Midsummer at Eyre Hall: Book Three Eyre Hall Trilogy (9 page)

Mr. Wharton took some coins out of his
pocket and handed them to the driver, and then pointed an accusing finger at
me. “You better make sure you take the next train to London, and never come
back.”

“You have my word I shall never return
to Kilpeck.”

He slammed the cab door and shouted,
“Go!” to the driver. I could hear Jane’s sobs, but I looked away. They had to
believe I wouldn’t return.

I was about to call the driver and ask
him to stop at the inn we had passed before reaching the church, when he pulled
the carriage off the road and sat in the back with me. “Right mate, looks like
you’re in big trouble.”

“Not if they think I’m going to London.”

“You don’t want me to take you to
Birmingham, then?”

“Not at the moment. I’m going back for
my companion and we shall go to London together; perhaps you could take us?”

“It’ll cost you.”

“How much?”

“How much you got?”

“A few guineas.”

“Seems to me you’ve got a mighty big
problem. You’ll need to give me a lot more than a few guineas to keep me from
turning you in to the constable.”

I had thought of offering him money to
take us to our next destination, but I realised I couldn’t trust him. I didn’t
have time to lose, and I needed every penny I had to carry out the next part of
my plan. I also needed his horse and carriage.

“Will you take me to the inn first so
that we can negotiate your payment?”

“I don’t think so.” He took out a knife.
“Give me everything you have. I saw you pay at the inn. You had lots of money
in your purse. What do they want you for? Thieving?”

He thrust the knife forward and tried to
stab me, but I dodged and managed to jump out of the carriage.

He followed me out. “You better hand
over the money unless you want the law to find you.”

“Very well, you win. My purse is in my
boots.” I bent down as if to untie my bootlaces, but instead I kicked the knife
out of his hand, knocking him onto the ground. I jumped on him, thrusting my
knee on his chest, and grabbed the knife.

“Sorry, mate. I was joking. I’ll leave
you here and be on my way. No hard feelings.”

I held the knife to his throat. He
deserved to die, and I wanted to kill him, but Jane’s tortured face and
pleading words came to my mind. “Don’t kill him, Michael. They’ll hang you.”

I pulled him up, threw him into the
carriage and told him to take his clothes off. I ripped his shirt and tied his
hands behind his back, led him into a nearby wood, and used the rest of the
torn shirt and belt to tie his feet. I had to gag him because he wouldn’t stop
shouting. I waited an hour by his side, until nightfall. He was shivering but
fully conscious when I left him. I supposed someone would find him the
following morning. I had made sure he thought we’d be going to London, which is
what he would say if anyone asked him about us, but we’d be well away by then,
on our way to Bristol. 

I hoped Jane
was alone in her room, because I didn’t want to have to use violence on the
Whartons, unless it was inevitable.

When I arrived at the cottage, there
were some candles lit in one of the downstairs rooms, and one upstairs. I
waited until the downstairs lights were out, but the upstairs candle flickered
on. I held my breath and threw a pebble up to the window, hoping that Jane had
understood my message, and had left her candle burning.

   Seconds later I breathed again, as
her smiling face hung out of the window. She held out her hand, gesturing to me
to wait. Seconds later, a crumpled piece of paper flew out of the window.

“Back door. I love you.”

I walked to the rear of the house and
waited.

 “I thought you weren’t coming back, Michael.”
Her voice was less than a whisper as I brushed my lips against hers.

“Let’s go, Jane. We’re leaving and
nobody is stopping us.”

We ran down the path and along the lane
to the place where I had left the horse and carriage. I made sure she was
comfortable with the cushions and blankets I had placed on the wooden bench,
and told her to sleep. I jumped onto the driver’s seat and spurred the horse on
down the moonless, solitary lane and on to the next stage in our journey.

***

The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,

If Winter comes, can Spring be far
behind?

Ode to the West Wind
by Percy Bysshe Shelley

A man’s reach should exceed his
grasp, or what’s heaven for?

Andrea del Sarto
by Robert Browning.

The journey from Kilpeck to St. Ives was
longer and more dangerous than I had imagined, and Jane was still not fully
recovered. The first stage to Swansea was the quickest. We left the Wharton’s
in the dead of night. The following afternoon, the magnificent gothic spire of
Saint Elvan’s Church, presiding over the valley of Cynon, welcomed us to
Aberdare. The bells pealed boisterously, beckoning us to approach the Christmas
Day celebrations. I realised it was a large town, which must have many beggars around
the church, so I left the horse and carriage close to some nearby trees, certain
that someone in need would make good use of it. We walked across the meadow towards
the town centre, in search of an inn to eat and a coachman willing to take us
to Swansea that very evening.

When we arrived, the sea was so rough
that even watching the furious waves bursting into white froth against the
rocky harbour made Jane so sick and uneasy that I decided it would be better
for her to travel in a laudanum-induced sleep for the rest of our journey. I
was relieved that she would never remember our perilous escape from her
cousin’s home.

