Deliverance

by Kirsten Bij't Vuur

  Not exactly the same, though, Mr Rochester sat up, but he did not utter fulminations or curses, he merely coughed deeply and looked around him in bewilderment.

  'We need to get out, master, the house is on fire!' I cried, and I took his hand and tried to pull him upright. He was incredibly heavy, much too heavy for me to get any movement into him, but he needed to move now or be caught by the fumes again.

  'Get up, Edward, now! Get up or die!'

  Now I did slap his face, and that brought the desired effect, he got up, leaning on my shoulder heavily, and together we left the smoky room; I smashed the door shut behind us, hoping to buy us some more time.

  Mrs Fairfax was still there, she had not been caught in the smoke, yet, but how could she be so foolish as not to flee?

  'Get out of the building, Mrs Fairfax, now! Get Leah and John and his wife if you need to do something useful, but do not stand here to be overcome with smoke. Take the keys!'

  'But Grace, what will happen to Grace? She's still up there!'

  Mrs Fairfax was distraught, and could not be trusted to do anything right, I would have to bring my master out myself, then go back in and wake the other servants. Mrs Poole I had given up on, she was up there where the fire had started, with a dangerous woman who would not hesitate to attack me on sight. I was not going to risk my life for a woman who was most likely already dead or dying, or in a stupor of intoxication, immobile whichever way, and too heavy for me to carry her.

  'I will get Grace, and my wife, Jane; dear Jane, you saved my life again.'

  My master had revived a lot in the clearer air of the hall, and now he was planning to go up there! It was foolishness, and he knew it!

  'Don't do it, master, come with us, whoever is still up there is lost, with so much smoke in our rooms the fire must be all over the top floor. Please come with us!'

  'Dear Jane, I cannot let them die in agony. Let me hold you once more, you bravest of maidens, and then you'll take Mrs Fairfax out, and Leah, and John and his wife. Then stay outside Jane, I want you safe most of all. Promise me!'

  I did not promise him anything, but I did hold him for a few seconds, my love, my Edward. If he went up there I'd never see him again. I drew breath for one last plea, but my dear master kissed me, and said with determination,

  'Go now, Jane, and I'll meet you outside.'

  I could not refuse him, I had been an independent woman for less than a week, I had obeyed him much longer, and I could not let Mrs Fairfax die here while we argued; therefore I dragged her with me as fast as she could move, down the stairs, through the hall, out to the front.

  Back in, to the other wing, where the other servants were housed, fortunately on the ground floor. I found their chambers empty, the doors loose and open, someone had already warned them and gotten them out.

  In front of the house I found Sophie and Adele, wrapped up in a horse-blanket, someone had brought a whole stack of them and I saw John wrapping Mrs Fairfax in one. Rain was pouring down but no-one seemed to notice. I was happy to accept a blanket myself.

  Mrs Poole was also out there, how had she escaped the conflagration? And why was my master still inside if everyone belonging to the house was safe, though exposed to the elements?

  By now, a lot of racket from the village proved the fire-crew was on its way.

  As if in response, a great howl rose from the top of the building, and together with all the inmates of the house I looked up towards the noise, peering through the downpour. It was Mr Rochester's wife, standing on the battlements of the roof, a precarious balance, a solid shape against the licking flames of the fire, her garment the same white as it had been in my dream but without the spots of blood, and dripping wet.

  As we looked at her, she looked down on us and let out another great howl.

  The others involuntarily took a step back, but I was not afraid of this woman anymore, in my dream she had been eye to eye with me, and threatening me with a knife; this woman was four stories away from me, she could not reach me, though she might want to very badly, for I was certain she knew me and hated me.

  And indeed, so great was her hatred of me, that before Mr Rochester was anywhere to be seen, his mad wife went for his supposed mistress' throat.

  From four stories up. She launched herself at me as she had done with the knife, and this time there was no strong arm to stop her, hair and dress fluttering she came right at me, increasing speed with every storey she passed.

