Thornfield Hall (8 page)

Once her bag was packed I marched Mrs Morgan wheezing and huffing under her load down the stairs. In my office I sat at my desk and left her standing on the other side of it like a naughty schoolchild summoned to the head teacher for punishment. I pointed to the pile of golden sovereigns and silver coins on my desk. The sight of the money seemed to cheer her. With a great show I removed a sovereign and a shilling from the pile. ‘That is to cover the cost of the blacksmith. I was not consulted about the chain. You ordered it to be fitted so you pay for it.' Very slowly and with great deliberation I removed two more sovereigns. ‘That is for your washing. It was agreed when you first arrived.'

Her face suffused to an angry red and she clenched her fists. I was glad I had taken the precaution of making sure John and Sam the footmen were in earshot. Her mouth opened and instead of the expected deluge of profanities she made that popping sound again. I fixed her with my best gimlet stare and dared her to say she had been with us the best part of a year without having washing done. I saw her think about saying it. And then she thought again.

‘The gig will take you to the toll road. You can pick up the stagecoach there. You will not be getting a reference.'

She opened her mouth to complain but nothing came out. Not even the popping sound. She had collapsed into a sack of rags; all the fight had gone out of her. I followed her to the door and watched as she heaved herself into the gig. Old John clicked his tongue and shook the reins. In minutes, she was gone.

I thought of sending Leah to take his payment to the blacksmith. I had promised him his money the day the wearer of the chain was released. I dismissed the idea as the kind of frivolous and interfering matchmaking old women go in for. Instead I sent John, the footman. He was sick with love for Leah, but too young and inexperienced to do anything about it. Handing money over to his rival might give him a moment of power and encourage him to be more active in his wooing instead of just looking at his beloved with puppy eyes. Besides I needed Leah for the cleaning.

‘The sovereign is for the blacksmith and the shilling is for you for your trouble,' I told John. His smile was all the thanks I needed as he scampered off. For a moment I forgot my burden of responsibilities and shared his carefree delight in a trip outside the confines of Thornfield Hall. As I turned back to the house I picked up my burdens again. The dreadful Mrs Morgan was gone but the poor mad lady remained.

Young Mr Poole came to have a bite of lunch with me. I sent up bread and cheese for his mother and the lady. ‘It is important for the lady to eat and regain her strength,' young Mr Poole told me. ‘If you have porter in the house that would be splendid. It builds up weakened constitutions. And to tell the truth my mother is very partial to it. It's like feeding children. A mouthful for me and now a mouthful for you. Just to get them back into the way of eating.'

‘I shall send for some porter straight away. Mr Rochester does not forbid alcohol. Indeed there is some excellent wine in the cellar. Perhaps a glass or two?'

He frowned and pursed his lips, wrinkling up his young sandy face until he looked like a little blond monkey. ‘That
might be a touch strong at the moment. From the bottles I can tell what medicines were given to the lady. What I do not know is how much she was given or how frequently. Could your Mr Carter help me with this?'

‘I doubt it. Mr Carter seldom saw the lady. To be honest he is better with horses and dogs than people. Mrs Morgan sent orders direct to the apothecary. I have the receipts. We could work it out roughly.'

So we set to with the account books and the invoices from the apothecary. When we had finished Mr Poole whistled through his teeth. ‘There is enough to kill a horse.'

‘Perhaps Mrs Morgan took some of this syrup of poppy herself. She was very indolent. I was ill over the winter but when I started to visit she was often asleep. As indeed she was today.'

‘Let us hope so. Weaning the lady off laudanum is going to be very painful for her. We have to reduce the dose gradually. I must warn you there may be wild behaviour, screaming and crying. Things will be said that you should try to forget. My mother is very experienced at this kind of work. I leave her free to adjust the dosage. There is a certain amount of trial and error.'

I accompanied him upstairs to check on the patient and make further arrangements. The lady still lay on the bed but the chain was gone. She was covered with a blanket as the window was open and the cool air blew in from the hills. I could not restrain myself from checking that the chamber pot had been emptied. It had. Mrs Poole caught me wrinkling my nose in distaste at the smell that still pervaded the room in spite of her attention to this basic task.

‘One step at a time,' she told me. ‘Perhaps we could have some lavender from the garden tomorrow.'

Mother and son put their heads together as they went through the bottles and boxes of medicine. The son held up
each bottle in turn, sniffed it and dabbed a finger in the powders and tasted them. When he was sure of the contents he wrote their names very clearly on labels and tied them with different coloured threads round the necks of the bottles. Some of the potions caused them both to frown with dismay. ‘I would not use this to kill a rat,' Mr Poole declared, holding some white powder at arm's length. Once the medicaments were selected they discussed dosages and frequency. There was much talk of grains, drachms and drops.

As they worked I took the opportunity to study the lady. She lay without moving as if the chain still bound her and she watched Mr Poole and his mother go about their business with no more interest than if they were inhabitants of the moon. She looked at them but she did not see. The only evidence of life and movement she displayed was in her hands. Her nails were grubby and broken and the skin of her hands marked with scratches and scars as if she had fought and struggled against her captivity. Now she lay back and played with her hands much as a baby does when he is first discovering them. She knitted them together and then set them fluttering loose like butterflies, enjoying the freedom of movement after the weeks of having her left arm manacled. I looked at the lady's left hand. This time there was no manacle to distract me. Sure enough, dull with grease and dirt, there was a wedding ring. Jewellery, I thought. Genteel ladies always had some jewellery. Had I been so careless as to let Mrs Morgan carry away the lady's other jewels?

