Bedlam: The Further Secret Adventures of Charlotte Brontë (36 page)

Contrary to a popular fallacy, ship captains are not permitted to officiate at weddings while at sea. Any marriages thus created are not recognized by the law. But circumstances had favored Slade and me. Captain Arnold was an ordained clergyman who'd served as a chaplain for the East India Company's army, who preached Sunday sermons aboard his own ship. Indeed, he had converted his entire crew to Christianity. I know not what reason Slade gave him as to why we wanted him to marry us after telling him we were already married. Maybe Slade explained; maybe Captain Arnold was bound by loyalty to take his old comrade's request in stride; at any rate, he agreed.

Slade and I took turns washing in cold seawater in a shower bath that the crew had rigged up in a shed on deck. I dressed in a lilac-colored gown I'd bought in London, Slade in a clean set of spare clothes from his valise. That very morning Captain Arnold performed the ceremony. Slade and I stood side by side in the bow, with the crew for witnesses. I had no veil or flowers. Our music was the sound of the ship's engines and churning wheels. It wasn't the wedding I'd envisioned. In fact, I'd been so certain I would never marry that I'd avoided trying to imagine the impossible. Now I could hardly believe I wasn't dreaming.

“If anyone present knows any reason why this couple may not be joined together in holy matrimony,” Captain Arnold said, “speak now or forever hold your peace.”

I thought of Jane Eyre and her first, ill-fated wedding to Mr. Rochester. I almost expected a stranger to materialize and declare the existence of an impediment. But none did.

Captain Arnold said, “Do you, John Slade, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better and for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish until death do you part?”

Slade turned to me. I doubt that any other bridegroom had ever looked so serious and ardent. He said in a quiet, firm voice, “I do.”

I looked into his eyes, and I began trembling violently; I felt hot, then cold, as realization sank in: I had gained the man I loved, but with what consequence? My happiness would be dependent on Slade, our fates entwined. I felt my separate identity dissolving. In another moment, Charlotte Brontë—and Currer Bell—must give way to Mrs. John Slade. What a solemn, strange, and perilous thing was marriage! Yet my attachment to Slade never faltered. When Captain Arnold repeated the ritual question to me, I answered, “I do,” without hesitation. Triumph swelled inside me. Slade smiled as if he'd read my last-minute doubts but never believed they would prevent our marriage. It seemed predestined, a step along a course from which neither of us could deviate.

“Have you a ring?” Captain Arnold asked.

Slade took from his pocket the ring I'd bought for myself. I proffered my hand, which was steady now. He slipped the gold band on my finger. My eyes filled with tears, through which the ring sparkled as brightly as if set with diamonds.

“I pronounce you man and wife.” Captain Arnold said to Slade, “You may kiss your bride.”

The crew grinned as Slade drew me into his arms. Our kiss was brief, possessive, and fierce. Captain Arnold offered his congratulations. The crew cheered. They improvised a wedding breakfast of bread and cheese enlivened with rum. Afterward, they played wild, exotic music on drums and peculiar stringed instruments. Imagining what Papa and Ellen and my other friends would say if they could see me, I felt a stab of sorrow because they were absent. But I would not ruin this day by dwelling on what I'd lost instead of on what I had. Slade and I danced, exhilarated and laughing.

After the celebration, the captain and crew went back to work, but we lingered on the deck. We were both impatient for what necessarily followed a wedding, yet anxious because it might not live up to our expectations. At last Slade said, “You can go in first.”

“All right.” Quaking, I went to the cabin where Captain Arnold had said we could stay now that we didn't need to hide anymore. It was small, but the linens on the berth were clean, and it had a porthole that admitted the sunlight and sea wind. I undressed, then put on my plain white nightgown. My reflection in the mirror over the washstand looked less like a bride than a nun, I thought ruefully. I sat on the berth, pulling the sheets up to my chin.

Soon Slade entered the room and shut the door. He looked as nervous as I felt. I watched him undress. Although I blushed, I did not turn away. We were married; I could know him as well as I wished. Slade stripped off his shoes, socks, shirt, and trousers, his motions clumsy and self-conscious. Wonder filled me as I saw him completely naked, his muscles lean and strong, his skin sleek with black hairs. The only nude males I'd ever seen before were Greek statues, and these had not prepared me for my first full sight of my husband. Slade's aroused manhood moved me profoundly. I burned with need for him. Forgetting modesty, I undid my night-dress and let it fall around my waist.

Such delight I took in the sharp breath that I heard Slade draw; what pride in the desire I saw in his eyes!

