Twelfth Night at Eyre Hall

by Luccia Gray

  I had died. Freed from my physical constraints I flew to the coast and dove into the depths of the dark ink sea in search of Michael’s ship. I emerged on an island lit by a blinding sun and flew into an abandoned house on a desert path. I ran down the stairs and saw Michael chained to a pillar, his head rolled to one side, resting on a moss–covered wall. Long strands of hair stuck to his neck; his dirty bearded face was almost unrecognisable. I threw my arms around his shirtless, bloodstained chest, and he opened his eyes and called my name.

  “Michael, I’m coming to bring you back,” I told him.

  A sharp pain cut into my lungs as I inhaled, opened my eyes and saw Annette’s tear–filled eyes. “Jane, thank God! Jane. Dr. Carter, Jane’s awake!”

  “Where is he?”

  “Jane, we were so worried. You’ve been unconscious for hours.”

  “Where is he? The man who came to see me?”

  “We’ve locked him in the old ice house. Did he attack you, Jane?”

  “I must speak to him at once.”

  Dr. Carter approached me with his stethoscope. “Mrs. Mason, you must rest.”

  “They’ve kidnapped Michael.”

  “Then we must inform the constable at once,” said the doctor calmly.

  “No! Do not inform the constable. I will deal with him.”

  “He will not be going anywhere, and you must rest, Mrs. Mason.”

  “I must speak to him, hear his conditions and recover Michael.”

  “Where is Michael?”

  “He’s chained to a wall, imprisoned in a cell on an island in the West Indies.”

  “How do you know, Jane? Did the kidnapper tell you?”

  “I saw him.”

  “You were unconscious. It was a dream, Mrs. Mason.” The doctor was patting my hand sympathetically.

  I had to make them believe me. “Michael has been kidnapped by pirates and I’m going to get him back. Junot told me I would be going to Jamaica, and he was right.”

  “That awful man! Jane, you must be delirious,” scolded Annette.

  “Nobody will stop me. Call him back, at once!”

  I tried to get up but lost my balance as my legs swayed and my head spun. The doctor’s soothing voice calmed me. “Mrs. Mason, you must rest. I promise you that tomorrow he will be brought to you for questioning. Now will you take some medicine, please?”

  “Don’t you dare lie to me, Doctor.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it, madam,” he said with a quiet smile.

  “Where is Michael’s chain?” I asked and Annette put it into my outstretched hand. I held it tightly and closed my eyes.

  “Very well, but promise me you will make sure he does not escape, Doctor.” He handed me a glass and some medication and nodded.

  ***

  Mrs. Mason, from Eyre Hall, had sent for me at once with the strangest letter I had ever received, on a matter of great urgency, which required that I should behave most peculiarly.

  Dear Mr. Smythe.

  You are to present yourself at Eyre Hall without delay. I will inform you later of all the details, but I must now ask you to trust me and cooperate with a necessary lie.

  Firstly, and this is very important, you will write up fake deeds for the value of thirty thousand pounds for shares in a gold mine in Australia. Each share should be worth one pound. I trust your knowledge and judgement to make them look authentic.

  There will be a visitor at Eyre Hall when you arrive. He must believe that I have no assets at all to my name, because everything has been entailed to my son. I will offer him some property, which is used for grazing, which you will say is worth half of the sum he requires, and that it will take some time to sell. Then I will tell him about the gold mine. You will not give me the deeds, under any circumstances, until I offer you a thousand pounds commission.

  Please follow my instructions carefully to the letter, and tell absolutely no one about this business, or we will both be in grave danger.

  You will obviously be well rewarded for your invaluable help.

  Sincerely,

  Mrs. Mason.

  I prepared the required documents that very afternoon, having to work after midnight. The following day I took the early train, as instructed, and was walking through the main door at Eyre Hall by early evening. When a flustered Simon showed me into the library, Mrs. Mason was sitting behind her desk across from an eccentric looking foreigner.

  “As I was saying, Captain King,” I heard Mrs. Mason say, “I would gladly offer you all my estate in exchange for Lieutenant Kirkpatrick’s life, but of course, you already know that, do you not? Nothing I possess has any value for me if he is dead. Nothing at all. He is my betrothed, as you may know. It pains me to ask, but how much ransom do you require for his liberation?”

  “I have been asked to negotiate a deal of money, jewels, or property, to the value of not less than twenty thousand pounds.”

  When I heard the sum, I realised there was an astronomical problem at hand. He was demanding approximately half of the value of Mr. Rochester’s estate, and it would be impossible to gather such an enormous amount of money quickly. I felt drops of cold sweat trickling down my sideburns to my beard. I wiped my brows with my kerchief.

  When I had read her letter, I had imagined it was some sort of hoax, but this man’s presence was alarming. I realised I had to sound convincing or, as she had advised me, our lives were also at stake.

