Thornfield Hall (26 page)

Later that morning Mr Rochester came to tell me that he did indeed plan to marry Miss Eyre in four weeks' time at the church in Hay where my late husband had been parson. He waited for me to congratulate him; he was so confident his secret was safe. I managed a few mumbled words before he whirled off to order the carriage to take Miss Eyre shopping.

I should have been filled with delight. It was true. Mr Rochester planned to marry Jane. His words confirmed it. The last detail for my plan had fallen into place. Mention of my late husband and the church at Hay had startled me and thrown me into confusion. What would my dear husband think of me? I intended to stand by and let his successor perform a bigamous marriage that one word from me could prevent. And Jane! I felt for Jane like a mother to a daughter. How could I let her walk innocently into a marriage that was nothing more than a fraud?

My resolution momentarily failed me. I was tempted to run after Mr Rochester and shout out in the corridor before the whole household, ‘Stop. Stop this farce. There already is a Mrs Rochester. Bertha who has lived on the third floor these ten years is Mr Edward Fairfax Rochester's legally married wife.' The
truth would be out but I would have broken my most solemn bible oath and brought unhappiness to three people I held dear.

I was still thinking about my husband when Miss Eyre came seeking my reaction to the news. She was in bliss. Mr Rochester returned her love and against all the expectations of society he had proposed to her in an honourable way. My tepid response must have disappointed her. I had been sitting with my bible open, looking in vain for a verse that told me it was perfectly acceptable to allow bigamy to take place as long as people were happier as a result. There did not seem to be a proverb to that effect. The general feeling of the good book was that human beings flourish best by being honest – especially with God.

Though I could not give her my heartfelt congratulations I did manage not to blurt out the dreadful truth that Mr Rochester was already married. Instead of my felicitations I gave Jane that little talk that older women feel it is their right to inflict on younger ones. I warned her about not anticipating matrimony. It was the little homily I should have given Martha but had failed to do. I worded it as delicately as I could. ‘Keep your distance,' I told her but she grew impatient with me and hurried off. Mr Rochester was taking her to Millcote to buy wedding goods.

‘That's good news,' said Grace. The minute I was free I had rushed up to the third floor to bring her up to date. ‘Buying wedding clothes. He must be serious.'

‘What do you think he bought his French mistresses?'

‘True. A few yards of silk do not tie the knot.'

‘He says they'll be married in four weeks at the church by the gate. It was my husband's church. I feel bad about that.'

Grace grabbed my arm and looked fiercely into my face. ‘Did your husband's church keep you when you were widowed? Did they pay your rent? Didn't they turn you out of your home so that Mr Wood could live there?'

I nodded miserably. It was all true.

Grace cupped her hands round my face and shook me gently. ‘Do you want to keep working thirteen hours a day? Do you want to spend your life cooking and cleaning until your whole body aches? We women must look out for ourselves. And we have very few ways of doing so. We must fight with the weapons that we find to hand.'

‘You are right. We will play them at their own game.' I thought for a moment. ‘We will wait till the first banns are called. It'll be this Sunday if they want to marry next month. There'll be no going back after that.'

Grace was enthusiastic. ‘We will take Bertha. It will add a certain bite to the occasion and will cut the last bond that ties her to him. It is time to talk to her about her future. I will start rehearsing her in her part. Trust me, she will be ready.'

News of the engagement spread quickly round the household. Those of us who knew the identity of Mr Rochester's resident lunatic had to hide our very different reactions beneath expressions of surprise at his choice of bride. Old John placidly whistled as he groomed his horses; as long as they had hay in their mangers and a warm stable, he was happy. Mr Rochester could have a whole harem as far as he was concerned. Young John the footman was particularly affected by news of the betrothal. The banns for his own wedding had twice been called and the date was fixed. He took Mr Rochester's intended bigamy as a personal insult. I told him sternly that Leah's welfare and the coming baby were more important and that he should keep his
disapproval to himself. A hint that I would put in a good word for him temporarily sealed his lips.

As Leah grew rounder poor John grew more nervous and agitated. He spilled the wine and dropped the trays. I feared he would start spilling secrets soon and I asked Sam to keep an eye on him. Sam used the occasion to have a quiet word of his own with me. He was growing restless. He had spent too many years at sea to live much longer in the country. He wanted to live on the coast. A place with a little harbour. A bit of fishing and a few odd jobs would keep him going if he had a bit of capital, enough to buy a cottage, you understand. He said no more but gave me a significant look, not so much as a nod or a wink but I felt he had worked out more about my plan with Grace than I thought wise.

Martha, who was under the illusion that Mr Rochester was free to marry, was the most outraged at the news. She was furious when she heard that the master of the house was marrying one of the servant class. If Mr Rochester could marry a governess, why could not young Lord Ingram do the decent thing by her? She was carrying his child, wasn't she? It was no use explaining to her that not only was Mr Rochester a man of courage and independent mind, happy to cock a snook at society, he was also a man of considerable wealth. On the other hand the new Baron Ingram was a feeble specimen, who was afraid of his mother and deep in debt. Reason had no effect on the girl. Jealousy and envy raged through her blood clouding what little judgement she ever had.

