Thornfield Hall (27 page)

I'll say this for Miss Eyre. Although she was formally recognized as Mr Rochester's betrothed she continued to carry out her duties as an employee. Morning school with Adele went on as before. She frequently accompanied Adele and Sophie on their afternoon walks, insisting that Adele needed the extra practice in speaking English as she would soon have to leave Thornfield Hall and go to school; Mr Rochester was determined to travel abroad with his new wife after the wedding. What I was supposed to do with all the extra servants he had employed he did not deign to explain to me.

The news that I would have to part with Adele was a great sadness to me; I had been captivated by her conscious childish
charm and I suspected that an English school would be severe on her continental ways. I was powerless to intervene. I had no right to a say in Adele's future; that was in the hands of Mr Rochester.

Until the wedding day Jane continued to be Adele's governess. She made Mr Rochester wait until after dinner before she joined him. In this way he was left free during the day to go about his business. One of the first matters he dealt with was to go out to the stables and talk with Old John. I found the venerable groom later, sitting with Mary in the kitchen, his face a picture of misery with a suspicion of dampness round his eyes.

It was Mary who enlightened me. ‘Mr Rochester has told Old John to sell all the hunters.'

‘Except Mesrour.' Old John found his voice in defence of his favourite. ‘He'll not sell Mesrour.'

‘The master is giving up hunting,' Mary explained. ‘He doesn't want to break his neck and leave his new wife a widow. Stands to reason. All the horses to be sold and John and I are to go to Ferndean. A sort of semi-retirement. Master wants the house kept up as he might use it for business every now and then. No house parties though. It's much too small.' Mary flexed her fingers. Each joint stood out, swollen and red. ‘And I for one am ready for it,' she announced and glared at Old John, daring him to contradict her.

‘It's a gloomy place, surrounded by trees. It might not suit Mesrour. He's to go and live there.'

‘I don't care about the forest. As far as I know a horse doesn't go in for soup or roast pheasant or ice-cream. A bit of hay. That's all a horse wants. The occasional hot mash.'

Old John glowered. He glowered for days. He was a master of the art of glowering. But he did not go to Mr Rochester to protest.

Grace chuckled when she heard about Mr Rochester giving up hunting. ‘That's a good sign,' she said. ‘He hunted so much
it was clear he really wanted to kill himself. That's all stopped now he's got Miss Eyre.' Grace had always regarded hunting as a polite form of suicide for the gentry. ‘We'll let him stew for a couple of days. Now that the banns have been called for the first time, the dye is cast and he will think the worst is over. Let him relax and enjoy the prospect of wedded bliss. Then we'll strike.' I have never known anyone so well supplied with sheer animal cunning as Grace.

We waited for the third day. Then we set our plan in action. Miss Eyre was busy in the schoolroom with Adele. Mr Rochester was sitting in the library. With Pilot at his feet, a book lying casually on his knee and his head in the clouds he looked supremely happy.

‘Ah, Mrs Fairfax,' he said. ‘To what do I owe this pleasure?'

‘I have serious matters to discuss with you, sir. Have you time now? It would be best if we were not interrupted.' I tried to speak naturally though my heart was banging about like the lid on a boiling kettle.

‘Is cook having a tantrum? Has crockery been smashed? Is there fighting among the footmen? Blood on the carpet?' He smiled at his own jest. His black eyes sparkled with amusement. He thought nothing could ruffle his contentment or blemish his joy.

‘It is indeed a matter that concerns other people, sir. Two other people to be precise. It would be best if they were present. May I bring them in?' He gave a lazy nod of his head. I felt a moment of joyous anticipation as I went to the door and gestured for Grace and Bertha to come in and burst his bubble of nuptial bliss.

Grace looked as she always did: neat, tidy and unremarkable. Her red hair was hidden under her cap and her plain, strong face was calm. She led in Bertha, who was dressed in a dark
dress that she had styled herself. It fitted perfectly. Her hair was brushed back and tied in a chignon. Round her neck was the gold locket with the lock of crinkly baby hair from the child that was certainly hers and possibly Mr Rochester's. She looked like any society lady accompanied by her maid.

