Jane Slayre

by Sherri Browning Erwin

  "You have saved my life," he said again. "I have a pleasure in owing you so immense a debt." He stood back, paused, and gazed at me. Words almost visible trembled on his lips, but his voice was checked. "I knew you would do me good in some way, at some time. I saw it in your eyes when I first beheld you. People talk of natural sympathies. My cherished preserver, good night!"

  Strange energy was in his voice, strange fire in his look.

  "I am glad I happened to be awake," I said, and started away. Clearly, he was shaken from the events of the night and nearly overcome.

  "What! You will go?" Again he called me back to him.

  "I am cold, sir." I laughed at him now.

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  "Cold? Yes, of course, and standing in a pool! Go, then, Jane. Go!" But he still retained my hand, and I could not free it. Perhaps I did not wish to free it.

  "I think I hear Mrs. Fairfax move, sir," I said, an excuse to finally be away.

  "Well, leave me." He relaxed his fingers, and I was gone.

  I went back to bed, but never thought of sleep. Too feverish to rest, I rose as soon as day dawned.

  CHAPTER 19

  The Next Morning, I both wished and feared to see Mr. Rochester. Any number of times I thought I had heard him coming down the hall or entering a room, but when I turned to look, he wasn't there.

  The morning passed almost as usual, save for a little excitement about the strangeness of the previous night. No one addressed any of their concerns to me, but I heard John, Cook (John's wife), Leah, and Mrs. Fairfax going on about it.

  "What a mercy Master was not burnt in his bed!"

  "It is always dangerous to keep a candle lit at night."

  "How providential that he had presence of mind to think of the water jug!"

  "I wonder he waked nobody!"

  "It is to be hoped he will not take cold with sleeping on the library sofa."

  Ah, so he had explained it away as an accident with candle. The next incident he could not explain away, and I marvelled at it. John told the women about several cows that were attacked and slaughtered

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  by something in the night. Vampyres in the area again? Predators? A wolf, or pack of wolves? Rabid foxes?

  "But the strangest thing," John added, and the thing that occasioned the most trouble of the morning--one of the poor, bloodied cows had been dragged right up to the garden at the side of the house, its entrails left scattered in the thorn trees.

  "What kind of animal could do such a thing? So far from pasture?" Leah asked.

  Mrs. Fairfax imagined it would take something strong, a bear perhaps. John agreed with the assessment but hated to think of the size of the bear. I alone knew better, but I wasn't talking. A vampyre could have done it. I could imagine their faces if I walked into the kitchen and told them as much. Vampyres had just that sort of vigor and recklessness when they were on the hunt and eager to feed. I had seen it. With my own eyes, though it was many years ago. But Grace Poole a vampyre? Was she in league with others in the town?

  Leah and Mrs. Fairfax spent the day scrubbing and setting Mr. Rochester's room to rights. I expected him to put in an appearance in the schoolroom at the very least, but he did not appear. I finally went to check on the progress in his chamber to find Grace Poole herself sitting on a stool at the corner of the room sewing the rings on new curtains. Leah was there, too, cleaning smoke off the windows.

  I hesitated in the doorway. I wanted to see how Grace Poole managed to sit in the destruction she had created without showing the slightest hint of remorse. There she was, staid and taciturn-looking, as usual, in her brown stuff gown, her check apron, white handkerchief, and cap. She was intent on her work, perhaps her personal penance, in which her whole thoughts seemed absorbed.

  As I'd earlier noted, and rechecked now, she did not have the hard eyes and grey pallor of a vampyre, or the sunken features and listless demeanor of a zombie. What, then, could she be? And how could she carry on as if blameless?

  I was amazed--confounded. She looked up while I still gazed

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  at her. No start, no increase or failure of colour betrayed emotion, consciousness of guilt, or fear of detection.

  "Good morning, miss," she said in her usual phlegmatic and brief manner. Taking up another ring and more tape, she went on with her sewing.

  "Good morning, Grace." I meant to put her to some test. "has anything happened here? I thought I heard the servants all talking together a while ago."