In spite of railing at her fate at the hands of the Ingrams, Martha showed a curious loyalty to the family. She took the slighting of the Honourable Blanche as a deep personal insult. The bruises on her arms and the threats over her reference were forgotten. According to Martha, Mr Rochester had treated
Blanche badly. His attentions had been interpreted by the whole neighbourhood as a serious prelude to matrimony. Blanche would be a laughing stock. I will confess that I amused myself by picturing the rage of Blanche and her formidable mother when they heard of the engagement. I told Martha she should be glad she was not in striking distance of either of those bad-tempered harpies when they heard the announcement.

CALLING THE BANNS

1832

W
ORD OF THE UNLIKELY MATCH SPREAD
like wildfire round the servants of the neighbourhood. The groom passed the word to the housemaid, who promptly told the cook. Cook told the butler who might – or might not – pass it on. A valet might whisper the news confidentially into the ears of his master, who would wisely keep the information from his womenfolk. No one wanted to be first to break the news to the Ingram family; shooting the messenger counted as a field sport in that household. We knew the family was in residence and the women usually attended church of a Sunday. The sight of the Honourable Blanche being jilted was one we all wanted to see from a safe distance.

Mr Wood must have wondered at the size of his congregation that Sunday. John and Leah volunteered to stay at Thornfield Hall; the last of their banns was being called and they wanted to avoid all the coarse jokes it would provoke. This enabled the rest of us to attend church, all in our best Sunday clothes.

Much to my annoyance Martha insisted on coming with us. Grace and I were still deciding how much money to ask of Mr
Rochester for Bertha's trust fund. It was a delicate question. Ask too much and he would turn us out on our ear. Too little was equally dangerous. There would be no opportunity to come back for more.

We never reached a decision. The silly girl blundered about among us interrupting every conversation and robbing us of any opportunity for the private exchange of information. By this time her condition was evident for all to see. Even Mr Wood might notice. In his nosy parson's manner he would be sure to ask about the father. I feared Martha still harboured hopes that young Lord Ingram would ride up to church on his white horse, get down on his knee and propose to her.

Bertha came in her disguise of widowed great aunt. Black crepe covered her from head to foot. ‘And a very appropriate costume for this day's work it is too,' Grace told her as we clustered protectively round our charge. Sam and Sophie brought up the rear as we climbed up to the gallery at the west end of the church. We had come early to be sure of sitting in the front row and enjoying a bird's eye view of the gentry in the pews below.

Mr Rochester did not attend. He seldom put himself through the tedium of one of Mr Wood's sermons. Most unusually Miss Eyre was absent; he must have warned her to stay away. She was a modest creature and would not enjoy the fuss and attention that would follow the revelation of her engagement. All the knowing eyes were fixed on the Ingrams' pew. Would Miss Blanche be making an appearance today?

The baroness, tall and stately in black, swept in during the first hymn with her two daughters in tow. They bowed to selected acquaintances, sank gracefully into their seats and settled their rustling skirts around them while the rest of us finished singing the verses. I shut my ears to Mr Wood's
sermon. I feared he might have chosen a theme that would make my conscience squirm – the importance of honesty, the sanctity of marriage or the necessity for obedience to God's law or some such relevant topic.

As he drew to his conclusion a tremor of excitement flickered round the servants in the gallery; they knew what was coming next. The banns. Mr Wood rushed through the third time of asking for John and Leah. He was keen to reach the main course of the feast. When he arrived there he made the most of it, rolling his tongue round the words as he announced the name of Edward Fairfax Rochester of Thornfield Hall, bachelor of this parish. As Mr Wood spoke, all eyes swivelled to focus on the Ingrams' pew. Most of the gentry among the congregation were under the illusion that the Honourable Blanche's name would follow. It did not. Mr Wood paused for effect before he pronounced the next name: ‘Jane Eyre, spinster of this parish.' A great gasp of surprise barrelled its way through the nave.

In the Ingram pew the feathers on two hats quivered and shook in the windless air as the baroness and her elder daughter reeled from the shock. The younger sister raised her hand to her mouth. Whether it was to conceal a smile or suppress a squeal of pain I could not tell. All I could see were two pairs of white knuckles gripping the pew rail. Next to me the woman in widow's weed bent her head and said nothing. I patted her gloved hand and prayed she would not fall into one of her paroxysms of insane rage. From the far side of her I heard Grace murmuring how well she was doing and how we were going to transform her life.

To give the baroness and her elder daughter their due, they bore their disappointment well. There was no wailing or tears, just stony stares, clenched jaws and a lot of glowering at the congregation as they stalked out of church. They swept past
the fawning vicar in the porch and ignored their neighbours' greetings. The baroness signalled for their carriage to be brought up. Without a word they climbed in. The last we saw were three straight backs as the coachman whipped the horses to a trot.

‘There'll be tears before bedtime,' said Grace.

‘And tantrums, and smashing things. And beatings with hairbrushes and nasty painful pinches.' Martha added some details from her own experience of life at Ingram Park.

‘There'll be none of that kind of behaviour at Thornfield Hall,' I told her, hoping that she'd give up all her fantasies of a happy-ever-after before the pangs of childbirth squeezed all the illusions out of her.

We formed a bodyguard round Bertha as we walked back to Thornfield Hall. Sam drew level with me, clapped his gloved hands together like a trap closing and whispered, ‘You've got him now.'