We took a room for the night at a modest
brownstone inn, where I bathed Jane and gave her some beef tea, which was the
only food I was able to persuade her to have. Then I left her in deep slumber while
I went to the nearest public house, full of rowdy seafarers, in order to find a
pilot who would take us to Ilfracombe, the next stage in our journey. It was
not easy, because cutters were not allowed to go beyond the Swansea pilotage,
so Ilfracombe was out of bounds, meaning it would cost me double the price, but
it would guarantee our escape. Nobody would suspect I’d take Jane across the
treacherous Bristol Channel in a cutter with a hired pilot, but it was our safest
option to reach Devon without leaving a trace.

I found a pilot who agreed to transport
us for a guinea, double his weekly salary, and his debts at the cutter’s pub. I
didn’t trust him to be sober enough in the morning to do the job on his own, so
I spent the trip on deck, helping him with the masts and steering in the
treacherous waters.

I wrapped Jane in a woollen blanket and
tied her to the bunk bed below deck, so she would not be tossed around the boat
in the wild waters of the Bristol Channel. It couldn’t have been worse than the
storm she’d experienced in the Sargasso Sea on her way to Jamaica, but I was
glad she was oblivious to the crossing. She was sick when I went down to see
her, and I couldn’t fathom how, as she hadn’t eaten anything solid for days.
Her skin was ashen, and dark circles framed her dull eyes. I hadn’t planned to
stop at Ilfracombe, because I wanted to reach our final destination as soon as
possible, but I realised we’d have to stay, because Jane needed to rest for at
least a few days.

Jane had not yet recovered from her
son’s betrayal and her stay at the asylum. Both her cousins’ lack of sympathy
had devastated her, and she was missing Helen and her life at Eyre Hall. Finally,
I had led her to believe I had abandoned her, when Mr. Wharton ordered me to
leave Thrush Cottage. She was still confused, mumbling incoherently or sleeping
most of the day, but at least I was sure we were safe, at last. Nobody would
find us.

The Whartons would suppose we had gone
to Birmingham or Bristol and then to London, but we had travelled in the exact
opposite direction. We were heading to Cornwall via Swansea, the Bristol
Channel, and Devon. By the time the archbishop was informed, we would be
impossible to trace.

Ilfracombe’s pale grey uniform terraced houses
looked drab in comparison to the colourful landscape. The afternoon we arrived,
a violent storm poured over the gloomy buildings and continued its merciless
onslaught throughout the following day. Jane sat by the window overlooking the harbour,
watching the dark waters and gradually recovering her senses. I convinced her
to eat some stew and bread and drink some ale, and miraculously she was not
sick this time, as she had been almost every day since she had left the asylum.

I found a copy of
A Christmas Carol
in the lounge. She accepted it, saying only, “Thank you, Michael,” and started
reading at once, which was a good sign. I told her I would return shortly and
left in order to buy some items we would require for the rest of our journey.

When I returned just before sunset, she
was still sitting by the window, looking at a vivid rainbow, which flooded the
dark buildings with a warm evening tinge of colour. She turned, smiled and held
out her hand. “Michael, look. Isn’t it beautiful?”

I kissed her fingers before looking out
over Ilfracombe, which did indeed seem the most beautiful sight I had seen for
a long time. I knelt down by her side, still holding her hand. “Tomorrow, we
shall go for a walk, Jane. Would you like that?”

Her fingers trailed down my face. “Yes,
Michael. I’d like that very much. I’m feeling quite stiff sitting here all day,
in spite of the lovely view.”

“I’ve brought you some bath oils, combs,
hair clips, and perfume.”

“Thank you, Michael.”

“I’ve also bought you leather lace-up
boots, a bonnet and a cape. I hope you like them.”

“I’m sure I will. Show me.”

“It’s not what you’re used to, but
Ilfracombe is a very small town, and there’s no time for a dressmaker.” 

I brought them over and showed them to
her by the light of the window.

She smiled. “The boots are perfect.”

I knew at once she didn’t like the cape
or the bonnet. “I know you don’t like brown, but the only other colours were
black or charcoal grey.”

“The cape and bonnet look warm. It’s
like a disguise. Nobody will recognise me.” She lay back on the armchair,
sighed and rubbed her palms down the woollen blanket on her knees. That wasn’t
a good sign. I knew it meant she was upset, as of course she had every reason
to be.

“Did you read
A Christmas Carol
?”

“Yes, I did. I read the part about the
Christmas past, that can’t be changed. It’s over and done. Then I read the
Christmas present, and that’s all we can deal with, isn’t it? I didn’t read the
ghost of the future, because instead I wrote a letter to Mr. Dickens. He has
often asked me to contribute a serialised novel to his monthly magazine, and
I’ve always declined, preferring to publish complete triple volumes, but I
think I’ll try my hand at a serialised novel, this time. What do you think,
Michael?”

