crop in the West Indies, which produces over eighty percent of the amount consumed in Europe. My plantation is on flat land near the coast where the soil is fertile and sugar is best grown. It is a safe and profitable investment, Mrs. Rochester, and Antoinette would no doubt enjoy having a house on the plantation to go back to with her future husband. She might enjoy spending time there, who knows?”

  “Can I trust you not to gamble it away again?”

  “I will not be the sole owner, so I cannot sell it without your consent. I would benefit by using the property, being the master of the plantation and receiving half of the profits.”

  “I think that can be settled, Mr. Mason.”

  “You have made a wise decision, Mrs. Rochester, which you will not regret.”

  “I hope our collaboration will be advantageous to both of us, Mr. Mason.”

  “This brings me on to the next matter. I would also need to have my playing debts covered at my club in London.”

  “How much does that amount to?”

  “Five thousand pounds.”

  “Heavens! How long did it take you to work up that debt?”

  “Several years, I’m afraid.”

  “Very well, Mr. Mason. I will be your business partner in Jamaica, and I will cover your debts in London.”

  “I’m afraid that is not all. I have one further requirement.”

  “I think it is quite sufficient.”

  “I would like to be the next master of Eyre Hall.”

  “Your greed and ambition have no limits, sir.”

  “Let me explain, Mrs. Rochester. May I call you Jane?” She looked surprised, but she did not answer, therefore, I continued, “I would be most gratified if you would do me the honour of marrying me.”

  She stared at me coolly. “I’m afraid I am in mourning, Mr. Mason. I cannot marry anyone for at least two years.”

  “One year will be sufficient mourning, I’m sure.”

  “In any case, I am not planning to marry anyone, Mr. Mason.”

  “If Annette marries John, I will have the estate under my supervision. Annette trusts me completely. She knows she is alive because I made provisions for her. She owes everything to me and she will repay me with gratitude.”

  “John will not inherit until he is thirty, it is in Edward’s will.”

  “Of course that is a drawback, but are you sure you are willing to have us all here living with you under the same roof? John with Annette, and, of course, I would stay here, too.”

  “I have offered to buy the plantation, leave it in your hands and share the benefits. I am also prepared to pay your debts. Finally, I can also offer you a house wherever you wish in England. Millcote? London? Anywhere you would like to live.”

  “How generous of you, madam. Unfortunately, if we are married, it would be even more advantageous for me. It’s quite simple, either John marries Annette or you marry me. It’s your choice. I’m sure we both prefer the second option, don’t we?”

  “Why have you never married, Mr. Mason?”

  “I had never met the right woman, until now.”

  “I am sure you are mistaken. I am not the right woman for you.”

  “Oh, but you are, madam. My brother-in-law was a wise man. You are rich, generous, understanding, intelligent, and the most beautiful widow anyone has ever seen.”

  “Do not flatter me, Mr. Mason. I do not wish to remarry.”

  “It will be an honour to be your husband. Mrs. Jane Mason. The name becomes you.”

  “Please, do not insist. I will not marry you, or anyone else.”

  “Well, then, that is settled. I will have a long talk with John and Annette.”

  “You will not!”

  “Will you risk it?”

  “They will not believe you!”

  “Who can tell? In any case, you will have a lot of explaining to do. I would not advise it.”

  “Never!”

  I held her hand firmly. “You will never be rid of me and I can do a great deal of harm. It would be wiser to buy my silence and have me on your side, don’t you think?”

  She screamed and pulled away from me. Perhaps I had pushed her too far, too soon; although I had calculated she was too tired and vulnerable to resist.

  “Only on condition that we will draw up a marriage contract.”

  “Naturally. State your terms.”

  “Separate bedchambers and separate finance. You will run the plantation and have an allowance of twelve thousand pounds a year. You will not interfere with my social work, my son’s education, marriage or career. You will be discreet. You will not embarrass me in public with your mistresses. You will not interfere with my literary career. I plan to have a house and residence in London; you will not interfere, nor visit me there. We will be civil when we are together at Eyre Hall on social occasions.”

  “That is satisfying for me. However, I would like to add one more point. I’d like extra expenses paid, as well as the allowance.”

  “Which extra expenses?”

  “The voyage to Jamaica is expensive and I will have to travel at least twice a year.”

  “Agreed.”

  “And one more thing, the insolent valet, Michael, he will leave your household.”

  “He will not!”

  “What is it with you and that impudent boy? He is too clever for his own good and too damned young and attractive. Do you think he will be faithful for long? He is only after your money.”

  “I brought Michael to Eyre Hall with his sister when he was a young orphan. He is absolutely loyal to me. I need people I can trust completely at my side and I am very fond of both of them. In London he will be my personal secretary; he will assist me in my literary pursuits.”

  “You are taking him to London? You should have a female secretary. It will not be acceptable to have a male secretary. I have heard there are women in London who call themselves journalists and offer their services in newspapers and magazines. I am sure you could employ any of them.”

  “I want Michael.”

  “I object.”

&nb
sp; “Michael is not negotiable.”

  “Very well, I also have a non-negotiable requirement.”

  “Pray, what is it?”

  “A wedding night, and to share your bed whenever you are in Eyre Hall.”

  “We have already decided on separate bedrooms.”

  “I will return to my bedroom when we finish the act.”

  “You are disgusting! You will not dare come near my chamber!”

  “Come, come, my dear, you are hardly an innocent damsel. I am negotiating your son’s and your lover’s future. I am prepared to turn a blind eye in London, if he is prepared to turn a blind eye in Eyre Hall. We will share you. He will get the better part of your anatomy, and I will get the better part of your finances.”

  “Mr. Mason, I suggest you find it in yourself to be a gentleman and refrain from entering my chamber, or addressing me disrespectfully.”

  “Except on our wedding night and our honeymoon?”

  “There will be no honeymoon.”

  “Surely we must have a wedding night. What will people think?”

  “Mr. Briggs will write up the contract. We will marry next year on All Hallows Eve. May I ask you to wait six months to make the official announcement?”

  “Naturally, madam.”

  “In the meantime, I will speak to Mr. Briggs to act on my behalf by purchasing the plantation in Jamaica and cancelling your debt as soon as possible, Mr. Mason.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Rochester; it is a pleasure doing business with you. I shall be delighted to carry out the transactions on your behalf in Jamaica as soon as possible, and I shall return to Eyre Hall in April to announce our engagement and marriage.”

  ***

  Chapter XXIX Confessions

  When Mason left the room I felt the weight of Eyre Hall sinking all my plans. How could I have agreed to marry him? But what else could I do? Was he the new master that Junot had predicted? Did that mean that Michael would be buried next year? Tears welled up, choking my dreams. I could not breathe! I coughed, pushed the window, jutted out my face and opened my mouth, inhaling the icy air, which shook me back to life. I was drying the rain and the tears off my face with my shawl as Adele entered the room.