by Luccia Gray
“He wanted to die, or so it seemed, according to my father.” He shook his head. “Fool.” He drained his brandy. “What good’s a dead man to his country, Kirkpatrick?”
He was waiting for an answer, and all I could think about were his words, ‘get her out of your system or back into your life’, but it wasn’t possible, was it? Had I not lost her forever?
“I have a letter for you, Kirkpatrick.”
“But we haven’t been to port since we left Spanish Town four weeks ago.”
“I’ve had it since then. There seems to be some bad news. You will have to return to a place called Eyre Hall for Christmas.”
“You read my letter?”
“I read all the letters that arrive on this ship. There are few enough, and in any case, I need to know who I can trust.”
I controlled my fury, unwilling to challenge my superior officer, so I made no comment.
“You are twenty–two, are you not?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I was lieutenant for twenty–two years, so was my father. He fought with Lord Nelson at Santa Cruz. He told me he had never met a man so brave. It was not a compliment. He was mad. Reminds me of you. Thought nothing of his own life. My father told me he would go up on deck and work with the rest of the crew until he was voiceless and his limbs numbed from the icy waters. ‘England expects every man to do his duty’ he would say, morning, noon and night. He was obsessed with duty. My father watched him die and told me, ‘Son, this is what happens to all of us, no matter how dutiful, brave, rich, loved, or worshipped we are, we all die’.”
He stood once more, looking out of the port hole. “When it happens is just a matter of time and chance. If Nelson had died in his bed, we would not be speaking about him now, would we? He died in battle and became a national hero. He was in love, too, with an inappropriate lady. My father should never have told me all those stories. I was a romantic then, so I also fell in love with the wrong woman.”
He turned back to me. “She married, that was one of the reasons I joined the navy. Later I met my wife. Mrs. Carrington is a good woman, but I have never forgotten Theresa. I should never have given up.” He sighed and refilled his glass. “You were a valet too long to be a good sailor, and you’re too clever to stay in the navy for long, but I’m promoting you to lieutenant because you’re the cleverest, maddest, yet boldest man on board. I have just signed the dispatch to promote you for your bravery and value. Not only did you save my life yesterday, for the second time, but you also saved the lives of dozens of men on board. The crew respects and obeys you. You will make a good officer.”
“Thank you, sir.” I stood up to leave, eager to put an end to our conversation and read my letter.
“We will arrive in Portsmouth in two weeks’ time. You have seven weeks’ leave before we return to sea at the end of January. You will be my First Lieutenant. You may pick up your uniform at the navy outfitters, when we arrive. You will be wearing it on land, and I guarantee Mrs. R., whoever she is, will be yours, once more.”
He knew nothing about the real situation, and I should make sure to keep it that way. He had been an invaluable instructor and guide for the last six months, but I was not sure how far I could trust him once we landed.
“Sir, I would ask you respectfully not to mention our conversation to Admiral Fitzjames, in order to protect the reputation of the lady you mentioned.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Knowledge is power, Lieutenant. I think we can both benefit from this situation.” He gestured to the chair again. “Sit down, I haven’t finished.”
I obeyed, disturbed by the unexpected turn of events. Had something happened to Susan or to Jane?
“I’ve been captain for over nine years. My wife seems to think I would make a good admiral. I would not want to disappoint her. She is a very stubborn lady. I may be visiting Eyre Hall myself, this Christmas. Fitzjames has often invited me to visit his wife’s wealthy and influential family in Yorkshire, but Mrs. Carrington has never liked travelling up to the cold north of the country, especially in winter. I’m sure I can persuade her it is in our interest to visit this time. So I hope to see you there, my boy.”
“I’m not sure I’ll be welcome, sir.”
“What, a brave naval officer recommended by her cousin’s husband, not welcome? You underestimate your worth and your powers of persuasion, Lieutenant. You will accompany us to Admiral Fitzjames’s home, and we will do our best to be invited to Eyre Hall.”
“May I have my letter, please, sir?”
“Of course.” He picked up the letter and absent–mindedly ran his fingers along the folds of the envelope.
“Are you going to tell me all about it, Kirkpatrick, or am I going to have to find out for myself when I visit Eyre Hall?”
“Mrs. Rochester is the mistress of the house where I worked. She was a widow. I was below her station. She became engaged and I presume married another, more suitable man, so I left.”
“This more suitable man, Mr. Mason, I believe, is richer and older, I suppose?”
I cringed on hearing his name. What had Susan written in her letter? “Not richer, but older and more acceptable.”
“Ah, so the lady has all the money!”
I nodded.
“Well, she’ll be free again when you’re a captain, if you play your cards right.”
I didn’t want to listen to him, but his words brought hope to my heart once again. I had kept my feelings under control for almost a year. I was surprised and disturbed by my rekindled emotions. Could I go back to Jane?
“We can help each other, my boy. We both win. You get your precious lady, and I get to join the ranks of the Admiralty. You have saved my life and my reputation by saving my ship, and now you are in a position to procure me with a most honourable retirement and pension. However, make no mistake of it; you will gain more than me. I’ve just offered you a new lease on your life.”
