by Luccia Gray
He looked confused. I searched his eyes for the feelings he could not express.
“Do you still want to come with me to London and look for Helen?”
“Of course I do, but how? And Mason?”
“Mason will return to Jamaica to recover a sugar plantation he had lost and in which I will be his business partner. I will finance it and he will run it, which will keep him busy for some time. He will be out of our lives for six months.”
“And then he will announce your engagement and you will be his wife?”
“Let’s not think so far ahead. Let’s take things one step at a time. Many things can happen in a year.”
“I shall not, cannot, stay with you if you marry him.”
“I promise you, I will not marry him unless you agree. Is that enough to keep you by my side?”
“I will never agree to it.”
“Then I will never marry him.”
“But you have made a promise. You accepted his proposal.”
“You are, will be, my only master, and that is the only promise I will never break.”
He did not speak so I continued to expose my plan. “In London, you will no longer be my valet; you will be my personal assistant.”
“I have never heard of such a job. What does it entail?”
“I will need someone to copy, revise and correct manuscripts. As executor of the Rochester Estate, I need someone to help me with the administration of the property, deal with tenants, meet with my agent, overview my finances, hire personnel and similar duties.”
“I am not sure I have enough experience and knowledge to carry out such tasks.”
“You have been helping Leah and me with the accounts; you are clever and resourceful. I will show you and you will learn quickly. We will work together, looking for Helen and running the Estate.” He looked surprised.
“Well, do you accept the post? Do not look so worried. I trust you. You must trust me. I know you will be an excellent assistant. Would you accept the position?”
“I will try and fulfil my obligations.”
“You will have your own room upstairs next to mine with comfortable furnishings and you will not wear a uniform. You will work office hours and you will earn one hundred pounds monthly, plus board and lodging, and any other expenses which you may incur to fulfil your obligations. Do you agree?”
“I cannot accept such a high salary. A hundred pounds is more than I earn in a year at Eyre Hall.”
“Your work in London is far more valuable than your work here. You will work hard and it will entail the responsibility for an estate, which is worth more than £500,000, and I expect you to help me to increase the revenues. In less than ten years my son and his family will take over the running of the estate. I must have my own income by then, and you will help me venture into new business. I want to expand my charity work with more schools for orphans and people in need. I would like you to help me with my projects. Will you help me Michael?”
“What will I be to you? What will people think of me? Of us?”
“I did not think that what people think would worry you more than what I think. Does it?”
“What do you think…what am I to you?”
“You know what you are to me. I love you more than you can ever imagine and I will prove it to you every day of my life.”
“I wish I could believe you.”
“Darling, believe me.” I held his beautiful tormented face in my hands. “Do you believe me?” I sought an answer in his eyes. “I have missed you so much, Michael. Kiss me,” I whispered and, as he did so, I felt I was the recipient of his love again and my world was safe once more. I was relieved that he wanted to kiss me again, but I pulled away and continued to tell him my plans.
“When we move to London, we will be working together every day most of the day, or as much of the day as you would want to spend with me. For the time being, when others are present I will treat you as an employee not as a servant, and you will treat me as your manager, not your master. You are a free man and I am a free woman. We will be equals as children of God, although our obligations and duties are different. I would like you to call me Jane and I will call you Michael.”
“I’m out of my depth. You expect too much of me. I am your valet. I am afraid I will never be your equal, Mrs. Rochester, and I will never be able to call you, Jane.”
“Can you say that again?”
“I am afraid…”
“Just the last word. Please, Michael.”
“Jane.”
“You see, it was not so hard, was it? Try again.”
“Jane.”
I smiled with contentment. “The time has come to tell you the words Junot said.”
I hesitated, unsure if I should disclose such devastating news if I were still not sure it was true, but I was sure. I knew I was full of love and life. “First, I need to hear you say what you feel for me now, at this moment.”
“I love you, but I won’t share you with another man.”
“Four words.”
“Four words?”
“Junot said four words to me.”
“What words?”
I knew the four words would change the rest of our lives. I spoke very slowly, looking into his eyes and revelling in each word. “You are with child.”
He gasped and fell to his knees, dropping his head on my lap, and I knelt down beside him, waiting for a response.
“Could it be true?” he whispered bewildered, lifting his face to mine.
“Oh, I’m sure it is, my darling.” I smiled with satisfaction, holding his face in my hands.
“I am…overwhelmed, Jane.” His dazed eyes were glowing with emotion. I kissed his eyelids lovingly as he lowered them. “That makes two of us, Michael.”
***
I had never felt so afraid since my mother died and we were taken to the poorhouse. My whole world crumbled then, as it was crumbling now. I had felt safe with my mistress at Eyre Hall. She had taken care of us and I was happy to adore her from a distance, but I was not ready to take on such serious responsibilities.
“What shall we do?” I asked.
“We shall be together.”
