Jane Slayre

by Sherri Browning Erwin

  The candle expired just as I perceived streaks of grey light edging the window curtains. Dawn, and Mr. Rochester, approached. I could hear Pilot barking in the yard. In a few minutes more, the key turned in the lock and Mr. Rochester entered with Mr. Carter, the surgeon.

  Mr. Rochester stripped off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. "Now, Carter, be on the alert. I give you but a half hour for dressing the wound, fastening the bandages, getting the patient downstairs and all."

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  "But is he fit to move, sir?" Carter looked doubtful.

  "No doubt of it. It is nothing serious. He is nervous. His spirits must be kept up. Come, set to work."

  CHAPTER 23

  IF I HAD HOPED to be dismissed, I was mistaken. I didn't mind staying so much when Mr. Rochester was there, needing me. He drew back the thick curtain, drew up the blind, and let in all the daylight he could. I was surprised and cheered to see what rosy streaks were beginning to brighten the east. Then he approached Mason, whom the surgeon was already handling.

  "Now, my good fellow, how are you?"

  "She's done for me, I fear" was the faint reply. I took that as confirmation of Grace Poole's guilt in the matter.

  "Not a whit! Courage! You've lost a little blood is all. Carter, assure him there's no danger."

  "I can't do that conscientiously," said Carter, who had now undone the bandages. "Only I wish I could have got here sooner. He would not have bled so much--but how is this? The flesh on the shoulder is torn as well as cut. This wound was not done with a knife. There have been teeth here!"

  "She bit me," Mr. Mason murmured. "She worried me like a tigress when Rochester got the knife from her."

  Bit? I found new interest in the mutterings of our patient. It made me wish I'd had the nerve to thwart Mr. Rochester and grill Mason earlier. But I was here now, and no one made any effort to shuffle me out of the room.

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  "You should not have yielded," Mr. Rochester said on a sigh. "You should have grappled with her at once."

  "But under such circumstances, what could one do? Oh, it was frightful!" Mr. Mason added, shuddering. "And I did not expect it. She looked so quiet at first."

  "I warned you. I said, 'Be on your guard when you go near her.' Besides, you might have waited until tomorrow, as I'd asked. If you'd had me with you, it would have turned out quite differently. It was mere folly to attempt the interview tonight, and alone."

  "I thought I could have done some good."

  "You thought! You thought!" Mr. Rochester paced, running his hand through his hair. "You have suffered and are likely to suffer enough for not taking my advice. I'll say no more. Carter--hurry! The sun will soon rise, and I must have him off."

  "Directly, sir. The shoulder is just bandaged. I must look to this other wound in the arm. She has had her teeth here, too, I think."

  "She sucked the blood. She said she'd drain my heart," said Mason.

  "Come, be silent, Richard, and never mind her gibberish. Don't repeat it."

  "I wish I could forget it."

  "You will when you are out of the country. When you get back to Spanish Town, you may think of her as dead and buried--or rather, you need not think of her at all."

  "Impossible to forget this night!"

  "It is not impossible. Have some energy, man. You thought you were as dead as a herring two hours since, and you are all alive and talking now. Carter has done with you or nearly so. I'll make you decent in a trice. Jane"--Mr. Rochester turned to me for the first time since his reentrance--"take this key. Go down into my bedroom and walk straight forward into my dressing room. Open the top drawer of the wardrobe and take out a clean shirt and necker-chief. Bring them here, and be nimble."

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  Nimble I was, finding the articles named and returning with them.

  "Now," he said, "go to the other side of the bed while I order his toilet, but don't leave the room. You may be wanted again."

  I retired as directed.

  "Was anybody stirring below when you went down, Jane?" inquired Mr. Rochester presently.

  "No, sir. All was very still."

  "There, Richard. You shall make your escape before any are the wiser for it. And it will be better, both for your sake, and for that of the poor creature in yonder."

  Poor creature, he called her? After the damage she'd wrought? The danger she obviously presented?