  Despite the gruesomeness of the whole scene, the certainty she would smash to a bloody death on the flagstones of the courtyard, I was not afraid at all, but merely fascinated with the shape hurtling towards me.

  When it became clear she would indeed strike me down in a heartbeat or two, I deliberately took a few steps backwards, her fate was sealed but I was not going to let her take me with her. I still had a destiny to fulfil, I had to save the man I loved, my dear Edward.

  Even before Mrs Edward Rochester, né Bertha Mason, fell to her death on the cold hard stone of Thornfield's courtyard, I was on my way back in, there was no doubt left in me, this was my task, the reason I had not fled my master after he had betrayed me, and urged me to lower myself for him.

  The large entrance-hall was still free of smoke, the stairs weren't dangerous yet. But the hallway to both our bedrooms had gotten much worse, not as bad as the bedrooms but it was no longer safe to be there, and I coughed as I ran its entire length towards the door hidden behind the tapestry. I tore it from the wall and flung it from me, anger at Mr Rochester's foolishness giving me strength. Why? Why had he wanted to save his wife at the cost of his own life? She was dead now anyway, nothing could have saved her.

  Running was no longer possible, nothing could survive here for long, the smoke was thick and it hurt my throat. Still I moved on doggedly, and when I had reached the top I cried out once, 'Master, your wife has jumped and Grace Poole is safe! Come out now!'

  I paid for that with a veritable attack of coughing, but it was not for nothing, for from the blanket of smoke in front of me, my beloved's shape was

  released.

  He embraced me, and I felt a need to excuse myself for not doing as he had told me, but he whispered hoarsely, 'Don't talk, my dear Jane, we'll need our breath to get out. Come.'

  I wanted to take his hand, but he shied back from my touch, and only now I could see he was badly burned in various places, most notably in his face, and likely the hand I had wanted to take.

  That first flight of stairs was narrow and ptty easy to traverse, even in thick smoke, but once we got out of that the hallway broadened, and it got hard to find the right way.

  My master was not well, he coughed a lot, and he could not keep up with me; I tried his other hand, and he let me take that, therefore I guessed it was unharmed. He followed me past my own room, now most likely a blazing inferno; the smoke was thicker here and sparks were flying.

  There was not much time left, somehow I was sure of that, I could hear crackling noises from the right side of the hall where our rooms were, I guessed the fire was about to break through the walls towards the hall, or maybe the roof over our heads was at the point of collapse.

  My Edward, here at the brink of death I allowed myself to call him that, was progressing ever slower, he had little breath left in him, and he must have hurt more than a little, but I was ruthless and pulled him ahead as firmly as I could, hoping he wouldn't stumble and fall.

  But my determination seemed to give him some extra strength, and we made our way more quickly now, soon we were past the point where there were burning rooms over our head, then we reached the stairs and we were outside.

  My master collapsed, and by now I was heaving for breath myself.

  The fresh air did nothing to revive me, the last thing I remembered was everything starting to spin, and then a nothingness.

  When I woke up, my throat hurt. I was lying in a spotless bed in a room I did not recognise, the furniture was old-fashioned but whole and clean, an
d the room was empty of all people but me. With a shock I remembered last night, the fire, Mr Rochester, out cold with burns all over.

  My exclamation of fear for my beloved ended in a fit of coughing, and someone entered the room instantly, a handsome man with dark hair and friendly brown eyes whom I recognised as Mr Carter, the surgeon.

  'Miss Eyre, you're awake! Try not to talk, your throat and lungs are burned,

  they will take time to heal. You're a real hero, saving your master and many of the servants. What is it, Miss Eyre? I can see you're dying to speak, keep it short, then.'

  'My master, how is he?'

  'I will not hide the truth from you, Miss Eyre, for you have proven to be a strong sort of person. Mr Rochester is in the room next to this one, he is alive and conscious, but his lungs are in a worse state than yours, and he has extensive burns. He will need to be kept quiet for weeks, maybe even months, and the burns will scar, even if they don't infect they'll cause him a lot of pain.'

  'Can I see him?'

