Midsummer at Eyre Hall: Book Three Eyre Hall Trilogy (11 page)

I was so disgusted I wanted to leave at
once, but by then we had arrived outside Rules, and Dante mentioned it was the
best restaurant in the world and was so excited that I didn’t want to spoil it
for him, so I was forced to watch her entice my brother in public in a most
shameless way.

There was someone who hated Jane more
than her son, and that was me. I would never forgive her for transforming my
beloved brother into her lap dog. I descended the cab and wondered what I could
say to Mr. Dickens if he were there. I’d plead that I needed Jane’s address in
order to speak to my brother. I put on my most modest smile and addressed the
clerk at the desk.

“Good day. I would like to speak to Mr.
Dickens.”

“I’m afraid he’s touring Ireland. He
won’t be returning until the end of March. May I inquire what your business is,
madam?”

“It’s regarding Mrs. Stewart.”

“Of course, have you come for the
letter? They said someone would come to collect it today. Mr. Dickens didn’t
want it to be sent by postal mail.”

I nodded and he looked through his bits
of paper. “Here it is.” He handed me an envelope. I looked at the address,
Mrs.
Stewart, Primrose Cottage, Saint Ives, Cornwall
. “It’s her payment due for
the first six instalments of
The Asylum
. It’s a fabulous novel. Is she a
friend of yours?”

I returned the envelope. “I’m afraid I
haven’t come for the letter. It was Mr. Dickens I needed to speak to. I’ll
return later when he’s back.”

“Who shall I tell him came?”

“Mrs. Greenwood. He’ll know who I am.”

As soon as I heard the name Mrs.
Stewart, I knew it was Jane. I was furious at my brother for using my mother’s maiden
name. I wished I could knock some sense into him. In any case, it had led me
directly to where they were.

When I arrived home Dante was still
painting in his studio in the attic, and he didn’t like to be interrupted, so I
went straight to my writing desk and penned a letter to John Rochester, the
person who I felt closest to, because we both hated Jane.

Dear Mr. Rochester,

I am writing this letter to beg
you to forgive my brother for having eloped with your mother. I do not wish to
exculpate him of his guilt, but as you must have realised, he has been blinded
by your mother’s persistence and infatuation. He was weak, but he should not be
made to suffer for it unjustly. I know where they are, and I will gladly tell
you where it is if you can guarantee that my brother will not be imprisoned. He
is my only living relative. In return, I promise that he will stay away from
your mother and Eyre Hall, even if I have to keep him a prisoner in my London
house.

Yours sincerely,

Mrs. Susan Greenwood

***

“You’re Blains’ friend. Michael isn’t it?”
She was a pretty girl, trying to do her job, so I smiled and nodded.

I was waiting for Blains at the King’s
Arms on an unusually quiet night. He wanted to tell me about a job at his
uncle’s fishery. I had arrived early and there weren’t many customers in the
public house yet. There were two young men reading a pamphlet at the counter,
and a few other men sitting at a long table by the window drinking ale and
making a great deal of noise.

“My name’s Nancy. Nancy Butler.”

“Nancy, I’m busy.”

“Don’t look like you’re busy to me.”

“I’m waiting for my friend.”

“Perhaps you need to let off some steam until
he arrives. I’m game if you are. You can ride me all you like.”

“I’m not interested, Nancy. Be a good
girl and find someone else to oblige.”

“If you like I’ll scream your name, or
if you prefer, just gag me, and watch me squirm and struggle.”

I should have ignored her. I should have
walked out and waited for Blains at the door, but I didn’t. She put her hands
on my shoulder and rubbed herself against me, and my instincts took over.

I threw my hands around her throat and
pinned her to the wall. “Have I given you any reason to believe I’d be
interested in the likes of you?”

I felt a thump on my shoulder and hands
pulling my arms. I pushed the girl away, turned and raised my fist, ready to
strike whoever was nearest. There were four of them. They had moved a few feet
backwards and stared at me with angry, bloodshot eyes.  

“What’s the problem, gentlemen?” Blains’
steady voice broke the silence.

“He can screw her if he likes, but he
can’t hit her,” said one of them.

“I wasn’t going to hit her, and much
less touch her. I was trying to tell her to leave me alone!”

“What’s wrong with my Nancy?”

“Nothing’s wrong with Nancy,” said
Blains. “My friend isn’t looking for a woman tonight. He’s waiting for me.”

“No one snubs my Nancy!”

“My wife is waiting for me,” I said.

“Your wife! That strange, little woman
who never goes out or speaks to us lesser folk.” I walked towards him, but Blains
held me back and the man continued. “The one who teaches fancy French to the
kids who ain’t got no jobs and are at the school?”