  "Only Master had been reading in his bed last night. He fell asleep with his candle lit, and the curtains got on fire."

  "A strange affair!" I said in a low voice, then I looked at her fixedly. "Did Mr. Rochester wake nobody? Did no one hear him move?"

  She again raised her eyes to me, and this time something of consciousness was in their expression. She seemed to examine me warily. "The servants sleep so far off, you know, miss, they would not be likely to hear. Mrs. Fairfax's room and yours are the nearest to Master's, but Mrs. Fairfax said she heard nothing. When people get elderly, they often sleep heavy." Grace paused, then added, with a sort of assumed indifference, but still in a marked and significant tone, "But you are young, miss, and I should say a light sleeper. Perhaps you may have heard a noise?"

  "I did," I said, dropping my voice, so that Leah, who was still polishing the panes, could not hear me. "And at first I thought it was Pilot, but Pilot cannot laugh. I am certain I heard a laugh, and a strange one."

  She took a new bit of thread, waxed it carefully, threaded her needle with a steady hand, then observed, with perfect composure, "It is hardly likely Master would laugh, I should think, miss, when he was in such danger. You must have been dreaming."

  "I was not dreaming," I said with some warmth, for her brazen coolness provoked me. Again she looked at me, with the same scrutinising and conscious eye.

  "Have you told Master that you heard a laugh?" she inquired.

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  "I have not had the opportunity of speaking to him this morning."

  "You did not think of opening your door and looking out into the gallery?"

  She appeared to be cross-questioning me. The idea struck me that if she discovered I knew or suspected her guilt, she might set her sights of being rid of me. No doubt she was dangerous. I thought it advisable to be on my guard.

  "On the contrary," I said. "I bolted my door."

  "Then you are not in the habit of bolting your door every night?" The fiend! She wanted to know my habits that she might lay her plans accordingly!

  "Hitherto I have often omitted to fasten the bolt. I did not think it necessary. I was not aware any danger or annoyance was to be dreaded at Thornfield hall. In future, I shall take good care to make all secure before I venture to lie down."

  "It will be wise so to do. A door is soon fastened, and it is as well to have a drawn bolt between one and any mischief that may be about."

  I still stood absolutely shocked at what appeared to me her miraculous self-possession and most inscrutable hypocrisy, when the cook entered.

  "Mrs. Poole, the servants' dinner will soon be ready. Will you come down?" Cook asked.

  "No. Just put my pint of porter and bit of pudding on a tray, and I'll carry it upstairs."

  "You'll have some meat?"

  "Just a morsel, and a taste of cheese, that's all."

  Ha! No doubt she had her fill of meat last night.

  The cook here turned to me, saying that Mrs. Fairfax was waiting for me. I departed.

  I hardly heard Mrs. Fairfax's account of the cow massacre or the curtain conflagration during dinner, so much was I occupied in

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  puzzling my brains over the enigmatical character of Grace Poole, and still more in pondering the problem of her position at Thorn-field and questioning why she had not been given into custody that morning, or, at the very least, dismissed last night. What mysterious cause withheld Mr. Rochester from accusing her? Why had he enjoined me, too, to se
crecy? It was strange. A bold, vindictive, and haughty gentleman seemed somehow in the power of one of the meanest of his dependents. So much in her power that even when she lifted her hand against his life, he dared not openly charge her with the attempt, much less punish her for it.

  Perhaps Grace Poole was some sort of witch or enchantress? Were the cows some sort of sacrifice to a dark master? I was on my guard, even if Mr. Rochester had let down his.

  I gave up my conjectures to join Adele in the schoolroom, where she sat calmly drawing, shading figures as I had shown her.

  "Qu' avez-vous, mademoiselle?" said she. "Vos doigts tremblant comme la feuille, et vos joues sont rouges; mais, rouges comme des cerises!"

  "I am hot, Adele, with stooping." I didn't think I had gone red in the face all my life more than I had in the past week. She went on sketching. I went on thinking.