 “I think that’s an excellent idea,
Jane. I’ll have the letter sent from Bristol, just in case. Make sure you tell
Mr. Dickens no one must know our whereabouts. If we’re caught…” I stopped. Her
face contorted as if she were in pain and tears slid down her cheeks.

I knelt down again, put my arms around
her and begged her not to cry, promising everything would be all right. She
held me tight and our tears mingled until they were almost dry.

The following day it stopped raining,
and we even had some sunny intervals. In spite of the piercing wind, we walked
up a hill, one of the many to be found around Ilfracombe, surrounding the town
like waves rising and falling, hill upon hill of green and red-brown slopes,
and secluded valleys. When we climbed even those which seemed lowest, we came
upon a rugged precipice and a sheer view over the furious black sea, which we
had crossed a few days earlier. I was overjoyed when Jane ate another hearty
meal on our return. I had reduced the drops she was taking, so she was less
lethargic, and her appetite was improving.  

After our short stay in Ilfracombe, Jane
was looking much better, but we had to move on. I bought a horse and wagon to
drive us to St Ives. When I showed Jane the long, heavy vehicle, with two wooden
benches, mostly used to transport goods, she covered her mouth and laughed.
“Joseph would be so upset if he saw me riding this cart.”

“I’m sorry, Jane. We don’t have much
money, and that’s all I could manage with…”

She took my hand and smiled. “Michael,
thank you for rescuing me from the asylum. You saved my life, and I can never
thank you enough. I don’t mind how we travel, as long as we’re together.”

I realised she was overjoyed because she
was free and alive, but I was sure the time would come when she’d miss the
comforts of being the mistress of Eyre Hall and the Rochester Estate. “Jane,
you deserve so much more.”

“But Michael,” she waved at the sky, “this
is so much more than I ever hoped for when I was chained in that dreadful
basement. The colours of the sky and the sea.” She breathed in deeply. “It
smells so clean and fresh. I love it. Thank you for bringing me here.”    

“We still have a long journey ahead. At
least four days in this wagon.”

She approached the animal, smoothing its
untidy mane with her delicate fingers, and smiled. “The horse looks worse than
I felt when we arrived.”

I was relieved that she was recovering
her sense of humour. “I imagine it’s had a hard life, pulling cartloads full of
heavy goods for years.”

“Well, let’s not tire it too much, then.
We’re in no hurry. They’ll never find us here, on our way to Land’s End. I
never imagined I’d travel this far. If I’d known Devon was so beautiful, I
would have come before. I’m sure Cornwall is even more beautiful. King Arthur
should know we’ll be visiting the land he so bravely defended against the Saxon
invaders.”    

“We’ll love Cornwall. Blains was always
talking about what a wonderful place it was, inhabited by the best people in
England.”

I tried to sound cheerful, but I was
desperately worried about our future. I hadn’t seen Blains since I came back
from my first voyage. I wasn’t even sure if he was still at St. Ives, or if he
had returned to sea. I hoped his family would help us, although we would have
to lie to them.

Last night, I had told Jane our story.
We were Mr and Mrs. Stewart, my mother’s maiden name, and we used to live in
London, but Jane had suffered a miscarriage and the doctor had recommended some
months by the sea, so we would be staying in Cornwall for a few months until
she recovered.

Jane nodded in agreement, but I was
worried about her. Our life would no longer be as comfortable as we had been
used to. The money Harry had lent me was fast running out. I hoped Blains would
be able to help me find a job, and we would be living in a simple country house
with no luxuries. I did not know how long this situation would continue.
Probably for months, perhaps even years.

Jane was more optimistic than I was. She
said she was convinced we would be happy in our new life. She hoped we’d find a
way to be united again with Helen. She was still convinced that her son would
finally give in, after what had happened, but I feared John would never forgive
either of us, especially as we had escaped yet again.

I missed Jane. Even when I was with her,
she was not with me. She was often lost in her thoughts, struggling with her
nightmares and hiding from her demons. She hadn’t told me everything that had
happened at the asylum. I could feel she was keeping something important from
me.

Jane’s health had improved. She had
stopped taking laudanum and she was eating more, although she slept restlessly
and often woke up with nightmares. It saddened me that she made excuses for not
being close to me as we were before. She would stiffen when I told her I loved
her and held her at night. Her kisses had become light pecks on my cheek, and
her embraces were quick hugs. She never complained, or made demands, and
although she didn’t seem discontented, she was never as cheerful, or
enthusiastic, as she had been at Eyre Hall. She was becoming another, more distant
person, like a candle whose light was slowly waning, and I didn’t know what to
do to make her love me again. I was losing her, and I felt as if I were locked
out of heaven.   

***