He slid under the sheets with me. The press of his body against mine as we embraced was shockingly personal. There is no warmth like the warmth of bare flesh touching bare flesh. It consumed me as flames consume dry kindling. This physical part of marriage seemed an ordeal by fire. At first we were awkward together. His hand caught in my hair when he stroked it; when we kissed, our noses bumped; knees and elbows jarred as we attempted to meld ourselves together. I didn't mind the awkwardness; it made our lovemaking seem real, rather than a fantasy of the sort I'd had during lonely nights. Nor did I fear what must happen, even though I'd heard married women speak in whispers about how painful it was. Rather, I feared that I would fail to please Slade, that he would find me lacking or offensive.

But the fervor with which he kissed me soon convinced me that he found me as desirable as I could hope. And my own desire banished my inhibitions. When he caressed my breasts, I shamelessly moaned with pleasure. I eagerly caressed him, greedy to acquaint myself with his body, smug in my wifely right to enjoy him. I gloried in the exclamations of pleasure that I provoked from him. Between us we conjured up the ancient magic that all lovers do. We moved in graceful rhythm on the bed, turning and entwining and arching together, as if in a dance. I heard the ocean, and we became one with it. I smelled the sea on Slade, tasted salt on his skin. When I stroked his manhood, it pulsed with the swift current of blood inside. An urgent tide of desire rose in my own loins. I grew wet and slick with it. I gasped out, “I am ready.”

Slade hesitated. “I fear I'll hurt you.”

“I don't care!” I lay on my back, opening myself to him.

He mounted me. The instant his manhood touched between my legs, my excitement leaped too high. I could not wait for Slade. I cried out as I soared to the crest of the ecstasy that I'd experienced for the first time, with him, three years ago in the forest in Scotland. As I rode the waves of pleasure, he entered me. I felt a resistance within, then a tearing sensation. My pleasure numbed the pain. Slade thrust, his breath coming faster, his eyes closed, his face and muscles straining. I held him tight, savoring his pleasure as much as my own. He arched his back and shouted. I felt his hardness break, then the warm flood of his release. As he lay against me, panting and exhausted, drenched in our perspiration, I clasped him as if he were a drowning man I'd pulled from the sea.

We spent most of the next two days in our cabin. The crew tactfully left us alone. They set food and drink outside the door. Slade and I were lost to the world, occupied with mutual exploration. Our first lovemaking had dissolved the boundaries between us. My natural reserve was gone. Marriage negated the fact that Slade and I had known each other for but a short time. There was no intimacy in which we did not engage. I grew as familiar with Slade's body as my own. But our discoveries were not confined to the physical. We talked for hours, sharing the most private details of our lives. I learned about Slade's family and childhood, his years in the East India Company's army, and his greatest experiences as a spy. He was surprised to hear about my newfound fame as an author and the literary friends I'd made. Everything we said and did had a serious, urgent significance, as if we were trying to cram a life's worth of experience into these few brief hours.

Perhaps they were all we would have.

Two days after we'd left London, the ship neared the high cliffs, long beaches, and jagged rocks of the Normandy coast. Slade and I stood on the deck, ready to resume our search for Niall Kavanagh.

C
APTAIN ARNOLD LET US OFF AT THE DOCK IN CHERBOURG. THE afternoon was cloudy, with a damp, chill wind that rocked the ships in the harbor and chilled me to the bone. Cherbourg was a medieval town no more remarkable than any English port village. Slade and I walked through drab, malodorous streets so narrow that one could almost touch the gray buildings on either side. The people spoke French in a dialect I found hard to understand. This was not the France I'd always yearned to visit. If Cherbourg had any fine museums or monuments, I did not see them. We were a hundred and seventy miles from Paris, that great capital of fashion, art, and literature, but I didn't care. I was living a miracle.

I had boarded the ship a spinster and disembarked a married woman. I looked at Slade and thought, “That is my husband.” No other man was as handsome, strong, or dashing as mine. Glowing with pride, I wanted the whole world to see us together. I felt more confident about the future than I ever had, as if our marriage rendered us invincible.

That was an illusion, as I would too soon discover.

Slade scrutinized the scene for threats. “France seems quiet. There shouldn't be any revolutions to bother us.”

During the revolutions of 1848, the French populace had rebelled against government corruption and repression, high food prices, and unemployment. Radical societies staged public demonstrations in Paris. The government sent in the army, which fired on the mobs. Violent insurrection spread. King Louis-Philippe abdicated. The radicals formed a new government, but their haphazard reforms dissatisfied workers all over France. Three days of civil war against the army ensued. The streets of Paris ran with blood. Some fifteen hundred people were killed. The revolution was eventually suppressed by the military dictatorship that took power. From the turmoil rose Louis Napoleon Bonaparte, purported nephew of the first Napoleon. He symbolized revolution and authority, tradition and social reform; he promised everything to everybody. Elected President of France in December 1848, he spearheaded the formation of a new republic. I understood that it was a severe, oppressive regime, but it had indeed calmed down the country.

“We'd better find lodgings,” Slade said.