Thornfield Hall (21 page)

It must have been the season for sudden departures. In the afternoon a manservant we did not know came with news for Miss Eyre. The two of them set off in the early hours of the next morning before I was about. Her disappearance made me quite angry, as she had not had the courtesy to seek me out and ask my permission. She had gone straight to Mr Rochester; governesses like to think they are family, not servants. The master had given her leave to go and paid her ten pounds from his own pocket.
I was annoyed because it made a muddle in the accounts. To be fair to Jane she wrote to me later, explaining she had been summoned to a dying relative.

When the Easter recess of Parliament came to an end Sir George Lynn, who was member for Millcote, left Thornfield Hall. After that the house party quickly dwindled; the Eshtons and the Dents soon found reasons to leave. We were left with the dregs, the Ingrams. I might have known they would hang on, eating our food and burning our coal in preference to their own. My worst ordeal was a final meal alone with the Ingrams' upper servants. They were shallow imitations of their employers: full of stories of exalted visitors and complaints about how hard it was to get ‘proper staff'. They spent their time abusing their fellow servants as either lazy and slovenly or ignorant of the necessary skills to do their jobs properly. I smiled and nodded and managed to keep my pug mask intact while inside I wanted to curse them and sentence them to the cruellest torments of cold, hunger and poverty. I was proud of my staff at Thornfield. They were honest, punctual and reliable and they knew their trades.

At last the Ingrams left. As befitted their rank Mr Rochester waved them off and we servants stood outside in a respectful line. We had done well in the customary tips from the previous departing guests but we were not optimistic about these. The Ingrams ran true to their usual tight-fisted form. Miss Blanche sat in the coach with a face that would sour milk. I could not blame her; she must've expected a proposal while she was at Thornfield Hall. Poor Martha followed behind them in the dog cart. She was balanced on the top of the trunks and crying fit to burst.

‘Can I have a word?' It was Leah by my side, all pink and embarrassed. Her news did not surprise me. She and John were in love. Nature had taken its course.

‘What does John say?'

‘He wants to speak to parson straight away. I wanted to tell you first.'

‘Thank you, Leah. I appreciate that. First Adele arrives and now a baby will be coming to Thornfield Hall. The old place will be full of life. Let us hope your baby arrives when Mr Rochester is away. The gentry don't really like babies being born in their houses – except their own. Let's hope you have your own cottage by then.'

‘My baby's not the only one. Martha's in the family way. That's why she's crying all the time. I only just persuaded her to get in the dog cart to go back with them. She wanted to stay here. She's further on than me. She thinks she's due about harvest time.' Leah shrugged her shoulders and held out her hands in a gesture of helplessness.

‘I don't suppose the daft girl has any idea of her dates. The clock was just a picture on the wall to her. As for looking at a calendar!' I raised my eyes to heaven. ‘I saw she looked unhappy but I didn't notice her thickening out.'

‘You were busy and you can hide a lot under an apron. At least I hope so.'

‘Any mention of the father?'

‘She had plenty to say about him. It's the new Baron Ingram, of course. Young Lord Theodore as was.'

‘He'll not be speaking to the parson.'

‘No. Gave her five guineas not to tell.'

‘Who else knows?'

‘The dreaded Blanche. Says she'll give her a reference if she goes quietly. They don't want the baroness to know. Apparently it's not the first time young Theodore has put a maid in the family way. Following in his father's footsteps. Martha showed me her arms. They're black with bruises where Blanche has pinched and twisted them.'

I felt the heart drop out of me. Poor Martha was with child by a man who was scared of his mother and who got his sister to do his dirty work. All this because I'd been squeamish about being seen leaving old Mr Rochester's bedroom. As if my reputation counted for anything against the fate of the unwanted baby of a silly girl who let a coward seduce her. In seconds I'd made my mind up.

‘I'll send word to her tomorrow. Tell her to give her notice in and get her reference. She must come here. I'll not see her go to the workhouse. You know how hard they are on girls who are not wed. We will look after her. I'll put her on the books as a laundry maid to cover her food. She'll have to work until her time comes but no one here will torment her. I don't know about after the baby comes. She'll have a reference from a titled lady. That must be worth something.'

I knew there would be times I would regret making the offer of a safe refuge. Martha could annoy me faster than a buzzing fly in the dairy. I would have to grit my teeth and bear her irritating ways; I must reap what I had sown. As I always did when I had a problem I climbed the stairs to the third storey. To my surprise the upper door was locked and I had to knock. Grace unlocked it but kept the door half closed to warn me not to venture further. She put her finger to her lips to signal I should be quiet.

‘Snappish?' I whispered.

Grace drew her hand across her throat in imitation of a murderer's knife and rolled her eyes. She was wan and haggard from watching her unpredictable charge. ‘A doll would help.'

At first I didn't understand her request. Then I remembered Bertha nursing the tiny doll, her eyes and her mind faraway and peaceful. ‘I'll ask Adele.'

‘I have important news.'

‘So have I.'

‘It'll have to wait. Can't talk now.'

With that I had to be satisfied.