He was right. Although I was dreading the bad news in the letter, I was also feeling hopeful for the first time in over a year.
“I’m still a romantic, and you’re in love. I want to help you.” He poured himself another brandy. “Well, what do you say?”
“I need to read my letter first, sir.”
He handed it over casually. I felt my blood pumping from my temples to my fingertips. I held my breath, in an attempt to stop my hand from trembling as I reached out for the envelope. The man facing me smiled triumphantly.
“You’ll make an effort to keep yourself alive now, won’t you, Lieutenant Kirkpatrick? And don’t worry too much about your sister. If I have rightly guessed the reason for her distress, I can help you with that too. I know several young and honest naval officers who would be only too eager to oblige. They would make good honest husbands and fathers. Trust me. Marriages of convenience work out more often than not. I can vouch for that myself.”
He squeezed my shoulder affectionately. “Remember, Lieutenant, death is the only situation that cannot be mended. Anything else can be repaired. Women tend to overdramatise, while we men find solutions. Read your letter, and then we will talk again. Susan is not the first young maiden to find herself in such dire straits, but she could be luckier than many.”
***
My fingers were still trembling when I opened the letter minutes later in my cabin. I shuddered as I saw the date. It had been written almost two months ago. If Susan had been in danger it might be too late to help, and what if something had happened to Jane? How could I have abandoned the two women I loved most? I read, unable to control my racing heartbeats.
Venice, 20th September.
Dearest brother,
I hope you receive this letter in good health. I have heard there are many storms in the Bay of Biscay, where you told me you would be headed in your last letter, before crossing the English Channel and returning home. I miss you, Michael. We had never been parted before, and it has been such a long time!
Mr. Greenwood has a friend in Ve
nice who is a sea captain, but I dared not speak to him of you, or your ship, lest Adele should find out and inform Mrs. R. Adele has asked me if I had heard from you and if you were well; I told her I knew nothing, as you instructed. She seemed concerned, and I would have liked to tell her you were well, if nothing else, but I knew that would bring further questions, and I could not risk her interrogations.
You need not worry about Mrs. R.’s health. She was unwell, but Adele tells me she is completely recovered now, and has been in London with her editor, proofreading her new novel. She married Mr. Mason, as arranged, on All Hallows, although she insisted no one should attend. Adele was not in agreement with the marriage, but she said the mistress has her reasons.
I have enjoyed the year spent in Venice, and I shall miss it dearly, but I am also glad we are returning to England shortly. As I told you in my last letter, I have greatly improved my Italian and my knowledge of art and history. I am confident that I will be able to secure a position as teacher in a private girls’ school on my return to England. I do not wish to remain in Miss Adele’s service once she marries Mr. Greenwood, who I am afraid I increasingly dislike. They have postponed the marriage firstly due to her mother’s ill health, and then her death, but I can see no further excuses for postponement.
After a brief stay at Mr. Greenwood’s house in London, we will be spending Christmas at Eyre Hall. Mr. Greenwood’s son, Dante, will be travelling with us to England. Mr. Greenwood seems intent on Dante’s marriage to Miss Annette Mason, so he must speak to Mrs. R. urgently. They have never met, so there is no love on either part. Mr. Greenwood’s funds are growing short (most of the expenses in Venice have been covered by Miss Adele’s means), and Miss Mason has been generously bestowed a large dowry. You see, Michael, it is their way. They care little for love, or honesty. Their main concerns are placed on power, and money. Sadly, you and I are insignificant pawns in this game.
Michael, I must beg you return to Eyre Hall and meet me. I do not wish to alarm you, but I need your assistance for a matter of life or death. Only you can help me, brother. Believe me, I would not ask you to return to the place you so dispiritedly left if it were not urgent and essential for my wellbeing.
Miss Adele says we will be arriving in London at the beginning of December and we will be travelling to Eyre Hall before Christmas Eve. I pray that you receive this letter and that we will be able to see each other at Eyre Hall on Christmas Eve.
Your affectionate and loving sister,
Susan
***
Chapter II – Nell
Mrs. Rochester was sitting on her chaise longue by the window, sketching the leafless trees outside her window, while I read the Book of Ecclesiastes to her, as I do almost every afternoon. She says she likes to hear me read, but I sometimes wonder if she is even listening, because I often stumble on the long words, or just leave them out, and she doesn’t seem to notice. Yesterday, just for fun, I skipped every second verse, and she never batted an eyelid. Even when she is looking at me, which is not often, her sad eyes are far away, and she hardly speaks.
Beth and Christy say she wasn’t always like that. They say she used to be merry and talkative, before it all happened, but that is how she has been since I first started reading to her, almost a year ago. When I ask them what they mean by ‘all’, they say Mr. Rochester’s death, and ‘all that’. And when I ask again, about ‘all that’, they say, ‘Things’, and when I ask, ‘What things?’, they say, ‘Her sickness’, and if I go on asking, they say, ‘Children shouldn’t gossip,’ or ‘Children should be seen and not heard’, so I do not know what is wrong, but I do know she is like a sleepwalker most of the time, except when Mr. Briggs and Mr. Smythe come, and they sit for hours talking about numbers, writing in huge books and scattering bits of paper everywhere.