Mr Rochester was glancing at his book as they entered the room. He rose up and started when he saw Grace. Alarm passed over his face; Grace belonged on the third floor – she was not supposed to venture into his library. He pulled himself together. No one could say he was not a brave man. ‘It's Mrs Poole, I believe. And?' He peered enquiringly at the figure behind Grace.

‘Your wife, sir. The lady is your wife.' I experienced an exquisite pang of pure joy in saying those words. I had not realized that power could be so invigorating.

That I knew her identity staggered him. That she was in his presence pole-axed him. He sank back into his chair. His book clattered to the floor. Pilot must have sensed his master was in peril of some kind for he growled and bared his teeth at us as if we were all strangers to him.

‘Shall I pour you a brandy, Mr Rochester?' I did not wait for a reply but quickly delivered a glass I'd filled from the decanter. I wanted him functioning and decisive, not shocked and wandering in his wits. When I spoke I used the voice of command, the voice I knew so well that was so often directed at me by the gentry. I felt liberated when I heard it issue so confidently from my lips. ‘Perhaps you could reassure Pilot that we mean you no harm, sir, and then invite the lady to sit down.'

He obeyed me. Then he swigged back the brandy and waved to a chair. Bertha sat and Grace stood by her chair. Colour had returned to Mr Rochester's face and he laid his hand lightly on
Pilot's collar. Now that I had the participants arranged to my satisfaction I began. ‘We have come to you with a suggestion, Mr Rochester. To be precise, a list of suggestions. Could we deal with those that involve your wife first, so that she may return to her room? It is very painful for her to be here. We should not test her composure for too long. I have your permission to speak for you, have I not, Bertha?'

Bertha nodded obligingly.

‘To put it bluntly, now that your intention to be united with Miss Eyre – I can scarcely call it married – is a matter of public knowledge, the lady wishes no longer to be Mrs Rochester.' The very name made him flinch. ‘She wishes to move away from here and to live under the protection of Mrs Poole and myself. Is that not so, Bertha?'

‘I want to be Bertha Mason again.' As she spoke her fingers picked at the stuff of her gown, squeezing and kneading the fabric. Always a sign that she was growing disturbed. ‘I am not always well. These ladies look after me when I sick.' She looked up at Grace and then me and received reassuring smiles in return. She turned to Mr Rochester, her husband, who was supposed to be of one flesh with her. ‘Best I not see you. Or my brother. You make me mad.'

Mr Rochester put his head in his hands. I hoped this meant that he acknowledged that our case was unanswerable. If he agreed with her, we could deal with the details without tormenting poor Bertha any further.

‘Have you heard enough? Can your wife go back to her room now?'

He groaned. ‘That word. Wife. Please don't use that word.'

I signalled to Grace to take Bertha out. Mr Rochester, my master, as I had thought of him until recently, slumped in his chair; he was a beaten man. All the shine and gloss of his
happiness had left him. His face was drawn and grey. I did not wait to be invited to sit, but pulled up a chair and sat opposite him.

‘How long have you known?' he asked.

‘Grace and I have suspected for some time. We only found out for sure when Mr Mason was here.'

He went white and raised his hands in silent appeal. I hastened to explain. ‘Mrs Poole was present when Mr Mason talked with his sister and afterwards when he talked to you. He called Bertha ‘your wife' and you did not deny it. It is true, isn't it?'

He nodded and turned away. It was some time before he could look at me. His eyes held a question that his lips could not frame.

I guessed what he feared too much to put into words. ‘Mr Mason said nothing to Miss Eyre. She is in ignorance and is innocent in all this.'

He leant back in the chair and gazed up at the ceiling, giving God thanks for this small mercy.

‘I have not come here to destroy your happiness. But I am a parson's widow. My belief in the sanctity of marriage struggles with my desire to see my fellow human beings living good and happy lives. The oath I swore along with my fellow servants still binds me from revealing Bertha's true identity. How long the others will hold their tongues I cannot say. Some may find the idea of bigamy so repellent that they will reveal what they know to Miss Eyre, if not to the world. I believe you have already made plans for Old John and his wife, Mary.'