“But we are not alone in the world. What about Mason, John, Annette and Susan? Your family, friends and acquaintances, the other servants…”
“Next week we shall go to London as planned and we shall look for Helen. At Christmas we shall return to Eyre Hall, and in spring we shall spend some months in France or Italy, where our baby will be born. We shall be back for the harvest moon next All Hallows and we shall be married. I shall be Mrs. Kirkpatrick and you, Michael Kirkpatrick, shall be my master and the new Master of Eyre Hall, as Junot predicted.”
“You have planned everything to your convenience, but I am not sure I am ready for such commitment. I have heard many distressing words. I need time to think.”
“About what? You said you loved me. You said you would always be with me…”
“That was when I was your valet and you were a widow. The situation is different now. You are engaged to another man and I can no longer be your valet.”
“What about our son?”
“Junot is a charlatan and a devil worshipper.”
“But you saw what he did. You saw how he displaced himself without using his feet! You heard the things he said.”
“I cannot believe what he said and I cannot serve you in your new situation.”
“Of course my darling, you are so young, so new to these intricacies. You need time to think. Michael, promise me you will think about what we have discussed and everything I have said to you.”
“I promise I will confer with God and decide what I must do.”
“But make haste in your decision; do not take too long, your hesitation is destroying me. Michael, come to me with your decision at any time. I shall be waiting for you.”
***
Chapter XXXIII Michael’s Decision
I had made my decision be
fore leaving the room; perhaps I had made my decision when Simon told me he had heard Jane agree to marry Mason, two days ago. That very moment I realised I was not part of her world and could never be anything but a servant or an occasional amusement for her. What a fool I must have seemed! I had imagined she was a pure celestial soul in search of another companion, but I had discovered in the cruellest way that I was deluded. She was a selfish enchantress. I did not understand her world of lies and pretence. It was indeed as Bunyan described and Mr. Thackeray fictionalised; full of vanity, greed, and deceitfulness. She could even be imagining, or worse, still contriving a pregnancy to keep me by her side a few more months until she finally tired of me. I had no choice but to leave at once. I had to make my way in the world, away from her and Eyre Hall.
***
Dearest sister,
Susan, you were right all along. I am only an amusement for Mrs. Rochester. She would like me to be her private toy for a time, and our mother would not like me to fall so low. When we first met her, I thought she was an angel our mother had sent, and now I realise she is a temptress sent by Satan instead.
I cannot undo what has been done, although I truly wish I could. I wish we had never met her, and I had never loved her, or been prey to her whims and desires. She will marry Mr. Mason and together they will no doubt make a great deal of money and fool a great many people on the way. She is quite obsessed with making her son a lord. She has chosen his wife, his profession and the life he will lead. He is indeed a sad puppet in her hands, even more than I was. He is destined to live an unhappy, predesigned life in order to comply with her avaricious needs. I feel sorry for him and for anyone who has ever loved her.
By the time you receive this letter, I will have left Eyre Hall. I am going to join the Navy, as our father did. I know Mother made me promise I would never do so, but she would understand that I cannot stay in England and be a valet any more. I need to make an honest living in a profession I respect. Father would be proud, and I hope Mother can forgive me for all my mistakes.
Susan, you must stay with Miss Adele and make your trip to Venice. It will be good for you. Encourage Adele to marry Mr. Greenwood, who is a good, honest man. He loves her, and he will give her a new life away from stifling and depraved Eyre Hall. Stay with them and serve her, she will be a good, caring mistress. Do not mind her bad temper, it passes quickly and most of the time she is affectionate and considerate. She will make sure you are procured a good husband and have your own family one day.
Under no accounts are you to show Mrs. Rochester this letter. I have enclosed another letter I wish you to give her, no sooner than tomorrow afternoon. Do not be taken in by her tantrums and fake tears. She will pretend she is ill, she will threaten to commit suicide and invent all kinds of scheming manoeuvres. She may even try to bribe you to tell her where I have gone. I warn you, sister, if you ever want to see me again, do not give in to her.
Forgive me for not saying goodbye to you, but I must leave at night while I cannot be seen or stopped. Wish me luck and be happy, you deserve it. I will come and see you, when you return to England.
Your loving brother,
Michael.
***
I recalled his words as clearly as if I had just heard them.
“You are going, Jane?” Edward had asked me.
“I am going, sir,” I had answered.
“You are leaving me?” he had insisted, close to tears.
“Yes.” I had been merciless.
“You will not come? You will not be my comforter, my rescuer? My deep love, my wild woe, my frantic prayer, are all nothing to you?”
Despite the unutterable pathos in his voice, I had found the courage to reiterate firmly, “I am going.” He let me go, deeming I would return to him in the morning.
“Withdraw then, I consent, but remember, you leave me here in anguish. Go up to your own room, think over all I have said, and, Jane, cast a glance on my sufferings, think of me.”
I had walked away from him, towards the door, while he threw himself on the sofa and cried in anguish, “Oh, Jane! my hope - my love - my life!” before breaking into a deep, strong sob.
I couldn’t leave him in his distress, so I walked back, knelt down by his side, kissed his cheek, smoothed his hair, and spoke softly. ‘God bless you, my dear master!’ I said. ‘God keep you from harm and wrong - direct you, solace you - reward you well for your past kindness to me.’
