Midsummer at Eyre Hall: Book Three Eyre Hall Trilogy (10 page)

We arrived at St Ives almost two months
ago. The short January days rolled into February, which was now coming to an
end. The nights were shorter, which was a blessing at first, but there were
many more hours of daylight to occupy my wandering mind.

My memory of our journey since Michael
rescued me from Grimsby Retreat was scarce and patchy. There were many events I
couldn’t remember, and when I asked Michael, he assured me my memories would
return when I was ready. Perhaps he was right, but it made me feel as if I had
lost part of me, and even if it was not a pleasant part, I’d like to remember
what had happened. I was sure part of my tormented dreams were those very
events trying to break into my memory.

I vaguely remembered my stay at Diana
and Mary’s homes. I shuddered when I thought of Mr. Wharton’s cold hands
pulling me out of the cab and away from Michael, and the admiral’s cruel
warnings. I remembered the rainbow and the cliffs in Ilfracombe, but I wasn’t
sure how I arrived there. From then onwards, my memory was more reliable, but even
two months later, when I woke up in the mornings, I wondered where I was and
why I wasn’t at Eyre Hall. At first, I thought I might be losing my mind, but
then I became accustomed to the strange emptiness of not remembering.

I was hardly ever hungry, but Michael
and Shirley watched over every morsel I ate, making sure I didn’t miss a single
meal. Shirley was Blains’ older sister. She lived with Blains, his wife Rose,
and her mother Mrs. Delaney. She looked about my age and was unmarried. It
seemed a pity because she would have made a wonderful wife and mother. She was plump
and so very warm and friendly. She came to Primrose Cottage every morning to do
the cooking and the housework.

Michael would leave before breakfast to
help Blains on his dairy farm, and came home for a late lunch; sometimes he’d
go back in the afternoons. He was always home in the evenings, so I was never
alone, which was good, because I was terrified that the people I saw in my
dreams would really appear one day.

Michael and Blains had worked very hard
to make the cottage a comfortable home. It had been abandoned some years earlier
by a local family, who moved to Bristol, so the rent was low. We stayed at the
inn in Saint Ives, overlooking the sea, for the first fourteen days, while they
repaired our new dwelling.

 The cottage had two small bedrooms and
a large kitchen. The rest was one big room, a combination of hall, dining room,
drawing room, and study, so we were always together, and it felt peaceful. It
had a cosy fireplace, a dining table and four chairs, a writing desk, and a
long couch with two smaller armchairs.  

The floorboards were polished and
covered with several brown, furry rugs. There were hand-made cushions on the
long couch, and some cross-stitch pictures and black and white prints on the
walls. Shirley had made the curtains to match the couch covers. The cottage was
pretty and clean, and I didn’t miss any of the luxuries of Eyre Hall.

I should have been grateful and happy,
but I wasn’t. Numbness would have described my state most adequately. I seemed
to have lost part of my feelings, as if my mind couldn’t remember how to be
happy, but I wasn’t discontented.  

Thankfully, I was able to fill many of
my hours by writing
The Asylum,
the serialised novel I had been sending
Mr. Dickens. When I was writing, I fell into a trance in which time flew by. I would
sit by the window after breakfast, and when lunch was ready, it hardly seemed a
few minutes had passed. I followed the same ritual after lunch and time
disappeared again as I lit the candles and realised the evening was already
falling. The days passed uneventfully, and although I felt exhausted when I went
to bed, I couldn’t sleep. My back and shoulders ached, and my fingers were
stiff from holding my quill, but my physical pains were not the worst.

Sometimes Michael suggested going for a
walk. He would help me put on my coat and bonnet, and hold my hand as we walked
to one of the beautiful beaches. He would ask me if I liked the view, and I would
nod. I knew it was a beautiful place, but it was like looking at a pretty portrait,
which was dusty and faded. I didn’t tell Michael. He had enough to worry about.
I had no idea how he was paying for the house, the food, or the maid, and I couldn’t
bring myself to ask, because I didn’t care. Michael watched me patiently, when
he wasn’t working with Blains, or busy fixing something around the cottage or
in the yard, or stables. There was a garden, which would probably have flowers
in spring, but at that time the ground was grey and barren.  

I dreaded sleep because it allowed the
demons to take over my mind. I had nightmares every day; angry dragons with
forked tongues invaded my dreams, terrifying me. Michael was kind and loving.
He held me with strong arms and consoled me with soft words and caresses, but I
didn’t respond. I knew I was being ungrateful, because I didn’t deserve his
kindness, and he was trying his best to make me happy, but I wasn’t, and there
was nothing anyone could do about it.      