  Mr. Rochester went on, "I have striven long to avoid exposure, and I should not like it to come at last. Here, Carter, help him on with his waistcoat. Where did you leave your furred cloak? You can't travel a mile without that, I know, in this damned cold climate. In your room? Jane, run down to Mr. Mason's room, the one next to mine, and fetch a cloak you will see there."

  Again I ran and again returned, bearing an immense mantle lined and edged with fur.

  "Now, I've another errand for you," Mr. Rochester said. "This one's very important. Back to my chamber. In my toilet table, middle drawer, you will find a velvet casket. Open it. It's filled with little glass phials. Bring me one, er, make it two."

  I flew thither and back, bringing the desired vessels.

  "Excellent. Now, Doctor, I shall take the liberty of administering a dose myself, on my own responsibility. I got this cordial at Rome, of an Italian charlatan--a fellow you would have kicked, Carter. It is not a thing to be used indiscriminately, but it is good upon occasion. As now, for instance. Jane, a little water."

  He held out the tiny glass, and I half filled it from the water bottle on the washstand.

  "That will do. Now wet the lip of the phial."

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  I did so. He measured twelve drops of a crimson liquid and presented it to Mason.

  "Drink, Richard. It will give you the heart you lack, for an hour or so."

  "But will it hurt me? Is it inflammatory?"

  "Trust me, man. You don't want to risk any ill effects, if you know what I mean. Drink!"

  Ill effects? Whatever could he mean? What sort of elixir was this?

  Mr. Mason obeyed because it was evidently useless to resist. He was dressed now. He still looked pale, but he was no longer gory and sullied. Mr. Rochester let him sit three minutes after he had swallowed the liquid, then took his arm.

  "Now I am sure you can get on your feet. Try."

  The patient rose.

  "Carter, take him under the other shoulder. Be of good cheer, Richard. That's it!"

  "I do feel better," remarked Mr. Mason.

  "I am sure you do. Now, Jane, trip on before us away to the back stairs. Unbolt the side-passage door, and tell the driver of the post chaise you will see in the yard--or just outside, for I told him not to drive his rattling wheels over the pavement--to be ready, we are coming. And, Jane, if anyone is about, come to the foot of the stairs and hem."

  By this time, it was half past five, and the sun was on the point of rising. Still, the kitchen was dark and silent. The servants would not be up for another little while. I followed Mr. Rochester's requests to the letter, though I had to go out into the yard to get the driver's attention. I did not mind. It was setting up to be a beautiful morning and I welcomed the fresh air and the twittering of the birds in the orchard trees.

  The gentlemen now appeared. Mason, supported by Mr. Rochester and the surgeon, seemed to walk with tolerable ease. They assisted him into the chaise. Carter followed.

  "Take care of him," said Mr. Rochester to the latter. "Follow the

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  instructions I gave and keep him at your house until he is quite well. I shall ride over in a day or two to see how he gets on. Richard, how is it with you?"

  "The fresh air revives me. But one thing?"

  "Well, what is it?"

  "Let her be taken care of. Let her be treated as tenderly as may be. Let her--" Mr. Mason stopped and burst into tears.

  Such care for one who had nearly devoured him hours earlier?

  "I do my best, as I have done, and will continue to do" was the answer. M
r. Rochester shut the chaise door, and the vehicle drove away.

  "Yet would to God there was an end of all this!" he added as he closed and barred the heavy yard-gates. "Come where there is some freshness, for a few moments. That house is a mere dungeon. Don't you feel it so?"

  "It seems to me a splendid mansion, sir." With not-so-splendid secrets. I didn't want to push. I hoped he would come out with what I longed to know.

  He strayed down a walk edged with apple trees, pear trees, and cherry trees on one side, and a border on the other full of all sorts of old-fashioned flowers, primroses, pansies, and various fragrant herbs. They were fresh now as a succession of April showers and gleams, followed by a lovely spring morning, could make them. The sun was just entering the dappled east.