  “Captain King, I would like to introduce you to my solicitor, Mr. Smythe of Briggs & Sons.” He turned to me curiously and smirked. “I have asked him to bring the deeds to some of my properties, such as Eyre Hall, which are worth a great deal more than you require, are they not Mr. Smythe?”

  “Good afternoon, Captain King,” I nodded, my trembling hands clutching the leather binder containing the documents I had been instructed to bring. I coughed. “It is indeed worth a great deal more, however it is entailed, so I am afraid that Mrs. Mason cannot sell it to anyone, or of course give it to you, sir.”

  “I am a simple man, Mr. Smythe. A privateer, a sea captain. I work with my hands, not with scraps of paper. Please explain, and I warn you, do not try to trick me with your pretty words.”

  I did not think it was possible to sweat while I was trembling with cold, nevertheless, cold sweat, like icicles, travelled down my face once more. I wiped my brow yet again and coughed nervously.

  “According to English law, a landholder leaves his house and land to a single male heir. In this case, the heir is Mr. John Rochester, Mrs. Mason’s son. Mrs. Mason cannot sell the property because it is not hers to sell.”

  “It isn’t hers? However, she is living here? Isn’t she administering this grand estate, Mr. Smythe?”

  “Mrs. Mason is the beneficial owner, at the moment,” I explained. “Mrs. Mason can live and manage the property, yet she does not nominally own it. In this case it belongs to her son, who will be the sole owner once he reaches the age of thirty.”

  “Well, perhaps I need to speak to your son, Mrs. Mason?”

  “My son is in Boston, and in any case, he would not give a penny for Lieutenant Kirkpatrick’s freedom.”

  “Is there anything which has no tail as you say?”

  I started coughing profusely.

  “Mr. Smythe, are you not well. Would you like some tea?” asked Mrs. Mason as she rang her bell.

  My whole body was shaking with fear. “I am sorry, madam. I am afraid I have caught a cold. The weather in London has been ghastly, and the long journey has no doubt tired me.”

  Simon entered and she asked him to bring tea and pastries.

  “You were telling Captain King about the land which is not entailed, Mr. Smythe.”

  “There is some land, which Mrs. Mason was awarded in a premarital contract.”

  “Good. How much is it worth?”

  “Half of the money you require,” I replied.

  “Only half?”

  I nodded and wiped the sweat with my saturated kerc
hief.

  “Well,” he said, scratching his chin, “it’s a start. I’ll take it.” He smiled, showing surprisingly even white teeth.

  “The land has no property, it is used for grazing,” I added.

  “It can be sold, can’t it?” he asked.

  “Of course, but it would take some time,” I said.

  “Do you have the deed, Mr. Smythe?” Asked Mrs. Mason, and I replied as instructed.

  “I do, madam, but I must protest.”

  “You must protest, Mr. Smythe?” She shot me a stern glance.

  “I must protect your son’s inheritance.”

  “My son has enough inheritance of his own, Mr. Smythe!” she interrupted angrily and added, “Give me the deeds at once.”

  “It would be most unwise to do so, Mrs. Mason.”

  “I don’t want it,” said the captain. “Got no use for it. I want money, or something that can become money, quickly. After all, the lieutenant has been locked up long enough, hasn’t he?”

  This time her icy look was set on the pirate, but she quickly turned it into a smile before speaking.

  “Cash is not in abundance on the estate, Captain King, and I presume you are not interested in any of my artworks. There is a beautiful landscape by Gainsborough, and some prints by…”

  “I am not interested in paintings, or anything else which will be heavy or hard to sell.”

  “Would you be interested in gold, for example?” she said slowly.

  “Of course, you must have plenty of expensive jewellery, Mrs. Mason.” His large white teeth flashed again and his eyes rested on her velvet choker adorned with a pearl pendant.

  “I have some jewels, but mostly heirlooms. They are not valuable enough to be of use to you. On the other hand, I have a great deal of gold.”

  “Gold?” His eyes widened.

  “Did you bring the deeds to the shares of the gold mine, Mr. Smythe?”

  The pirate’s eyes widened as he turned to my solicitor. “The shares in the gold mine are not in tail?” he asked.

  “The shares belonged to my uncle, Sir John Eyre. I was his only living relative, so I was able to inherit them. Mr. Rochester insisted I keep them in our premarital contract.”

  “It is the only property which is not entailed, apart from the acres I mentioned before,” I added, struggling to keep my voice steady.

  “How much is it worth?” asked the pirate.

  “Much more than you can imagine,” Mrs. Mason replied.

  “I will not give the deeds to this person, Mrs. Mason.” My heart was pumping fiercely as I spoke.

  “You will do as I instruct you, Mr. Smythe.”

  “I must insist. I think you are making a big mistake, Mrs. Mason.”

  She fixed an angry stare on my face, smoothed her pale grey silk dress, and spoke assertively. “I do not pay you to think, Mr. Smythe. I pay you to obey.” I wondered how she was able to remain so calm and composed while I was shaking like a leaf.

  “How many shares, Mrs. Mason?” the villain asked.