 I began to feel restless. I needed to have
a reason to leave the house, so I asked Shirley about the village school and we
visited one morning. The teacher was a pleasant but untrained young girl. I
offered my services as a French teacher and she was delighted. I started
teaching mostly French two afternoons a week. I enjoyed being with the
children, because it kept my mind off the asylum and reminded me of my humble origins.
Shirley took me there or sometimes Michael would drive me in our old cart. When
the weather was nice, I would walk; it wasn’t very far, and I enjoyed having
some time to myself.

I should have been grateful, and
although Michael tried his best to make my life pleasing, I wasn’t happy. His
arms wrapped around me at night didn’t comfort me and his kisses no longer
pleased me like they used to. Unfriendly faces and ugly dragons with long,
poisonous tongues, visited me every night in my dreams. I often woke up and couldn’t
remember where I was. Sometimes I thought I was at Eyre Hall, before this
nightmare began, other times I was in a cell at the Retreat. I missed Helen,
and I felt guilty for making Michael work so hard and worry so much about me,
but there seemed to be nothing I could do about it.

I felt that I had failed everyone. My
son hated me, the archbishop thought I was a madwoman, and my cousins had
turned their backs on me. I had abandoned Helen and I knew nothing about
Annette or Adele. Michael was overworked and worried, but the worst part was
that although I knew I should be upset, I couldn’t bring myself to care.     

***

Susan. Camberwell, London.

The first days of March had been windy,
and today was no exception. I was in a cab, on my way to Adele and my father-in-law,
Mr. Greenwood’s home in Camberwell.  My brother, Michael, should have married
Jane in December, but the wedding had been cancelled and none of us knew
exactly what was happening at Eyre Hall, but Adele seemed to think it was bad
news, so she had asked me to visit at once. I wasn’t surprised. My brother was
a fool to think he could marry the mistress of Eyre Hall. I knew they would
never accept him.  

The cab stopped at Adele’s house, which
was larger and more lavish than mine, although they were only two, and we were
three, Dante, little William and myself, plus there was another baby on the
way. They also had more servants. I had to make do with a wet-nurse who also
worked as nursemaid for my son, while they had two London maids who travelled
in from the East End every day. And now they had Simon and Beth, who had left
Eyre Hall, heavens knew why, and were working for Adele as live-in servants.
She did occasionally lend me one of the maids, but she could have let me keep
her full-time. She knew I didn’t have enough time for the housework, and I couldn’t
cook. 

We were very short of money, and Dante wouldn’t
listen. He spent his days at the academy painting nude models. He said it didn’t
matter because he was an artist and appreciated their beauty, although he loved
only me. Yet when I looked at my deformed shape, I wondered if he saw beauty
there, because I didn’t. I had told him I didn’t want another child so soon,
but he didn’t care and put his needs before mine. I dared not turn him away
lest he should search for release elsewhere, so I submitted to his desires, and
there I was, bulging again with a new baby I did not want and could hardly
feed.

Dante thought I exaggerated, but he didn’t
have to pay the butcher and the baker, or ask Adele for money, now that Jane had
stopped sending us an allowance. I couldn’t wait to find out what had happened
at Eyre Hall.

Jane seemed to have money to burn a few
months ago, when they came to London. They bought little William heaps of
clothes and presents. Jane insisted on furnishing the nursery and even buying
him a rocking horse, when he can’t even crawl yet. She said William was her
only nephew and godson, so she was prepared to spoil him silly. I hated to have
to accept her charity and watch my brother drooling at her side. I had no idea
what kind of spell she had cast on him, but he was mesmerised. He couldn’t keep
his eyes or even his hands away from her. It was disgusting the way they took
advantage of any excuse to touch each other as if they were a young couple in
love. Any fool could see he was just her plaything.

When Simon opened the door, I asked him
what had happened at Eyre Hall.

“Dreadful things have happened, Susan, I
mean Mrs. Greenwood. Dreadful things. I don’t know the half of it. We had to
escape in the middle of the night.”

“What do you mean? And my brother,
where’s Michael?”

“He’s in big trouble. They’re all in big
trouble. The archbishop’s gone mad.”

“What’s the archbishop got to do with
anything?”