  "Jane, will you have a flower?" He gathered a half-blown rose, the first on the bush, and offered it to me.

  "Thank you, sir."

  "Do you like this sunrise? That sky with its high and light clouds, which are sure to melt away as the day waxes warm?"

  "I do, very much."

  "You have passed a strange night."

  "I've passed stranger. Or perhaps, equally strange."

  "I suppose you have." His brow arched, but he did not press. "I

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  would not have left you there in danger, you know. The door was locked. You were safe. I should have been a careless shepherd if I had left a lamb so near a wolf's den, unguarded."

  "What will you do about Grace Poole, sir? Will she remain here?"

  "Don't trouble your head about her. Put the thing out of your thoughts."

  "Yet it seems to me your life is hardly secure while she stays. And what of those around you?"

  "Mr. Mason took a ridiculous risk. It should never have happened. He knew what he was up against."

  "Am I to ever know what he was up against, sir? I have no doubt of your faith in my confidence by now. I assure you, there is naught you could tell me that I would run from, fear, or disbelieve."

  "And you have faith in me, I know. Please, don't lose your faith, Jane, and don't ask me to reveal secrets that might hurt you. It is enough that I bear such a burden."

  "And Mr. Mason." And how many of the other servants? "You trust him not to spread the news of his attack?"

  "Mason would never defy me, not willingly. Unintentionally, perhaps, he could in a moment let slip one careless word to deprive me, if not of life, yet forever of happiness."

  "Then he must be cautious. Order it so! Let him know what you fear, and show him how to avert the danger."

  "Would that it were so easily done." He picked up my hand, then seemed to rethink his actions and released it as quickly. "I cannot say, 'Beware of harming me, Richard,' for it is imperative that I should keep him ignorant that harm to me is possible. Now you look puzzled."

  "I want to say the thing that will help you most. Not knowing the particulars of your situation, I know not how to guide you, or what course to recommend."

  "You do guide me, Jane. Your mere presence guides me. You make me want to be a better man, to find my way to happiness. You

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  have allowed me to think it possible I could be happy. I act, and I think to myself, 'What would Jane say to that?' and make sure I behave accordingly."

  "You might have rethought your Gypsy ruse. I would not have recommended duping your guests."

  "My guests? You have such concern for them, do you? I believe you mean you would not have recommended my playing the role with you."

  I nodded. "I dislike deceptions, sir."

  He took my hand and led me to a rustic seat in the arbour, an arch in the wall lined with ivy.

  "Sit. The bench is long enough for two. You don't hesitate to take a place at my side, do you? Is that wrong, Jane?"

  I had no answer. I sat beside him.

  "Now, I'll put a case to you, which you must endeavour to suppose your own. Will you stay to hear? Are you comfortable?"

  "It's a lovely spot. Had I no responsibilities to tend, I might find myself sitting here for most of the day. Perhaps with my paints and an easel." I breathed deep of the dewy air and felt reinvigorated after such a long, terrible night.

  Sharing a sunrise, sitting so close to Mr. Rochester--my employer--did feel startlingly intimate and, perhaps, unwise. But the night was long and cold, so filled with death and threats that I embraced the little bit of contentment at the start of the new day without reservation.

  "Very well. Jane, suppose you were no longer a girl well reared and disciplined, but a wild boy indulged from childhood upwards. You find yourself in a remote land, and there commit an error with such consequences that haunt you through the rest of your life. In time, the result of your choice becomes utterly insupportable. You take measures to obtain relief: unusual measures, but neither unlawful nor culpable. Still you are miserable, without hope as without sun or air."

  He could not have touched on a better comparison to draw my

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  sympathy, for I had lived without hope or sun, though through no active choice on my part.

  "You wander seeking rest in exile. You find no pleasure to blight the bitterness or bring the return of true happiness until you find a stranger filled with the good and bright qualities, which you have sought for fifteen years and never before encountered. Such society revives you. You feel better days come back--higher wishes, purer feelings. You desire to recommence your life, and to spend what remains to you of days in a way more worthy of an immortal being. To attain this end, are you justified in overleaping an obstacle of custom--a mere conventional impediment which neither your conscience sanctifies nor your judgment approves?"