  "Evening approaches," I said, as I looked towards the window. "I have not heard Mr. Rochester's voice or step in the house today, but surely I shall see him before night. I feared the meeting in the morning; now I desire it because expectation has been so long baffled that it is grown impatient."

  When dusk actually closed, and when Adele left me to go to play in the nursery with Sophie, I did most keenly desire it. I listened for the bell to ring below. I listened for Leah coming up with a message. I fancied sometimes I heard Mr. Rochester's own tread, and I turned to the door, expecting it to open and admit him. The door remained shut.

  A tread creaked on the stairs at last. Leah made her appearance,

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  but it was only to intimate that tea was ready in Mrs. Fairfax's room. Thither I repaired, glad at least to go downstairs, for that brought me, I imagined, nearer to Mr. Rochester's presence.

  "You must want your tea," said the good lady as I joined her. "You ate so little at dinner. You look flushed and feverish."

  "I'm quite well. I never felt better."

  "Then you must prove it by evincing a good appetite. Will you fill the teapot while I knit off this needle?" having completed her task, she rose to draw down the blind, forgetting that it had been drawn all day to hide the sight of cow bits scattered throughout the yard.

  "It was a fair day," she said. "Or so John informed me. Mr. Rochester had, on the whole, a favourable day for his journey."

  "Journey! I did not know he was out."

  "He set off the moment he had breakfasted. He has gone to the Leas, Mr. Eshton's place, ten miles on the other side Millcote. I believe there is quite a party assembled there. Lord Ingram, Sir George Lynn, Colonel Dent, and others."

  "Do you expect him back tonight?"

  "I think he is very likely to stay a week or more. When these fine, fashionable people get together, they are so surrounded by elegance and gaiety, so well provided with all that can please and entertain, they are in no hurry to separate. Gentlemen especially are often in request on such occasions, and Mr. Rochester is so talented and so lively in society that I believe he is a general favourite."

  "Are there ladies at the Leas?" My breath came shallow.

  Mrs. Fairfax ticked them off. "There are Mrs. Eshton and her three daughters, very elegant young ladies indeed. And there are the honourable Blanche and Mary Ingram, most beautiful women, I suppose. Indeed I have seen Blanche, six or seven years since, when she was a girl of eighteen. She came here to a Christmas ball and party Mr. Rochester gave. Miss Ingram was considered the queen of the evening."

  The queen of the evening. With Mr. Rochester. For at least a

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  week or more. Not to mention the Misses Eshton. All three. "You saw Blanche Ingram, you say, Mrs. Fairfax? What was she like?"

  "Yes, I saw her. Tall, fine bust, sloping shoulders. Long, graceful neck. Olive complexion. Noble features. Eyes rather like Mr. Rochester's, a little darker perhaps, large and black, and as brilliant as her jewels." Like vampyre eyes? "And then she had such a fine head of hair, raven black and so becomingly arranged. A crown of thick plaits behind, and in front the longest, the glossiest curls I ever saw."

  "She was greatly admired, of course?"

  "Yes, indeed, and not only for her beauty, but for her accomplishments. She was one of the ladies who sang. A gentleman accompanied her on the piano. She and Mr. Rochester sang a duet."

  "Mr. Rochester? I was not aware he could sing." here was yet another point in Miss Ingram's favour. I wondered at her conversational skills.

  "He has a fine bass voice, and an excellent taste for music."

  "And this beautiful and accomplished lady, she is not yet married?"

  "It appears not. I fancy neither she nor her sister have very large fortunes. Old Lord Ingram's estates were chiefly entailed, and the eldest son came in for everything almost."

  "But I wonder no wealthy nobleman or gentleman has taken a fancy to her. Mr. Rochester, for instance. He is rich, is he not?" I insisted on torturing myself to the greatest degree. What could I offer next to this Miss Ingram?

  "There is a considerable difference in age. Mr. Rochester is past thirty. She is but twenty-five."

  And I only eighteen. She had every advantage over me. "What of that? More unequal matches are made every day."

  "True. But you eat nothing. You have scarcely tasted since you began tea."