An angel gazed on me that night and whispered to my aching heart, ‘My daughter, flee temptation.’ I replied, ‘Mother, I will.’
I left Thornfield Hall a few hours later, as the dim dawn glimmered. I stole out of the house with an aching soul, and only a morsel of bread in my pocket. I took a road I had never travelled, which led me away from the man I loved to an unknown destination.
I scowled at the epistle on my desk filled with harsh words which stabbed my soul. Would I never be allowed to experience love without anguish? He had betrayed me! Each letter was a blade slitting my splintered heart and shredding my stunned womb. I shed brine and blood, until I was as hollow as Tartarus, where I had been chained, for loving too much.
***
Dear Mrs. Rochester,
As a result of our conversation this afternoon, I have realised my place is no longer in your service.
I thank you for your kindness to both my sister and me while we were employed at Eyre Hall. I have no doubt that you saved our lives five years ago when you offered us a job, shelter and safety in your residence and I will always be grateful to you for that. I sincerely hope you will not hold my sister responsible for any of my actions and that her trip to Italy will not be affected by my decision.
I trust you will find the peace and person you are looking for in London, as I must find mine elsewhere.
Yours faithfully,
Michael Kirkpatrick.
***
Epilogue
Eyre Hall, January 10th, 1866
My Dearest Adele,
St. Agnes Eve has not yet come, but already snowflakes are sparkling to the moon. After your departures, the fang of melancholy bit into my thoughts. Once more, I felt I had been tossed in the storms of an uncertain struggling life. Once more, I had erred and been taught by rough and bitter experience. I remember the lines we once read together, ‘But when the days of golden dreams had perished, and even despair was powerless to destroy; Then did I learn how existence could be cherished, strengthened, and fed without the aid of joy’. Do not pity me, Adele, for I shall not resist my fate. I expect little enjoyment in life for myself, yet I feel contentment, when I think of your joyous future.
Mary came to visit at Christmas and longed to take me out for a walk around the orchard, but we were obliged to remain in the drawing room by the hearth, lest we should freeze and crack, like the helpless water in the congealed pond. I yearn after the hour the joyless days should end, the snows of winter should melt, and the frost and cutting winds should cease. I long to smell the pleasant greenness and watch the flowers peep under the hedges . . . I shall continue writing another day, for at present my spirits are too low . . .
January 17th
I have just received your last lively letter, my dearest Adele, which has greatly relieved my melancholy. I’m glad you are having fun and finding Venice so stimulating. I struggle to imagine a city that has canals instead of streets, and where the ladies wear colourful silk dresses and have ringlet postiches - I had never heard the word before - added to their hair as if they were going to a ball every day. I envy the sunny weather, but make sure you use your parasol, my darling, for I can’t bear to think of your perfect pale skin turning dun. The clear, pink and orange-tinged skies you are fortunate enough to regard at dawn and dusk must be delightful. I am impatient to see Dante Greenwood’s paintings, whose pallet you tell me is able to entrap and duplicate the colours. Make sure you bring back as many as you can. The moon twinkling on the rippling water must indeed be an inspiring sight, especially if yo
u are holding hands with the man you love, but please be careful and wait for Mr. Greenwood to make his intentions clear. Adele, be kind and expectant, but rush him not, or your impulsiveness may frighten him away!
Mr. Greenwood’s son Dante sounds like a lively and interesting young man. I would very much like to meet him. By all means you may invite him to stay with us, whenever he visits England. I would like to renew the paintings and artwork at Eyre Hall, and as you value Dante’s artistic capacity so highly, his paintings and advice will be well received.
I was sorry to read that your mother is unwell and can no longer recognise you, or indulge in any form of intelligent conversation. I agree that Edward should have informed you of her existence earlier, but we both know that his idea of what was best was not always in agreement with our opinion. He is now responding, wherever he may be, for whichever errors he may have committed. Remember that it is not our place to judge him. If we do so, it will only stain our own souls. Take comfort that you finally found your mother, and can make her last moments more pleasing. She is fortunate that her companion, Count Galdini, is looking after her, and although their house is cold and damp, and you tell me she is excessively thin and frail, it is probably due to her cruel illness more than to her living conditions. I know she was not the mother you would have desired, but dearest Adele, remember that you have had a pleasant and happy childhood, and a comfortable and loving life. Refrain from judging Mlle. Varens. She was another of Monsieur’s victims. You have not walked in her shoes.
In your next letter, be sure to tell me more about the ghostly legend of the Palace Hotel. To have stayed at such a mysterious place upon first arrival in Venice—! Perhaps you should write a short story, and I shall send it to Mr. Dickens, who has often asked me for a contribution to his monthly literary magazine, All Year Round. The meagre details you mentioned were absolutely riveting! Creaking floorboards, human-shaped shadows in the corridors, and unexplainable violin music in the middle of the night . . . But Adele, you are impressionable. Do not get carried away, remember ghosts are not to be taken seriously. They are a superstitious and unchristian belief.