  "Sir, you must know, first, that not all immortal beings are worthy. There is great risk in supposing it. And next, if your conscience neither sanctifies nor approves, I don't think you need to hear my answer, for you know it well enough. And thirdly, your happiness never depends on a fellow creature. This stranger you speak of has some influence, perhaps, but ultimately bears no fault or credit for the changes you take to attain your own steps to happiness."

  "Ah." He rose now and paced before the branches of the nearby tree. "I see your opinion of the matter. It makes sense. You would follow your conscience and judgment, even if it led you to misery when happiness was right within your grasp?"

  "How could one be truly happy in purposely choosing what his conscience knows is not in the right? It would be troubling to you, sir. The happiness would be fleeting."

  He sighed. "My little abbess."

  "Sir?" By the change in his face, the softness fading, I knew my answer had not been the one he wanted to hear.

  "Have you noticed my tender penchant for Miss Ingram?" His tone, too, changed from dreamy and melodic to harsh and sarcastic.

  "I have. And you should know"--though I dreaded to inform him--"that she is not your vampyre. I've seen her in the sunlight."

  "So it is true that vampyres can't abide the sun?"

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  "They burn to a crisp."

  "You've seen it?"

  "Not entirely. Though I have seen one scorched on the arm, just there." I pointed to a patch above my wrist. "I imagine it would be quite painful for them to go that way, sir."

  "Indeed. So that rules out the Lynn boys, Sir George, Colonel Dent, and Eshton. I've seen them all ride in the sun."

  As he paced and considered, my gaze was drawn to something behind him, under the lilac hedges. "Lord Ingram, sir!"

  "Dash it, I'm not sure about Ingram. But it's possible. I've only ever seen him ride in a carriage, like one of the ladies."

  "No, sir, I mean--Lord Ingram." I pointed to the charred body that even now gave off steam behind him as the sun rose and burned the rest of his exposed flesh. The face, shaded under the bush, was yet untouched. It was most definitely Lord Ingram. "There. I believe we've found our vampyre. And he should no longer be cause for concern."

  "Jane." Mr. Rochester stopped before me so as to shield my
view of the corpse. "Perhaps you should go in while I examine the body?"

  "No, sir. We'll need to get him out of the sun, to alert the others. I can help."

  "Bless me! There's Dent and Lynn in the stables. It's too late to worry about the state of the body now. And why raise concern? Go in by the shrubbery, through that wicket. I'll head them off and handle this."

  As I went one way, he went another, and I heard him in the yard, saying with a cheer that no one else might recognise as false, "Mason got the start of you all this morning. He was gone before sunrise. I rose at four to see him off. He shared a carriage with Lord Ingram. It seems Ingram had business in London."

  Later in the day, Mr. Rochester found me in the schoolroom with Adele. I dismissed her and waited until Sophie had taken her away.

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  "The body was gone," he explained. "By the time I got back to have a look, there was nothing left but ash and Ingram's clothes. I brought those in and burned them."

  "I should have expected as much." I nodded. "It happens when one stakes them, too. Poof! They turn to dust. It's fascinating, really. Even a little pretty in the moonlight."

  "You're stranger than I imagined, my little abbess." He gazed at me with something like admiration, or perhaps I was only imagining it, trying to recapture what we'd shared in the garden before his mood grew dark.

  "But what of Lady Ingram and his sisters? Did they believe he ran off to London, so suddenly?"

  "Oh, yes, yes." He waved off the question as if it were a minor irritation. "Tedo, as Blanche affectionately calls him, has been running off on a whim since he was young. It's not unlike him to just leave in the night without a word and show up again days or weeks later. They'll start to wonder eventually, when he does not return, but by then they will be long gone and look for explanations elsewhere."