  "I am too thirsty to eat. Will you let me have another cup?"

  If I hadn't been sick earlier, I was indeed feeling so now.

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  When once more alone, I reviewed the information I had got; looked into my heart, examined its thoughts and feelings, and pronounced judgment to this effect:

  That a greater fool than Jane Slayre had never breathed the breath of life; that a more fantastic idiot had never surfeited herself on sweet lies and swallowed poison as if it were nectar.

  "You," I said. "A favourite with Mr. Rochester? You gifted with the power of pleasing him? You of importance to him in any way?"

  I was a governess, nothing more, and I was best served to keep my place.

  CHAPTER 20

  A WEEK PASSED, AND NO news arrived of Mr. Rochester. Ten days, and still he did not come. Mrs. Fairfax said she should not be surprised if he went straight from the Leas to London, and thence to the Continent, and not show his face again at Thornfield for a year to come. He had made it a habit to quit Thornfield in a manner quite as abrupt and unexpected.

  When I heard this, I was beginning to feel a strange chill and failing at the heart. I was actually permitting myself to experience a sickening sense of disappointment, but I rallied my wits. Grace Poole had tried to kill him. Was it not best he stayed away? I missed him. This was true. Selfish girl! Was it not better that he was safe from a witch's spells? Away from the risk of falling under evil enchantments? Would marriage to Blanche Ingram not be preferable to losing him to evil purposes?

  I reminded myself I had nothing to do with the master of Thornfield, further than to receive the salary he gave me for teaching

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  Adele and to be grateful for such respectful and kind treatment as I'd received at his hands. I went on with my day's business tranquilly, but vague suggestions kept wandering across my brain of reasons why I should quit Thornfield. I kept involuntarily framing advertisements and pondering conjectures about new situations. Mr. Rochester had been absent upwards of a fortnight when the post brought Mrs. Fairfax a letter.

  "It is from the master," said she as she looked at the direction. "Now I suppose we shall know whether we are to expect his return or not."

  While she broke the seal and perused the document, I went on taking my coffee at breakfast. It was hot and I attributed to that circumstance a fiery glow that suddenly rose to my face.

  "Well, I sometimes think we are too quiet, but we run a chance of being busy enough now for a little while at least," Mrs. Fairfax said, still holding the note before her spectacles.

  "Mr. Rochester is not likely to return soon, I suppose?"

  "In three days! And not alone, either. I don't know how many of
the fine people at the Leas are coming with him. He sends directions for all the best bedrooms to be prepared, and the library and drawing rooms to be cleaned out. I am to get more kitchen hands from the George Inn at Millcote, and from wherever else I can. The ladies will bring their maids and the gentlemen their valets, so we shall have a full house of it. How exciting!" Mrs. Fairfax hastened away to commence operations.

  As she had foretold, the three days were busy enough. I had thought all the rooms at Thornfield beautifully clean and well arranged, but it appears I was mistaken. Three women were got to help, and such scrubbing, such brushing, such washing of paint and beating of carpets, such taking down and putting up of pictures, such polishing of mirrors and lusters, such lighting of fires in bedrooms, such airing of sheets and feather beds on hearths, I never beheld, either before or since.

  Mrs. Fairfax had pressed me into her service, so Adele was on

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  holiday. I thought of the many Christmases I had been left out and left alone at Gateshead, and well for it considering how the Reeds preferred to celebrate: by eating all their friends. Having visitors was no holiday for me. I was all day in the storeroom, helping Mrs. Fairfax and the cook. I learned to make custards and cheesecakes and French pastry, to truss game and garnish dessert dishes.

  I didn't even have time to chase demons or suspect Grace Poole. For the most part, she kept to her portion of the house. I imagined she spent the days up there sewing and laughing to herself, perhaps consulting her spell book.

  Others had to have noticed her odd habits, but no one seemed to think anything strange of her except me. I once overheard part of a dialogue between Leah and one of the charwomen about Grace. Leah had been saying something I had not caught, and the char-woman remarked, "She gets good wages, I guess?"