‘I have indeed. My plan was to leave Thornfield Hall, to cease being a gentleman of the county. To sell the horses and close the stables. It is time Old John retired. I have asked him and his wife to live at my house, Ferndean. To look after it and
treat it as their own home. It breaks his heart to sell the hunters, but it is time.'

‘Old John has looked out for you since you were a boy. He follows no church so it is easy for him. There are others who took the oath. They too need to be looked after. I am thinking of John, the footman. He is about to marry Leah. And he is taking it very seriously. There is a baby on its way and he is young and idealistic. He is not cut out to be a footman. He is a farmer at heart.'

I fell silent and gave him time to work it out for himself. While he did so I went over in my mind the shopping list I had brought with me. John and Leah first, because Leah was dear to my heart and there was a child to be provided for. I hoped to persuade Mr Rochester to grant them a farm under very advantageous terms. The Rochesters do not like to part with land but a generous lease and a good tenant are a different matter. I filled his brandy glass again to help him think.

‘Well, Mrs Fairfax, there is an estate about thirty miles from here where I have two or three farms. I was planning to do something about them before I went abroad. Would John make a good farmer, do you think?'

‘Most assuredly, sir. Perhaps if you were to approach him, discuss terms. It would make a good wedding present for the pair of them. Leah is a treasure and has been for many a long year and a good friend to the lady.' Out of delicacy I reverted to calling Bertha ‘the lady' in his presence. The term ‘wife' was a red rag to the bullish Mr Rochester.

‘Now Sam is not a farmer, sir. As you know he was a navy man. He is restless and wants to live near the sea.' I had now arrived at one of the more difficult subjects on my list. In all his years at Thornfield Hall Sam had appeared cheerily content with very little until Sophie came onto the scene. Now
he wanted a cottage by the sea. I tried to picture Sophie gutting fish – and failed. I was sure her ambitions lay in a different direction.

Naturally I kept these thoughts to myself. I suggested to Mr Rochester that he offer the purchase price of a cottage – when Sam found one. A generous tip in the meantime should keep Sam sweet. Mr Rochester nodded his agreement and put a limit of three hundred pounds on the price of the property. I thought four hundred would be nearer the mark. He remained silent. I decided to waste no more time on Sam. I had bigger fish to fry. I took a deep breath.

‘And the lady, sir.' He gave me a blank look. ‘Your wife, sir.' The word set his teeth on edge and he shivered uncontrollably. ‘I do not come here to torture you, sir. I have spent many hours with Mrs Poole thinking what is best for everyone. We think we have found a solution. More brandy, sir?'

I took him through it step by step, the way I would have explained it to a child. The great improvement in his wife's… er… the lady's mental state when she led a quiet, orderly life and was not reminded of her past. Thornfield Hall was a prison and the presence of its owner was a constant provocation to her. The best thing would be for the lady to move away. Returning to the island of her birth was out of the question. Her parents, I understood, were dead and her brother, Richard, was an abomination to her. She expressed no interest in any family members who might still live in Jamaica; on their part they had shown complete indifference to her welfare. A house in a quiet market town in a distant part of the country, somewhere Grace and I could look after her, seemed an ideal solution to the problem. We would pass her off as a widow.

So far Mr Rochester found nothing objectionable. I feared the next part would provoke an explosion.

‘The lady, although no longer mad, is not really capable of running her own affairs. Grace and I would have to take all those decisions for her.'

Mr Rochester gave a bark of laughter at that. ‘You have proved yourselves more than capable of doing that,' he scoffed.

‘The problem is more one of means than of ways, sir.'

‘Money. I might have known. It always comes down to money.'

His words hurt me to the quick; they hurt me more than the sneer on his face. I sprang to my feet and I bellowed at him. ‘As I understand it, money was the cause of this problem in the first place. Thirty thousand pounds, wasn't it? Thirty pieces of silver might have been a more appropriate amount.' I was on my way to the door when he called me back.

‘Please, Mrs Fairfax. Come back. Sit down. I am sorry to have spoken to you in that way. You are right. Money, or rather the lack of it, caused the whole unholy mess. I was a weak and foolish young man. I saw only the good side of the lady, the side that you, to your eternal credit, and Mrs Poole have restored to her. My father arranged everything. The dowry was indeed thirty thousand pounds. She shall have it back. All of it.'