“Don’t speak about my wife. Don’t even
mention her!”

“Well, Mr. de Winter seems to be fit to
speak to her. He visited the school yesterday morning. Ain’t never done that
before. I wonder why. I guess he wanted to meet the new French teacher.” He
laughed and his friends followed his lead. “Perhaps he’d like some private
classes.”

“That’s enough.” I looked at Blains. “I’m
not leaving until he’s swallowed his words. It’s the only way.” He nodded. We
had fought together for six months at sea. We knew when we could avoid a fight
and when we had to thrash an opponent to gain his respect. These inexperienced
drunkards were no match for either of us.

Blains put his hand on the spokesman’s
shoulder and looked at his friends. “Let’s settle this once and for all
gentlemen. We like coming here for an ale.” He put his hand on my shoulder too,
so I faced the other man. “This is the deal. My friend and you, a fair fight.
You win, he spends the night with Nancy. You lose, we go home and Nancy doesn’t
bother him anymore.”

“And you’ll never mention my wife in
this public house again,” I added.

“Deal?” Blains asked him. He looked me
up and down. I knew I could break his neck easily if I lost control.

He nodded. I whispered in Blains’ ear,
“Don’t let me kill him. I don’t give a damn, but Jane likes living here.”

“Then we better put a limit to it,”
Blains replied. He turned to the crowd that had gathered and said in a loud
voice, “The first one on the floor for ten seconds loses.”

The man nodded and Blains drew an
imaginary circle around us with his arms. “Let’s make a ring for the fighters.
No breaking up the fight, no interfering, and no betting. This is going to be
short and sweet. The first man whose head touches the floor and stays there for
ten seconds loses the bet. They shake hands and the matter’s solved. Agreed?”

We both nodded.

“Gentlemen, take your coats off.” We
obliged and faced each other. “One, two, three. The fight may begin.”

The man stooped towards his boots and
pulled out a long shiny blade.

“No knives!” shouted Blains.

“Too late. The fight’s started,” he
answered. “You should have said so before.”

****

I was sitting at my writing desk when I
heard Michael’s horse arrive. I rushed to the door and sighed when I felt his
arms around my waist and his breath on my cheek.

“You look beautiful, Jane.”

I closed my eyes and smiled as I buried
my face in his chest. “Michael, it’s late.”

“I’m sorry. Are you upset?”

“No. I was lonely and worried, that’s
all. Shirley left before nightfall. She had to help her mother with the
baking.”

He smelled clean and I didn’t recognise
the trousers he was wearing. I wondered why he had washed and changed before
coming home. I shivered, imagining a woman touching him. Perhaps he had tired
of my indifference. I felt myself stiffen.

“Where have you been?”

“With Blains, at the King’s Arms.”

I stepped back and looked at him more
closely. His face was bruised and I noticed he limped as he moved to the couch.

“You’ve been in a fight?”

“There was some trouble at the pub.”

“Oh Michael. Are you all right?” I knelt
by his side and ran my hands up his arms and chest, looking for wounds.

“My thigh. I was stabbed.”

I held him tightly and cried quietly. Would
we have to leave again?

“It was nothing. I stopped at Blains’ to
clean up. I didn’t want you to see my torn clothes and bloody leg.”

“Did you hurt him?”

“Not much. He’ll have to learn to drink
with his left hand for a while. We didn’t even fight. I threw him on the floor,
and then I had to break his right arm, because he wouldn’t drop his knife.”

“Will he want revenge?”

“I think not.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I could have hurt him badly after
breaking his arm, but instead I stopped the fight on the condition that we’d be
even. He agreed. Then we had a few more drinks to seal the deal and we left.
Blains’ mother cleaned up and bandaged the wound, and Blains gave me some
trousers.”

“Is it very deep?”

“No, it’s just a scratch.”

I squeezed him tightly. “It’s a relief.
I thought you might have met someone.”

“Met someone?” He held me at arm’s
length. “Someone who might have recognised me, you mean?”

“No, I mean a woman. A young girl
perhaps.”

“What?” His furrowed brow and narrowed
eyes told me he didn’t like what I had said.

I didn’t like his tone or his look, so I
moved away to my desk. “Well, I’m not much company anymore, am I?”

He sighed, shook his head then dropped
it into his hands and closed his eyes, as if he didn’t want to see me. Had I
upset him, or was it true that he had found someone else? I couldn’t blame him
if he no longer loved me. “I asked you once to tell me if you ever stopped
loving me, Michael.”

He took his boots off and ignored my
comment. Perhaps he needed to tell me something, but I didn’t want to hear him
tell me he didn’t love me anymore.

