Thornfield Hall (5 page)

My hope that Mr Rochester would soon send for me proved true. The very next morning I was summoned to the library and told to bring my account books with me. The master sat at his father's great mahogany desk. Glints of red and green from the stained glass in the leaded window flickered behind him. The family bible was in front of him; it sat squat and black in a pool of sunlight. The book was open at the flyleaf where different hands had entered the records of the Rochester births, marriages and deaths. The family goes back a long way; Damer de Rochester was killed at the battle of Marston Moor. My new master's face was mournful as he stared at the list.

I approached him softly. ‘I am sorry for your loss, Mr Rochester.'

‘Thank you, Mrs Fairfax. People seem to forget that I have lost…' he paused for a moment as he appeared to search for the right words, ‘both my closest relations within a very short time. They think only of the fortune that I have unexpectedly inherited.' His mouth twisted into a smile. People's greed seemed to amuse him. There was, I noticed, no mention of a dear kind father or a beloved brother.

He ran his finger down the list of names handwritten into the bible and stopped at his mother's name. ‘I remember very little of her now. She was ill for so long. I was away at school
when she died. Was there not a little sister? There is no name or date for her.'

‘There was. She was christened Elisabeth. She did not survive the three months. Perhaps your parents found it too painful to record her fate. The deaths of babies are particularly hard: their tiny lives so short, their little faces so perfect.' I felt the catch in my throat as I thought of my own child. I put my hand in my pocket to feel the soft leather of my little bible. Her name was carefully inscribed in it, the ink smudged with tears and goodnight kisses.

‘That is not all that is missing.' His finger pointed to the last entry; it was the date of his own birth. There was nothing after that. ‘I am pleased to see that my name and birth date are still in the book. I heard so little from my father and my brother that I did sometimes wonder if they had crossed my name out. The black sheep of the family sent abroad to mend his ways. I expect you have heard all the stories of my wild misdeeds?' He looked directly at me.

His dark eyes searched my face and for a moment I was overwhelmed by the power of the man. I wanted to blab about the scandal, to offer my theories as to his misdeeds and to denounce his father as an unfeeling wretch; the urge was almost irresistible. By some miracle of self-control I contrived to stay silent. I put on my smooth, expressionless servant's face, lowered my gaze and examined intently the top button of his waistcoat. Sometimes it is best for a servant to act dumb.

My silence seemed to satisfy him. It was not long before he continued. ‘As the last surviving Rochester it is my sad task to add the date of my father's death. And I see that his death followed so close on the heels of my brother's that he had neither the time nor the heart to complete the record for my brother.' He took up his pen and filled in the dates. ‘I
wonder who will write in the date of Edward Fairfax Rochester's departure from this world.'

This morbid speculation was too much for me. I stopped being dumb and spoke briskly to him. ‘Come, Mr Rochester, there are plenty more cheerful things to think of. Why, your marriage will be next. That will be a joyful occasion. And there could be children. There's nothing quite like children to bring life to a house and joy to your heart.'

‘Enough!' he snapped with one of those sudden changes of mood that I soon learnt to become accustomed to. ‘There are serious matters to deal with.' He pushed the bible to one side and gestured for me to lay the account books in front of him. I prepared myself for a long and tiresome scrutiny of the kind his father enjoyed; the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

Mr Rochester opened a book at random and turned a couple of pages. His black eyes sparkled as he returned the book to me. ‘I feel I would be failing in my duty if I did not make at least a pretence of looking at the figures.' He smiled and for the first time I saw the frank and cheerful youth that he must have been.

‘Now to business. I shall not stay here long. I intend to travel in Europe. No more ocean journeys for me. However, I want to put your mind at rest. Make sure all the servants are told of my plans. Assure them the Hall will not be closed, nor will you be put on board wages. On the contrary, I want Thornfield kept in good working order, ready to receive me whenever I decide to come. I would say ship-shape but the memory of my recent voyage is too vivid.' He gave a wry smile and pulled his hand across his forehead.

‘I may arrive at short notice. I expect my visits will be brief. Thornfield Hall holds little to attract me apart from business and my duties as a squire and landlord. I will come to attend to my
responsibilities and when I come I don't want to walk into clouds of dust and unmade beds. I want the Hall ready to entertain me and my guests at a moment's notice and I will need plenty of guests to divert me. I intend to wrest as much enjoyment from my unexpected change of fortune as possible. I'll try to give you a few days' notice if it is to be a large house party.'

I gave him my best blank servant's stare. I remained standing motionless and looked at the patterned window above and behind him as if he did not exist. I said nothing. This time the silence was not a sympathetic one. It was a silence that grew. At first it was an awkwardness. Then it thickened into a dense soup of hostility. I waited for him to break it.

At this point Mr Rowland would have picked up his magnifying glass and a beetle and forgotten all about me. His father would have harangued me about his poverty, the high price of meat and the availability of cheap servants on every street corner. Mr Edward was made of more intelligent metal.

‘Is there anything you need to enable you to carry out my wishes?' he asked.

He had asked so I told him. I ticked each item off on my fingers. Did he intend to replace Mr Merryman? If not, another footman would be useful or at least a boy for the kitchen and to help carry coal and hot water. Another housemaid to help Leah. Another pair of hands in the kitchen so cook could start to train her to be ready to help when guests arrived at short notice. Then there was the new lady. I knew not what to call her. And her attendant, Mrs Morgan.

