by Luccia Gray
Annette hugged me. “Jane, I wish you happiness with Michael. I am sure that he loves you. You will overcome all the obstacles which come your way.”
“Thank you, Annette.” I looked at Adele who was staring at me with pursed lips.
“Jane, you know what I think about Michael. He’s an honest and faithful servant, but I do not consider he would fit into your world as an equal.”
“But Adele, he is my equal. My life means nothing to me without him. I deserve a small measure of happiness. When I look back over my life, there are so many dark corners. I wonder if I was ever truly happy for more than a short time during my honeymoon, twenty–one years ago.”
“You will be happy, Jane,” said Annette. “We are all entitled to our happiness, and so are you who does so much to help so many people. We are fortunate to have you and be part of your extended family.”
“Thank you Annette, and Adele.” I looked at my son’s furious countenance, wondering if he would ever forgive me. “Shall we have lunch?” I asked at last.
Adele spoke first. “I’m afraid I have arranged to go shopping to Millcote with William, Susan, and Dante. We will have some lunch there. Do you mind, Jane?”
“Not at all, my darling Adele. You must have so many things to prepare for your journey to London.”
“Will you pay us a visit soon, in London, Jane?”
“Of course I will. I have to visit my editor and Mr. Dickens. I may visit you in February.”
“Please come too, Annette.”
Annette thanked her and they embraced. I was glad that Adele and Annette were feeling like family, and I was pleased that Susan and Dante’s wedding had not upset Mr. Greenwood as much as I had expected. Of course I had almost doubled Adele’s dowry, and although I seriously doubted his love for her, she seemed contented to be marrying him, at last. Their initially fleeting and passionate romance had soon become a more conventional marriage settlement.
“I have one more question, Mother. Were you in love with Michael while my father was alive?”
“I was alone, and Michael helped me. He was a friend when your father was alive, nothing more.”
“Servants cannot be our friends, Mother. You loved him when you were married to my father, admit it!”
“I was never disloyal or disrespectful to your father, John, in spite of his lies and betrayals.”
“I don’t know you any more, Mother. I will not be ridiculed like this. Father would not accept it.”
“Your father was not the person you thought he was.”
“Neither are you, Mother.”
“I am sorry if I have let you down, John.”
“You would have me marry Phoebe for convenience, ignoring my wishes, yet you are set on marrying a servant turned petty navy officer who is young enough to be your son!”
“You don’t understand.”
“Of course I do. You make the rules and you bend the rules for yourself. Do not expect me for lunch; I have matters to attend to.”
***
Chapter XXII – A Brawl at Eyre Hall
It had been a peculiar morning. John had barged out of the room after our family reunion, and Adele had excused herself saying she had to go shopping with Mr. Greenwood, Dante, and Susan. Michael had not come for lunch, although I knew Jane was expecting him because she asked Simon to lay a plate for him.
Jane was distracted as we moved to the drawing room for tea, and when Nell came in to read, she hardly paid any attention to her. I had planned to retire to my room to write a letter to Mother Superior at Saint Mary’s, but I was also feeling uneasy, and thought it best to stay with Jane. There was a disquieting silence in the house, like the contained rage of the sea before a storm.
I moved away from the fireplace and sat by the window watching snowflakes fly down and rest slowly on the trees, until they were all lined with a delicate white frame. I had never seen snow before coming to England, and it was a mesmerising and restful sight for my troubled eyes.
John’s distorted face when Jane had told him who my mother was and that we might share the same father, had been painful to watch. He had to be told, yet I now understood why Jane did not want him to know. He was devastated, having placed his father on a pedestal, and now he hated me because I was not the person he had imagined, making me feel unclean and cruel. Then, when Jane told us she had accepted Michael’s proposal, John looked as if he would burst with wrath.
The unnerving silence in the drawing room was interrupted by Simon’s knock on the door. “Miss Annette, you are needed in the kitchen,” he said, far too breathlessly. I realised immediately that something was wrong, and I sensed that John was involved.
“What is the matter in the kitchen, Simon?” asked Jane.
Simon’s distressed glance prompted me to speak. “I asked Cook to prepare a surprise cake for Adele. She probably wants to show me.”
“Yes, Miss Annette, Cook’s worried it might burn if you don’t come down right away.”
“Can I see it, too, Annette?” asked Nell jumping up from her chair.
“No, Nell. It is a surprise for all of you. Wait here with Jane.” I tried to force a smile before rushing out of the room.
I followed Simon who flew down the stairs. “Miss Annette, Michael and Master John are fighting in the stables!”
“No! Michael will kill him! We must stop them!”
“Michael ain’t fighting, Miss. Master John will kill Michael more like.”
“Dear God! Hurry up, Simon!”
I threw open the kitchen door and rushed towards the stables. My feet sunk into the thick snow, slowing me down as I cut through the curtain of dense snowfall and finally pushed open the stable door. Michael was on the floor, and blood was trickling from his face into the hay scattered on the ground. John was on top of him, punching his side mercilessly. I told Simon to get Dr. Carter and approached John, asking him to stop. When I tried to pull him off, he elbowed me fiercely, hurling me against the stable wall. When I screamed, Michael threw off his assailant and rushed to my aid.