“He said we had to sign, but we
wouldn’t, so he chucked us out like two dogs in the middle of the night. They
beat Joseph and frightened Cook, so they signed. Leah was in bed with fever,
she don’t know how it happened. It’s like the devil’s taken over Eyre Hall. It
must have been the Sin-Eater’s doing. I told Mrs. Mason not to speak to him.
He’s cast a spell…”

“Simon, what’s wrong with you? Stop
rambling. I can’t understand a word you say. Where’s Adele?”     

He led me to the drawing room where Beth
was serving tea. They had already started eating.  

“Susan, you’re late as usual,” said Mr.
Greenwood, as charming as ever.

“I couldn’t find a cab.”

“I always tell you it’s quicker on foot.
It’s only a fifteen minute walk.”

“I’m feeling heavy with the new baby.”

“A walk will do you good, my dear.”

I smiled meekly. Just because he had
nothing to do all day, didn’t mean I had time to walk around the filthy and
windy streets of London.

Adele approached me and brushed my
cheeks with two kisses in the French style. I kissed her too, thinking she was
such a snob.

“How is your new pregnancy, Susan?”

“I’m tired and heavy, as you can see.”

“You look well to me. Sit down and have
some cake.”

I sat, poured my tea and asked her what
was happening at Eyre Hall.

“I’ve received a letter from Annette
this morning. It would seem that Jane and Michael have disappeared.”

“Disappeared, you say?” asked her
husband. “How can two people disappear in England?”

“Jane was taken to an asylum.”

Mr. Greenwood and I both looked
questioningly at Adele.  Surely Jane couldn’t be in an asylum, could she?

“Apparently the archbishop, acting
according to John’s instructions, had her locked in a lunatic asylum.”

Well, she had been behaving
extravagantly in the last few months. Spending freely, renovating the house,
parading my brother as if he were her trophy. I wasn’t surprised her son had tried
to put a stop to it.

“And my brother?”

“Annette says your brother was held
prisoner at Eyre Hall, but he escaped, broke into the asylum and freed Jane.”

I was shocked. What was my brother doing,
risking his life for her? “My brother is madder than she is. That’s against the
law. He could be hanged.” 

“They travelled to Wales to stay with
her cousin Mary and Mr. Wharton. Michael promised Admiral Fitzjames that he
would join the navy again and leave England, and the Wharton’s would take Jane
back to Eyre Hall,” said Adele.

“So they’re not getting married? Well,
that’s good news.”

Adele sighed. “Perhaps you’re right. I
was against the wedding too, but they wouldn’t listen to reason.”

“You’re both wrong there,” said Mr.
Greenwood. “I had to elope with my first wife, as you know. Her family wouldn’t
have me. When two people are in love the way we were, and they are, you can’t
stop them. It’s like trying to stem the tide. Their love goes deeper than the
Sirens go, underneath the tides. They love each other with a voice that makes
no sound, because only they can hear it. Only death will keep them apart, and
even then, ‘
I shall but love thee better after death’
.”  

“You must write me a beautiful poem like
that one, William,” said Adele, batting her eyelids. Did she have any idea how
ridiculous she looked?

“I have written many beautiful poems for
you, my love.” He smiled mischievously, but she dismissed him with a huff and a
wave of her hand.

“Anyway, I hadn’t finished telling you
what happened. They’ve disappeared again, without a trace. Nobody knows where
they are,” said Adele. “When they find them, Jane will go back to the asylum
and Michael will go to prison. So, unless they leave the country, which they
may well do, they’re ruined.”

“My brother should never have proposed
without John’s permission.”

The thought of seeing my brother behind
bars filled me with disgust. What would people think of me when they found out
my brother was a criminal? It was hard enough to earn people’s respect, but
with such a scandal, it would be impossible. I shuddered. And all because of
their lust. I had to find a way of keeping my irresponsible brother out of
prison.

 “Have you had any news from your
brother, Susan?”

“None. I am so sorry for his behaviour.
My brother isn’t like that. He’s not himself since he left the navy and
returned to Eyre Hall. I don’t know what’s come over him. I wish I could speak
to him and convince him to stop this madness.”

“It’s a dreadful situation, for all of
us,” said Adele. “John is out of his mind with worry, and so is Annette, and
the archbishop has practically taken over the running of Eyre Hall. Annette
says neither the archbishop nor John have any idea of how to run the estate or the
hall. They’ve closed the new wing because they say it’s too expensive to run
and they no longer need the rooms. The archbishop wants to destroy it, because he
says it was their den of sin.