  'Generally, I would say no, you need rest, he needs his rest, but I cannot refuse such a hero anything, and he shouldn't talk, but looks in dire need of something. I guess it may be you. Can you stand?'

  I could, rather well, actually. Beside the hurt in my throat and a slight lack of breath I felt fine. The doctor supported me to another room next to mine, with a large four-poster bed in the same style as my smaller one, in which I soon discerned the bulky shape of my beloved master, seemingly fast asleep.

  But as soon as we crossed the threshold his eyes flew open and he tried to cry out. Hardly any sound came out of his poor throat and Dr Carter berated my dearly beloved master in a friendly tone, 'Mr Rochester, you really should not try to speak. Your lungs and throat need rest, or you will stay infirm for a long time.'

  I wanted to hold my master and hug him, but didn't dare, not merely because of the bandages that undoubtedly covered terrible burns, but also because the surgeon was still standing there, watching our every move. But the instant that thought crossed my mind, the dear man turned away and walked towards the door, saying, 'I'll leave you by yourselves for a few moments, but remember, no talking!'

  This time it was my turn to sit on the bed beside my master, and he gave me his good hand to hold. The other one was bandaged, as was at least half his face, and most of the rest of his head. I couldn't see his body, he was covered with a clean sheet, and where he was not bandaged, his black hair had been shaved off, a few smaller burns visible between the stubble.

  He was in pain, I could see that from the glazed look in his one visible eye, and he did not even try to speak, instead he let his face speak for him. Relief

  and intense love softened the sharpened features of pain.

  'I'm quite well, sir. Did they tell you your wife died? And that the rest escaped unhurt, even Mrs Poole?'

  He nodded sadly.

  'You could not have saved her, dear master. No, don't speak, it will keep. I love you.'

  When a quick look found the room still empty, I kissed him on his lips, and was glad to see him relish my sign of affection. I wished nothing more than to stay with him, but after twenty minutes of just being together in silence his eyes started to droop, and the surgeon came in. Had he been watching us?

  'It's time for you to get some sleep as well, Miss Eyre, your lungs have suffered, too. You've been very good, talking very little, keeping him from talking. You may see him again as often as you wish and can handle physically; Mrs Fairfax has hired a male nurse on my recommendation, to take care of Mr Rochester, your master will need to stay inactive and undergo regular treatments to keep his burns from going bad. He may not leave the bed for at least a week, but more likely two. Of course I will be visiting regularly.'

  I did not want to leave my master, I wanted to be there for him when he woke up, I wanted to watch him sleep, to soothe him when he was in pain, hold his undamaged hand and tell him everything would be all right; but I could not, I had no right to him, he had been widowed in the most gruesome way possible not even a whole day ago.

  As I obediently followed Mr Carter back to my own room, my clouded mind was still stuck in the old routine: hide your love for your master or you will become his mistress and lose your freedom. But Mr Carter was a young doctor from Millcote, a blooming industrial town, a new age had already begun and he was part of it; he worked towards a goal and anything that could help him achieve it, he would use.

  'Mr Rochester needs to be kept calm, Miss Eyre,' he said to me, 'and he will be in a lot of pain for weeks. He is not the kind to submit to mere staff, which is keeping me from my duties elsewhere; I'm afraid he'll disobey my instructions and talk or leave his bed as soon as I am gone from his side, doing himself irreparable harm. With your permission I'll have the nurse watch your master and wake you if he needs your help to soothe his patient.

  Mr Rochester seems to obey you instantly.'

  Yes, please! I'd sleep so much easier if I knew my dear master would not have to spend a waking minute without me by his bedside.

  'Your nurse may wake me as soon as Mr Rochester shows signs of pain or waking up. I don't want my master to be alone, or in distress, but you are right, I need sleep, too.'

  And so that day, for a new day it was, a typical fall day with rain beating the window, was mostly to be spent sleeping, by myself and Mr Rochester both.

  Yet how lucky we had both been to see it, we could so easily have died. And with the friendly surgeon tucking me in with surprising gentleness, I was soon lost to sleep.