“Are you all right, Annette?” he asked, kneeling by my side and lifting me so I was sitting up against the wall. John’s elbow had hit my eye and I put my hand to the back of my head, which had struck the floor.
“My head,” I said “but Michael, look at you. Why did you let him do it? Jane will be so upset.”
“This was a pub brawl. Do not tell Jane who hit me.”
“Don’t touch her!” came John’s voice from across the stable.
“A fine thing to say after you just struck her. You’ll have to answer for that!”
“No, Michael,” I held his arm. “Please don’t fight on my account. It was nothing. I don’t mind.”
“But I’m afraid I do, Annette,” he whispered as he removed my hand from his arm gently and stood up to face John.
“A man who strikes a lady such as Miss Mason is only half a man and needs to be taught a lesson.”
“Is she next on your list of conquests?”
Michael took two long strides and hit John’s jaw so hard that he fell on the muddy floor with a loud thump.
“That is for Miss Mason.”
Seconds later Michael lifted John’s limp body up and knocked him down again. “And this is for Jane!”
John fell and writhed on the floor. Michael lifted him up again and held him against the wall. “You can hate me and strike me for loving your mother, but don’t ever doubt that I love her, or even suggest I would betray her or be unfaithful to her. Do you hear me?”
“You’re not good enough for her!” John spat at him.
“I love her more than anyone will ever love her. I worship her. Would you kill me for loving her? Would you?”
I approached them, put my hands on both their shoulders, and pushed my forehead against theirs, so our three heads were together. “Please stop, the two of you. You both love her, and she loves you, too. Please stop fighting.”
John pushed away from the circle I ha
d forged and held my shoulders. “How can you turn against me? I loved you! You are my flesh and blood!”
“She has agreed to marry him. You must respect her decision, John.”
“That’s preposterous!” He turned to Michael. “You’re not one of us. It’s unnatural, and you’re young enough to be her son!”
Michael stared back in silence, looking defeated and downcast.
“Please go and wash up, both of you.” They ignored my plea.
“I hate her for falling so low as to give herself to you, a servant.”
“Hate me for loving her, but don’t hate your mother. She loves you too much.”
“Not enough, it would seem, to consider my feelings.”
“That is all she has ever done, consider your feelings and pander to you. You have no idea what she’s sacrificed and put up with to protect you and safeguard your happiness.”
“That was her duty as my mother!” he cried. “I’ll not thank her for that, and I’ll not watch her marry the likes of you and live with you in my house, in my father’s house. Damn you. Damn you to hell!”
“You don’t mean that, John,” I said, approaching him.
“I am leaving. I shall return on my thirtieth birthday to claim what is rightfully mine and throw you both out of Eyre Hall and the Rochester Estate.”
“John, please.” I took his hand in mine. “You don’t know what you’re saying. You don’t mean that.”
“Wait and see for yourself,” he threatened, pushing me away.
“You cannot always get your own way, John. The Earth doesn’t revolve around your wishes.”
“I will never forgive her for this. Never. I hate her!”
Michael moved forward and stood still, arms at his side, head bent. “Strike me again. Strike me all you like, Master John. I will not fight back or stop you, but do not leave your mother, or hate her.”
John lifted his clenched fist and hit Michael’s motionless body. “Stop it, John!” I cried, and Jane and Nell burst open the stable doors. Michael turned towards her and John seized a digging fork, which he aimed at Michael’s face.
Nell screamed, and Jane’s voice roared across the stable. “Put down that fork. Now!”
John turned and walked towards his mother, fork in hand, and a look of madness in his eyes.
“Touch a single hair on your mother’s head, Master John, and it will be the last thing you do.”
John dropped the fork, and Jane ran past him to embrace Michael. “What has he done to you, my love?”
“It is nothing, Jane. I’m all right.”
She turned to her son furiously. “You fool. He could have killed you, but you knew he would not hurt you because you are my son. You coward! You are like…”
Michael put his fingers to her lips. “Jane, please do not fight with your son.”
“I am sorry, Michael. I am so sorry.”
He smoothed her hair and whispered terms of endearment as they melted into each other’s arms.
“John, you cannot break them up. No one can. You will have to accept it,” I said.
“Never,” was his last word as he stormed out of the stable.
I hugged poor Nell who was crumpled on the straw, crying like a baby.
“Nell darling, come with me. Let’s get water, soap and bandages, for Michael.”
***
The snow had stopped its onslaught, but the sky was so dark it could have been midnight instead of three o’clock in the afternoon. I was reading an article in The Lancet in my study when Simon interrupted breathlessly and insisted I was needed at Eyre Hall due to an accident. When I arrived, I was shown to one of the guest rooms where Michael lay on the bed in a deplorable condition. Mrs. Mason and Nell were standing by his side, wiping his face with a sponge.
“Good grief! What happened to you, Lieutenant?”
“I had an accident,” he replied as Mrs. Mason moved away to the window, shoulders hunched and lips pursed, holding back the tears. Although it looked suspiciously like a pub brawl, I smelt no alcohol on his breath.