Mr Poole bid farewell to his mother and accompanied me to my office. Where Mrs Morgan had stood I invited him to sit. Where I had exerted power over her I listened to him.

‘I will write to Mr Rochester. I think it is safe to say the exchange has been successfully completed.' He gave me a shy
grin and I nodded my agreement. ‘When I write I shall point out how inadequately clothed the lady is. I shall ask for a sum of money to be advanced to equip her properly. You can deal with that, Mrs Fairfax?'

‘It will be my pleasure.'

‘My mother is a very skilled attendant and she…' he paused to search for the best words, ‘is an enthusiastic reader. Newspapers, novels, even books of sermons, she enjoys them all. But she is not good at making the letters. No one taught her to write. Perhaps you would take on the task of writing a short report on progress to me and Mr Rochester.'

‘Mr Rochester does not want reports. He prefers not to be reminded about the lady.'

‘Well, perhaps you will keep me informed when there is something important to say. I trust to your discretion.'

‘Of course. I will be glad to be involved. I am ashamed of the state of the poor woman – and her rooms. I feel responsible. I thought Mrs Morgan had superior knowledge. My hands were tied until matters became desperate.'

‘Some people will say it was better than the asylum but to be honest, Mrs Fairfax, things are better in my asylum.' He gave a satisfied little grin. ‘Relatives can make an enormous difference. The lady seems to have none.'

‘She is married. Or rather she wears a wedding ring.'

‘No husband has made enquiries about her?'

‘No. None that I know of.'

‘To be honest sometimes a husband can make matters worse. I've been approached by relatives and parents desperate to rescue daughters driven to despair by cruel husbands. They want to bring the woman into our care. If the husband refuses there is nothing they can do. They go to court for writs of Habeas Corpus and the law won't help. The husband can keep
her locked away like Bluebeard if that is what he wants.' He shook his head at the iniquity of the world.

‘Perhaps she is a widow.'

‘Yes indeed. Let's look on the bright side; she might be a widow. A widow, as I am sure you are well aware, is a free agent.' He picked up his hat ready to leave. ‘If only we had a name for her.'

‘My master gave no name for her. Mrs Morgan seemed to feel no need for one.'

‘How can you exist if you haven't a name?'

‘According to Mrs Morgan the lady had an extreme fear of water. I am not sure I believe her. I think it was Mrs Morgan who did not value cleanliness.'

He thought for a moment. ‘I suppose all the weeks the lady spent at sea, totally surrounded by water, may have made her morbidly fearful of the element. Such fears can be cured. I can see you like a clean house, Mrs Fairfax. Do not concern yourself. I am confident that my mother will sort out that problem.' With that he bid me farewell.

To my relief Mrs Poole proved as unlike her predecessor, Mrs Morgan, as it was possible to be. She did not hide behind locked doors, nor did she demand a special diet for herself, or generally show a total lack of respect for her fellow servants. As soon as she could leave the lady, her patient – we still did not know what to call her – Mrs Poole came to my room, knocked on the door and asked me to arrange for her to meet all the servants involved in caring for the lady. This seemed an appropriate moment to tell her about the oath of secrecy Mr Rochester had demanded of us.
She screwed up her face and thought for a minute. Then her face cleared and she announced, ‘The oath is not necessary for me. I do not gossip about my patients.'

That evening we shooed the kitchen maids and the stable boys out after their supper. Only the oath-takers were left in the servants' hall. I said a few words to introduce Grace and then sat down, leaving her free to talk.

‘My given name is Grace,' she began. ‘I know that we have to abide by the rules and call each other Mrs this or Mr that when the gentry are around. I just want you all to know that my name is Grace, Grace Poole. My son is the keeper of the asylum in Grimsby. Thanks to the good offices of Mrs Fairfax here we have been appointed by Mr Rochester to look after the unfortunate lady upstairs.

‘I want to warn you all that we may have a very difficult few months. The lady has been given large doses of some very strong drugs; they have made her sleep much more than is healthy. My first task is to reduce the amount and number of these medications. She will be very distressed by this. She will be in a kind of pain of the mind as she wakes from her perpetual night.

‘I do not know what form her madness took before she was drugged into apathy. As I reduce the drug her malady will probably recur. She may have fits of weeping, she may be violent, hurling herself against walls or she may try to climb out of windows convinced that she can fly. She may hear voices or tell fantastic stories that cannot possibly be true. At the moment, she is filthy, nit-ridden, silent and terrified. She does not move from the bed she was chained to. This is no way for a human being to live. I look for your help in changing this.'

We were all silent. I had seen the state of the lady and of her room, but to the others this description was a truly shocking revelation. As servants we were dedicated to keeping everything
around us neat and clean and tidy. To find we had such a dung heap within the walls went against the grain of our very existence. To my surprise it was young John, the new footman, who was the first to speak. His voice wobbled; he was as surprised by his temerity as the rest of us.