  For three days I saw no-one but my master and the hired attendant, a plain, pleasant man in his thirties who introduced himself as Miller. Mr Carter did step by to check up on Mr Rochester, but the nurse was obviously capable of working autonomously; he did not take orders from Mr Carter as far as I could tell, they seemed to discuss the matters at hand as equals.

  Mrs Fairfax, Adele, the servants, they were all kept well away from their master, who would indeed have hated for his staff to see him in his sorry state.

  Though I was as good as recovered after one day of resting, Mr Carter practically begged me to stay close, for as expected, my master was a troublesome patient. He was not well enough to take care of himself, but clearly not weak enough to let anyone take care of him with any semblance of grace. Anyone but me, that is.

  From the moment Mr Carter left to see his other patients the very first time, signing the immediate care for Mr Rochester over to the hired nurse, that very capable man nonetheless did not hesitate to fetch me whenever Mr Rochester woke up; my master was sure to want to leave his bed, or ask details of what had happened, or object to any treatment the surgeon and Miller thought necessary.

  But Mr Rochester never got the chance, for as soon as I entered the room, his poor, damaged face would light up and he'd calm down; I would soothe his frustrations, and facilitate his treatments, he would lie back against his pillows and let me be in charge.

  During treatment I could assess the damage the fire had done in every gruesome and painful detail. There was a large burn all over the left side of his face, including the lid of his left eye. It was excruciatingly painful and

  usually covered with a clean bandage, as were the burns scattered over the rest of his head, where his raven hair had been shaven. His left hand was burned as badly, which made the treatments so important, for if the burns were to go bad, he might lose the use of that hand, or even the hand itself.

  After the first day, which I spent sleeping, I took to sitting on my master's bed, constantly by his side. It was no hardship for me to be close to him, and he was much calmer with my constant presence. I would have preferred to sleep next to him as well, but I dared not offer. Though intensely glad to have me around, he did not seem about to ask me to marry him, and I still valued my dignity and decency.

  Whenever I dared to offer him an intimacy, a kiss, or a gentle stroking of some unhurt part of his face, or his hand, or the black stubble growing back in, he relish
ed my touch, but he did not return my affection. I cannot deny this hurt me, to have the object of my dearest, most tender affection so close and no longer burdened by an unwanted marriage, and still to receive no encouragement, no offer for my hand, if he hadn't been in such a painful and potentially dangerous condition I would have seriously considered leaving him for a few weeks.

  But as it was, I could not, I could not let Miller cope by himself; he was very precise and very thorough, but he was of a sensitive nature, and even in his current state Mr Rochester would have run right over the poor fellow. My master would have left his bed, gone outside to assess the damage to his house, ordered a work-crew to repair the fire-ravaged wing before winter set in. He would not have let the competent but gentle nurse hurt him really badly twice a day to clean the burns thoroughly, then bandage them afresh.

  In my hands Mr Rochester still melted, he would obey me without question and hold my hand and bite a clean cloth while his burns were treated. I could not bear to see the horrid burns all over the man I loved, so I concentrated on his person instead. My master's face would turn black with rage, or distort in agony, a frightening spectacle even for me, but I knew he could never hurt me, I knew I was safe. I wouldn't have vouched for Miller's continued health without my presence, my master's wild nature seemed closer than ever, strengthened by his inability to speak.

  For me, my master would suffer himself to be washed, he would even use the chamberpot to spare himself the walk; he had to avoid exertion because his lungs were still in a bad way, he had trouble breathing and had been warned

  against talking or coughing.

  A week went by in which I spent my time either sleeping in my own room, or caring for Mr Rochester in his chamber. I took my meals with him, coaxing him to eat the bland stuffs Miller judged safe for him to swallow; I read to him, since he couldn't hold a book yet with his burned left hand, and by now I was allowed to talk again, my situation having improved quickly.

  I ached to hold him and kiss him, but the only moments he sought my closeness were in the presence of the nurse, those moments when he really needed the solace of my touch to bear the hurt, or maybe he was merely afraid to do something to the hired help if not distracted by my gentle touch.