“Jane and Michael had started repairing
the tenants’ lodgings and renovating the stables and livestock, but the archbishop
has put an end to it, and there are constant complaints. Mr. Jackson had agreed
to buy some of the land to extend his mills, but John wants to renegotiate the
price. He thinks Jane was selling cheaply to get quick money. Mr. Briggs is too
old to help, and although Mr. Smythe has told them it’s a fair price, they’re
ignoring his suggestions.”

Adele chewed a piece of cake slowly
while we waited for her to continue. “It’s all wrong. Jane was so clever at
running the estate. She saw to it that the children had pencils and textbooks,
that the church organ was tuned, that the thatched roofs were repaired, and
that the bills were paid and the accounts balanced. The Rochester Estate was
her life. Even when she was ill, she never neglected it. Mr. Smythe always said
she was a better negotiator and proprietor than any man he knew.”

“Mrs. Mason is an extraordinary woman
indeed,” said Mr. Greenwood. “She certainly ran the estate, Eyre Hall, and the
family with great efficiency. She was a splendid matriarch.”

Adele put Annette’s letter back in the
envelope. “Until she fell in love with Michael, you mean.”

“Can’t be helped now, can it?” he
replied.

“You’re right of course. She more than
ran it, she cared about it, and everyone who lived there. The archbishop is
ruining John’s legacy. He’s even reduced our allowance. He says there’s no
money, because Jane ruined it. I spoke to Mr. Smythe only yesterday regarding
the issue, and he says it’s not true. Jane had everything under control. According
to him, it’s the archbishop and John who don’t know what they’re doing, and I’m
sure he’s right. John never showed any interest in running the estate, and I’d
guess the archbishop isn’t any the wiser.”

“We need to find Jane, Adele, and try to
reach an agreement with John,” said her husband.

“That’s out of the question,” replied Adele.
“If I could contact her, I’d tell her to keep away for the moment. John’s
threatened to have her locked up again.”

“They need to sit down and talk. I’m
sure they can sort something out. She’s his mother, for God’s sake. He used to
adore her.”

“John is very stubborn, and he… well,
I’m sorry to say this, Susan, but he hates Michael.”

“I hate Michael too, at this moment. I
hate them both. We are all suffering due to their impulsive actions.”

“I don’t know what we could possibly
do,” said Adele. “Have some more tea and cake, Susan, it’s delicious.”

I took a piece of cake and refilled my
teacup while Mr. Greenwood stroked his beard absently.

“Strange, someone at the club mentioned
Mr. Dickens had discovered a new author, a woman called Mrs. Stewart. She
writes about life in a lunatic asylum in Yorkshire. Apparently it’s causing a
sensation. They say at the club that the writer isn’t a new author at all. They
say it’s James Elliott writing with another pseudonym. Isn’t that the pseudonym
Jane used to publish her novels?”

Adele clapped her hands. “Yes it is,
William. That must be Jane, and Mr. Dickens may know where she is. We must ask
him and find out where she’s hiding. We may be able to mediate between her and
John. He can’t be serious about locking her away again.”

She poured herself some more tea and pushed
some more cake into her greedy mouth. I never understood why she didn’t put on
weight with all the food she ate. “This cake is delicious,” she said, rolling
her eyes. “Cook must have taught Beth how to make it.”

She poured herself yet another cup of
tea. “Poor Jane, I’ve heard those places are quite dreadful.”

“We’ll have to do something soon, Adele,”
said Mr. Greenwood. “I’m keeping two families with my meagre income. Dante is
still earning very little with his sketches and paintings, and Susan will have
yet another mouth to feed soon. We need your allowance, Adele, and Jane was
sending Susan and Dante money, too, which has also been discontinued.”

We had been counting on the money Jane
was sending us, because Dante was earning next to nothing. “Mr. Greenwood, Dante
is working hard. He’s in his studio day and night preparing the summer
exhibition.”

“I have no doubt Dante will be a
successful painter, but he’s too inexperienced. He needs time, and we need to
supplement our income, the sooner the better,” said Mr. Greenwood.

Adele sighed. “Don’t scold Susan. It’s
not her fault. I wish they would all come to their senses.”

I finished my tea, made an excuse and
left at once, but I didn’t go home. I took a cab to the corner from Tavistock
Street into Wellington Street in Covent Garden, the office where Mr. Dickens
published his periodical
All The Year Round
. I knew because Jane and
Michael had taken us to lunch with Mr. Dickens at Rules, and as we walked down
Maiden Lane, he pointed to his offices and said to Jane, “One day you will
write a serialised novel, which I will be proud to publish.” Jane had looked at
my brother lustfully and said, “I’m too busy preparing my marriage at the
moment to think of anything else, Mr. Dickens.”