Adele was taking advantage of Miss Eyre's absence. She had taken to her bed, exhausted by her efforts at entertaining the house guests. Her dark curls billowed round her face as she lay back against her frilled pillows like a small empress holding court. It was a matter of regret to her that she could not join me for the evening meal but she was suffering from
la grippe
. Could Sophie bring her supper up to her? Of course I agreed; I wanted a favour from this tiny tyrant.

In my experience children do not like to part with their possessions. They tend to scream and shout and clutch their treasures to their chests but my request for the loan of a doll was met by Adele with her usual perfect equanimity. She had an army of dolls; she could afford to be generous. She lined up all the candidates. This one she could not part with at the moment as she too was suffering from the
grippe
. That one had been very naughty and so she could not be allowed out.

‘It is for cuddling,' I told her to speed up the process.

‘Cuddling? What is cuddling?'

I mimed the action. ‘It is to cheer someone up, Adele. Does that help you choose?' It did. A
bébé
doll, then, not a
jeune fille
. Definitely a
bébé
. She was desolate that the doll's clothes were not up to her usual standard. I assured her that would not be a problem. I expected that when Bertha recovered she would start sewing again.

There was much laughter and joshing in the servants' hall that evening. We were glad to be reunited and free to talk without having to watch our tongues. John came in for lots of jibes and back-slapping once Leah's news was out.

‘You'll be making an honest woman of her no doubt.' Old John's choice of phrase was not the happiest; he was not one to mince his words. Mary scowled her disapproval at him. John was a farm boy, and had been courting Leah for some time. They were simply following the country custom of waiting for the baby to start before they got wed.

‘I'll be talking to parson soon as I can get time off,' John announced. Leah looked at him with admiring eyes. As he spoke, he flushed with pride and embarrassment and I saw that the boy had become a man. Marriage was a brave step for them to take. Married servants are not tolerated in many households. Mistresses expect their servants to be available at all hours, not tucked up in their own cottages at night. Fortunately Mr Rochester did not concern himself with such details. In effect I was mistress of the house – until I was replaced. I told John to take time off the very next day and used the moment to tell them about Martha. ‘Leah's not the only one to be having a baby. I hear Martha's—'

A cry of anguish stopped me. Old John had his head in his hands and was wailing through his fingers. ‘Don't tell me Martha is up the duff. We should never have let her go to those Ingrams.' He raised his head and glared at me with his clouded blue eyes. ‘I warned you about that old goat.' I saw tears tremble on his weather-beaten face.

I felt my cheeks flame with guilt and a pain like a dagger cut through me. Old John was right; I had done wrong. It was a most
uncomfortable moment so I took some small relief to my feelings by correcting him. ‘It wasn't the old goat. It was the young goat.'

They sat with solemn faces while I told them all the rest: the threatened bad character, the five guineas and the bruised arms.

‘I'll make that young whipper-snapper pay,' Old John vowed. He saw from our expressions the question in our minds. How? How could an obscure elderly groom affect a man who was now a peer of the realm?

‘You don't believe me,' he snapped. ‘Then you don't know horse people. We stick together. Every coachman, every groom and every hunt servant will turn their hand against him. That little sprig of Satan. He likes the races. He likes to mix with the viscounts, and the colonels, and the honourable this and the dishonourable that. And he likes to show off. He's been betting large sums on old nags. He's no judge of horse flesh.' I knew that in Old John's book, this defect was the equivalent of a mortal sin.

Old John muttered on, ‘They let him bet on credit. They know the estate's entailed to him. They'll wait. There'll be interest. They won't be so patient when we put the word out against him. They'll be fighting to be first to get their share.'

I was amazed; I'd never heard Old John put more than four words together in his life.

‘If he thinks he'll have trouble with that old trout of a mother if she finds out about Martha, he wants to see what'll happen when his creditors panic and come stampeding for their money. His ma'll have something to say when they auction Ingram Park over her head and turn her out in the cold. That estate'll go for a knockdown price. It'll not cover what he owes.' A grim smile came over his face.

‘Time for the servants' revenge,' Sam announced.

‘What's that?' Leah asked.

Sam leaned across the table to explain. ‘Well, you know the whole point of our existence is to make their lives comfortable. The servants' revenge is when instead of doing just that, the servants start to make their lives uncomfortable.'

‘How?' John was a newcomer to these tricks of a servant's trade.

‘We'll tell them at Ingram Park. They'll think of something. An important letter mysteriously delayed, the bedroom fire gone out, the tea cold – with spit in it.'

We all felt a bit better after that. When I told them that I was going to ask Martha to come back a rumble of agreement went round the room. Old John seemed to speak for them all when he said I was doing the right thing. ‘I am sorry about earlier, Mrs Fairfax. I had a bit of an outburst like, but Martha's father was my oldest friend. I should have kept a better watch on her. There's no one else.'

‘You tried,' Mary consoled him. ‘Martha didn't take kindly to being told what to do. And she surely didn't like being told what not to do. She has a rare sharp tongue on her, that girl.' Mary shook her head.

Old John was not to be pacified. ‘In my day if a lass swore a man was the father, he was. He had to do the right thing. That was it. No questions asked. I seen the parish constable take the girl in one hand and the warrant in the other. Church or prison. That was the choice.'