“Let me have a look at you,” I said as I scanned the cuts and bruises on his face and tried to imagine what else could have happened. I opened his shirt and saw more blood and bruises. “Perhaps you could wait outside, Nell, with Mrs. Mason, while I examine the patient.”
“Come here, Nell,” said Mrs. Mason as she took the child’s hand. “We’ll turn our backs and wait while you see to Michael, Dr. Carter.”
“Very well,” I said and pulled his shirt away to examine the bruises on his side. I pressed my hands against his ribs. “Nasty. Looks like one of your ribs is broken, Lieutenant.”
I heard Mrs. Mason gasp.
“It’s not painful, Jane,” Michael said.
“It will be, when you try to move,” I corrected. “This is a serious injury. Let’s hope it hasn’t perforated your lungs.” I took out my stethoscope and asked him to breathe in and out. By now, Mrs. Mason was crying noticeably.
“Could you turn over to your side, Lieutenant?” He moaned. “Just a moment, while I check your right lung.”
There were whip marks across his back. “When did this happen?”
“On the frigate. There was a rebellion on board. The insurgents tried to take over the ship. We stopped them, but not before being whipped by the mutineers.”
Mrs. Mason had turned and was staring in horror at his back.
“Life at sea has its own rules, I believe. I suppose the rebels were not successful?” I asked.
“We crushed the rebellion. The ringleaders were found guilty of mutiny and hanged from the yard arm; the others were flogged, and some survived.”
“Remind me not to get into an argument with you, Lieutenant. I presume the man who did this to you is in the morgue.”
A tense silence was the only reply. I dressed his wounds and told him to rest for a couple of days. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Let me know at once if there is any internal bleeding. That’s always a danger after such a beating.”
“How shall we know if there is any internal bleeding, Dr. Carter?” asked Mrs. Mason.
“If there’s blood in his urine, or stools, or severe vomiting with blood.”
She rushed to the bed, took his hand and kissed it. Nell rushed to the other side of the bed and took his other hand.
“Looks like you will be well looked after. No solid food for twenty–four hours, just in case. A good broth should warm him up, and if there’s a fever, make a tea with the herbs I gave Cook last week for her temperature.”
“Oh, Michael, why did you let him do this to you? He could have killed you.”
“There is no pain, Jane. Do not worry about me.”
I coughed. “Is there another patient I should tend to before I take my leave, madam?”
Mrs. Mason shook her head, but Nell turned towards me. “Dr. Carter, Annette had blood on her face and her head ached.”
“What? Someone has struck Miss Mason?”
Nobody answered, so I insisted, “Who has dared to hit Miss Mason?”
“I’m afraid my son lost his mind when I told him that I was going to marry Michael.”
“John? Mr. Rochester has injured Miss Mason?”
More silence. “That’s unacceptable.”
There was a rap on the door and Annette appeared with a smile on her face.
“Miss Annette, how are you?”
“Dr. Carter, how good of you to come so quickly,” she said cheerfully as she entered the room.
“There’s no need to worry. As you can see, I am perfectly well. I just have a bruised eyebrow and a slight headache. How is Michael?”
“He’ll recover. Please let me have a look at you, Miss Mason.”
I gestured for her to sit down and searched for the bump on her head, running my fingers through her tresses. I had never imagined touching her hair for the first time in search of a concussion. It was firm and silky, and smelled of lemons and lavender, and I was having difficulty keeping my mind o
n her injury.
“There it is. It is not very big. Is it painful?” She shook her head. “Did you lose your consciousness?” She shook her head again. “Let me look at your eyes. They are indeed bloodshot. You could have a small concussion.”
“I have been crying, Dr. Carter. Don’t worry; it wasn’t a heavy blow.”
“Let me see your cheek.” I busied myself looking into her eye and feeling for any fractures around the socket or cheekbone. “Your eye will blacken, but it is not serious.” My fingers lingered on her smooth cheek, and I wondered if I would ever be allowed to caress it in a more leisurely way, or kiss her desirable lips.
“What happened?” I asked her.
“I tried to stop John from killing Michael.”
I turned to the robust officer who lay on the bed. “I cannot imagine he would ever need your help in a fight, Miss Mason.”
“Michael refused to fight, so he took all John’s blows.”
“Michael, you should have fought back. Look what he has done to you and Annette. He even threatened me, his mother. He has gone quite mad.”
“I would rather he injured me than have to kill him,” said the battered patient.
“I think you should see John, Dr. Carter,” said Annette. “He is in his room. Michael punched him for knocking me down, unintentionally, of course. I think he may have dislocated his jaw.”
“I hope he has,” I mumbled.
“Nell, let us go downstairs and get some tea,” said Annette, taking her hand and pulling her out of the room.
I heard Kirkpatrick and Mrs. Mason whispering, oblivious to my presence as I put my instruments in my bag.
“Michael, I am terrified. You will get yourself killed. Have you any idea what would happen to me if you die?”
“Jane, I am sorry. He saw me arrive and told me he needed to speak to me in the stables. I wanted him to hate me and hit me so he could forgive you.”
“There is nothing to forgive. I love you, Michael.”
“I would not mind being beaten every day to hear you say you love me.”