He unbuttoned his coat and stared at me
quietly. I was so worried he was going to leave me. I had to say something to
break the silence.

“The postman brought a letter from Mr.
Dickens today.”

He dropped his hands to his knees and
turned his face towards mine. His eyes were drawn and he looked tired, or
perhaps it was sadness.

“Good news?”

“Yes, it was. I was replying when you
arrived. He was on his way to Ireland for a month of public readings, and
before leaving he wanted me to know that the first chapters of my novel have
sold very well. Everyone in London wants to know what will happen to Maria in
the asylum. I had planned to add just a few more chapters, to complete the
first six months, but he has asked me to draw it out for another six months
until Christmas. He suggested I introduce other patients’ lives.”

He smiled at last. “Is that what you
want to do? Do you want to write more about the asylum, or does it upset you?”

“I’d like to write more. I thought I
might introduce a love story between two of the characters. I thought there
could be a book they both read, which they shared, and wrote encrypted messages
in the margins. They’d fall in love and escape in the end.”

He looked at me quizzically. “I thought
all the patients were women. How would they meet a man? Would it be one of the
keepers?”

“Well, I remembered Christy and Daisy,
and I thought of a love story between two women. I could base the characters on
them. What do you think?”

He looked surprised, then smiled and
shook his head. “I think you’re the cleverest person I’ve ever met. It’s an
excellent idea, Jane. You’ll shock them all out of their complacency.”

“Do you think Mr. Dickens will like it?”

“He’ll like anything you write, Jane. He
adores you. He’d publish a fairy story if you wrote it.” He sighed. “I’m
relieved he is in love with Miss Ternan.”

“Well, I’m no match for Ellen. She’s
younger and much more beautiful than I am.”

He stared at me, shook his head again as
if he didn’t believe me, and then he lay back on the couch and stared at the
ceiling. I wondered how long he would ignore me. I walked back towards him.

“Are you hungry, Michael?”

He didn’t answer or move. He looked at
me questioningly. I could tell something was on his mind, but he said nothing.

“I helped Shirley make some pasties
today. Would you like to try them?”

“You made pasties?”

“Well, I helped Shirley make them. She
made the pastry and then I helped her with the fillings. There are pieces of
beef and slices of potato, and then it’s wrapped in pastry and cooked in the
oven. Cook would be quite shocked if she’d seen me.” I tried to sound
good-humoured, but he was silent.

He was indeed in a strange mood. I
thought it might be because of the fight, or perhaps there was something else
he wasn’t telling me. Michael ate voraciously, and he was always in a better
mood after eating.

“Well, shall I bring you one?”

He turned towards me and answered
sternly, making sure each word stood out. “No. I do not want you to bring me my
food.”

I didn’t know what I had done to upset
him. “Why not, Michael? Aren’t you hungry?”

He stood and held my shoulders. “Don’t
you understand? You shouldn’t be serving me.”

I moved backwards, startled by his loud
voice and clipped tone. Did he want me to leave? What had I done wrong? 

“I don’t want you to cook, or clean, or
serve my food.”

“But Michael, anything I do for you is a
pleasure.”

“Your hands are too precious for those
tasks.”

He stood and approached me, but I backed
away. There were shadows under his eyes, which had grown darker. I was suddenly
afraid of him. Would he turn against me and hurt me too? He held my arm. “Jane,”
he said, but I pulled away from him, moving towards the door. He was angry.
Perhaps he would strike me.

Where would I go in the middle of the
night? I preferred to be devoured by a pack of wolves than hit again. I turned
the knob and pulled the door. A gust of wind blew my dress, but his hand swept
past my face and pushed the door shut.

His hands were on either side of my head,
leaning against the wall and he was breathing heavily. I turned and pushed my hands
against his chest. “Keep away.”

“Jane, what’s wrong?”

“Don’t hit me.”

“What? Do you think I could ever hurt
you? I’d cut off my hand before it ever offended you.”

I was having difficulty breathing. Would
he turn into a monster and hurt me?  “You’re angry,” I whispered.

“Yes, I’m angry, Jane, but not with you.
I could never be angry with you.” He moved his hands from the door and cupped
my face, so softly I felt a tear slide down.

“Who are you angry with, Michael?”

“I’m angry with myself.” He wiped my
tear with his thumb. “Don’t you realise how beautiful and gifted you are? I’m
terrified of losing you, and you’re worried that I’ve found another woman.
There can be no other woman. You are part of my heart, Jane. When I’m not with you,
I’m half a man. I need you like I need to breathe.”

I placed my hands on his shoulders. What
had happened to me? How could I have thought Michael would ever harm me?