He held up his hand to stop me and fixed me with his glittering eyes. ‘I rely on you to deal with Mrs Morgan. Her task is not an easy one. I will make it clear to her that she must respect your position. Whatever you need to ensure that the lady is cared for with as much kindness as possible you shall have.' His brow
darkened and he seemed to struggle within himself. ‘If there is a problem that you cannot solve by yourself you can write to me. I will send what aid I can.' His voice thrilled with emotion, his hand closed into a fist and the veins stood out on his brow. ‘But before God I swear the less I am reminded of that lady's existence the better.' I watched as he struggled to subdue some intense and bitter inner conflict.

Once he was calm he spoke again. ‘You will be well rewarded – and not just in heaven. You will have a free hand to engage whatever extra servants are needed.' He managed to give me his disarming, lop-sided grin. ‘Now tell me the names of the servants who will have most contact with the lady and with her attendant. I doubt I will know them; there have been many changes among the servants since I last lived here.'

‘The servants you saw in the entrance hall yesterday will be most closely involved with her care in the house. And probably Old John the coachman, when the lady is well enough to go out. You must remember Old John from when you were a boy. He is still with us.'

‘I do not think the lady will be going out. She will not mix in society.' He looked quite alarmed at the thought of the lady taking the air in a carriage.

‘As long as the doctors think she is well enough, I can see no harm in her having a change of scene, taking the fresh air.'

Mr Rochester chewed his lip and furrowed his brow and generally acted like a man who wanted to say No. ‘A closed carriage,' I stressed. ‘With Old John who taught you to ride. She is sick, not a prisoner.' I had him there.

He thought for a moment. ‘So be it. I can trust Old John to keep silent. Collect the servants together and bring them here.'

I left the library with my head reeling. My third Mr Rochester was a very different kettle of fish from his father
and brother. He might be moody and melancholy, but he radiated power and force of character. I set about carrying out his orders immediately. It was the work of moments to summon the two Johns, Sam, Leah and Mary. There was much smoothing of hair and wiping of hands on aprons as we all trooped in to the library.

We formed an apprehensive semi-circle in front of Mr Rochester as he stood at his desk. He spoke to us in his straightforward manner. ‘I have to tell you that the lady who arrived yesterday is out of her wits. Many would consign her to the asylum. But she is to be kept here. I would not send a dog to an asylum.' We all nodded our approval. The thought of the asylum made us shudder. We had heard of the horrors there. Not just the company of the insane inmates, their wails and fits, but the cold baths, the sleeping on straw, the chains and the manacles.

‘I am not such a fool as to think that I can keep her existence a complete secret. There will be gossip and speculation. Let it continue. I can live with speculation. Let the countryside gossip but keep them in ignorance. All you need to know is that my father, through his business, came into contact with her and the Rochester family feels responsible for her. That is a duty I intend to fulfil.

‘Do not believe any of the nonsense she may tell you. Keep her safe and close confined. All you need to know is that she is not related by blood to the Rochester family. I cannot emphasize that too much; she is no blood relation of mine. Madness is not part of my family's inheritance. Her care, though, has become my responsibility and I intend to discharge it honestly. To show you how important this is to me I want you to swear on the bible to keep your lips sealed about the lady as far as outsiders are concerned. Mrs Fairfax, will you set us an example? Who is
better qualified than the widow of a good and honourable man of God to go first?' He gestured to the bible in front of him.

‘I can do better than that,' I told him. It never even crossed my mind to refuse. I took my own little bible out of my pocket. ‘I will use my own bible. In the front is written the name of my baby daughter. I kiss it every night before I go to sleep.' I held the book in my hand and said simply, ‘I swear.' Then I kissed the book and put it away.

The others stepped forward one at a time and put their hand on the bible on the desk and took the oath until it came to Old John's turn.

‘There be no use me swearing on that book, Mr Edward. I'm a bit of what you might call a free thinker.'

‘Is there nothing you hold sacred?' Mr Edward asked him.

‘There be plenty things. Horses. Dogs. I tell you what. I'll swear on my dog's life.'

A splutter of outrage burst from Mary. Old John slapped his forehead. ‘O! Mary, Mary, my lovely wife, I clean forgot you was here.'

We all laughed and Mr Rochester put his hand on Old John's shoulder. ‘That'll do for me,' he assured the old man. Then Mr Rochester told us all we should have an increase in our wages in return for the extra work and the responsibility. As we left the room we reckoned we were the luckiest and the best-paid servants in Yorkshire.

That evening after our supper we sat around the table and speculated about our future with our new master. Old John from his seat at the end of the table nearest the door waxed philosophical. ‘Master's got a bee in his bonnet about that there lunatic upstairs. Wanting us to swear! As if we'd go round neighbourhood telling his business to every Tom, Jack and Harry.'

‘Everyone knows already. Butcher's boy called this morning.' Sam peered through his spectacles at the sails of the model ship he was making, a hobby he had learned during his time at sea.

‘What you mean by everyone and what master means by everyone is two different things. The Cliffords' cook may know there's a mysterious lady staying here. But she ain't going to tell Lady Clifford. She's going to be saying pork chops on Thursday, milady, and how about duck on Sunday.'

‘True,' says Sam, squinting down a pair of tweezers at a rope as fine as a hair. ‘Like on a ship. Some things, the captain is the last to know.'