My mother tells me that she is selfish and proud, and I am fortunate because she has taken a fancy to me. I don’t think she is selfish or proud. I think she is kind and gentle. I do not mind reading, but sometimes my mouth is as dry as straw, my hands ache from holding the heavy book, and my neck feels stiff from bending to read. When I stand, my legs tremble from sitting on the same chair for hours on end, but I never complain. I just read and watch her, because she is beautiful, and in spite of everything, I want to be like her when I grow up, but happier, definitely happier. I do not understand why she cannot be happy; she has such fine clothes and jewels, and this wonderful house and all the countryside as far as I can see, or even walk, is hers!
I turned back to the Bible and continued where I had left off, skipping every third verse this time.
“‘There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven:
A time to be born and a time to die,
A time to plant and a time to uproot,
A time to kill and a time to heal,
A time to tear down and a time to build…’”
“You’re tired, Nell.” She stroked my face kindly. “Is that why you’re skipping verses again? You do not have to read if you do not want to. The Bible should be read with joy and attention, not as a chore. What is the matter?”
“I am thirsty, Mrs. Mason.”
“Pour yourself some water from the decanter, Nell, and give me the Bible.”
She took the book from my hands and continued reading.
“‘A time to weep and a time to laugh,
A time to mourn and a time to dance,
A time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
A time to embrace and a time to refrain,
A time to search and a time to give up,
A time to keep and a time to throw away,
A time to tear and a time to mend,
A time to be silent and a time to speak,
A time to love and a time to hate,
A time for war and a time for peace.’”
She handed me back the sacred book and sighed. “Indeed there is. We cannot always expect good times, or bad times, can we Nell?”
She wasn’t asking me because she was looking out of the window, lost in her thoughts. I sat down beside her again. “Shall I continue reading, madam?”
“Nell, close the Bible and pass me my cape and my bonnet. Let us sit outside. Look, the sun is shining, at last.”
As we walked downstairs, she smiled for the first time in months. “Put on your coat and bonnet, and fetch Flossy, Keeper, and Piper.”
The sun had broken through the stormy clouds and the wet leaves were shiny and slippery.
The air was still and we walked slowly and quietly. Mrs. Mason seemed to enjoy looking at the orange–tinged hawthorns, the bare hazel bushes, dry shrubs and wild flowers, stopping every now and then to admire them. We heard the distant church bell toll four times, and dimness was fast approaching as the sun sank into the horizon.
“Listen to the tinkle of the stream,” she whispered.
“Is it far?”
“It is too far to walk today. It is getting dark and we need to get back for dinner.”
We turned around and strolled back lazily.
“Can you hear the wind rustling in the branches?” she asked and I nodded.
“It is a calm evening. It will be an agreeable night. No howling wind for a change. The air smells clean and almost warm. Strange for the beginning of December.”
I chased the dogs around some bushes, and Flossy barked at Keeper, but Piper ignored us and walked nobly beside Mrs. Mason who stooped to pat his head every now and then. She watched me chasing the dogs and smiled. She looked happy at last and I wondered what had happened. It was just another normal day.
I ran back to her side with the dogs as we approached the house again. “Is today a special day?”
“I am not sure why, but yes, it is. The air smells friendlier. I can almost smell the sea. Perhaps the wind is bringing sea air.”
“The sea? I have never seen the sea! What is it like?”
“It is vast and quite frightening, except by the seas
ide, in summer, when the waves are pretty and harmless to watch. We will visit the seaside in summer, if you like.”
“Yes, I would love to! Are there mermaids, and big ships, and dangerous pirates?”
“The sea has many legends. Perhaps you would like to read Treasure Island, when we finish Persuasion?”
I nodded and rushed indoors with the dogs.
“Would you like to have dinner with me this evening in the dining–room?”
“Yes please, Mrs. Mason!”
“Well, you’ll have to wash and change. Tell Cook we will be having dinner early today, at half past six.”
I loved eating upstairs in the dining room. The food was almost the same as downstairs, but the dishes, the cutlery, and the glasses were so pretty I felt like a princess. I rushed downstairs to tell my mother.
“Mummy, Mrs. Mason would like me to have dinner with her today!”
My mother was alone in the kitchen, sewing by the warmth of the stove.
“Again? Ain’t you had enough of her?” she asked without looking up.
“Haven’t you had enough of her, Mother?”
She threw down her sewing and jumped up. “Don’t you get cheeky with me!”
“It isn’t a word. ‘Ain’t’ isn’t correct.”
“You snotty brat!” Her eyes bulged and she leapt towards me. “I’ll throttle the life outta you!” Her hand flew out and landed on my cheek.
She kept slapping me furiously. “What shall I tell Mrs. Mason if my face is red and bruised?”
“You ungrateful witch! You’d still be stood in the fields, scaring off them horrible blackbirds all day if I hadn’t of brung you here!”
I covered my face with my hands, as she kept on hitting me, but I was even angrier than she was. “If I had not brought you here!”
“Don’t think because you’ve got good grammar that you’re one of them, ’cause you ain’t!”
“You aren’t,” I replied. She slapped me so hard I fell against the stove.