  “The shares are worth one pound each.”

  “Mrs. Mason, I beseech you to be judicious. Think of the estate. Those shares are used as a guarantee for purchases. You cannot forfeit it rashly.”

  “How dare you suggest I am behaving rashly!”

  “I am the Rochester family lawyer, and I must look after the interests of the estate.”

  “How many shares are there, Mrs. Mason?” asked the criminal.

  “Thirty thousand,” she said slowly, “and they are all yours, if you tell me where Lieutenant Kirkpatrick is.”

  “I am afraid that is not how it is done. I will take the shares to my father, he will free your lieutenant, and then I will bring him back to you.”

  “If you think I am going to sit here and wait while you take my shares and leave England, you are mistaken. On the contrary, if you do not want to remain in England and be hanged like a thief, you will tell me where he is and we will both travel to Jamaica to bring him back.”

  “My instructions are to…”

  “Your instructions will be of little use to you when you are dead. Where is he?”

  “He is in Jamaica, but if I do not return soon with the money, he will be killed.”

  She jumped up from her chair and faced the kidnapper defiantly. “I will give you the shares, because I am an honest negotiator, Captain King, but you will tell me exactly where he is, because if you do not, then I will go to Jamaica, find your father and all your family, and have them flogged to death by the British Governor, for kidnapping and killing a naval officer. I am quite serious and quite capable of carrying out my threat. I have friends and relatives in the admiralty and in the government. If Lieutenant Kirkpatrick dies, my only reason for living will be to see you all dead.”

  She paused, and there was such an absolute silence, I fancied I could hear the snow falling on the windowpane.

  “It is a good deal, Captain King, for both of us,” she told him.

  Simon entered opportunely with the tea tray, and I made my way to the door. Her plan was not yet over.

  “Thank you, Simon,” she said. “Where are you going Mr. Smythe?”

  “I am returning to London. I will have none of this mad plan.”

  “Simon, make sure Mr. Smythe does not leave Eyre Hall until I give you instructions that he is allowed to leave.”

  Simon nodded and left. Mrs. Mason said the magic words, at last.

  “Mr. Smythe, as negotiator you are entitled to part of the ransom. Will one thousand pounds be enough? And of course you will keep your job and your reputation.”

  I nodded in relief. It was over. “Naturally, madam,” I said as I returned to my seat, untied my binder, and took out the false deeds, which I handed to her.

  She read one carefully aloud. “The British Australian Gold Mining Company, full stop. In two hundred thousand shares of one pound each, full stop. Five hundred shares from number 22,345 to 22,845, full stop. The holder of this certificate is the proprietor of a hundred shares in the above company on which the sum of one pound per share has been paid subject to the conditions herein endorsed, full stop. Signed, Richard Ward, Secretary of the Committee, full stop. Offices at 26, Moorgate Street, London, and 481, George Street, Sydney, full stop and the end.” She shuffled the pack of documents in her fingers and added, “There must be sixty more documents exactly like this one here in my hands.” She turned the documents upside down and turned the final piece of paper. “The last one reads, let me see, from 51,854 to 52,345. Here you are, Captain King,” she said handing him the document she had read.

  Mrs. Mason and I moved to the table by the fireplace and drank our tea as the pirate examined the deed. My hands were still shaking, but Mrs. Mason smiled and shocked me by squeezing my trembling hand. “You have made the correct decision Mr. Smythe. The gold mine means nothing to me if Lieutenant Kirkpatrick does not return.”

  The pirate walked towards the hearth. “The rest?” he asked.

  “They are all yours, except two which I have promised Mr. Smythe, of course.”

  “Good,” he smiled and extended his hand greedily.

  “Not yet. Please sit down, Captain King.” She waved to a chair by the hearth. “Where exactly is Lieutenant Kirkpatrick?”

  “I will take you there when we arrive.”

  “I have no doubt you will, but I would like you to draw a map and tell me where exactly he is being held. I will also need your family’s real name.”

  He drank tea and ate cake in silence for some minutes, too many for my liking. I dreaded to think what might happen if he discovered our bluff.

  “I will need a pencil and paper,” he said at last.

  Mrs. Mason asked him to sit at her desk and gave him the necessary equipment. Meanwhile we returned to our chairs by the hearth. Mrs. Mason wisely offered me a brandy, which I threw back thankfully and held out my hand for another, too dazed to behave civilly and decline a second glass. I would have gladly d
runk the bottle and slept for two days, but she shook her head. “There is still work to be done, Mr. Smythe.”

  The pirate called us to the table and described his picture. “This is my island. You see it? It is Jamaica,” he said proudly, pointing at the outline of the island he had drawn.

  “Here is Port Royal, near Kingston, where many of your ships arrive, and here is Spanish Town, further inland.” He pushed his finger further up the piece of paper. “And this is Montego Bay, where my family live.” He pointed to a spot on the north–western tip of the island.

  “It is very far from Spanish Town,” observed Mrs. Mason who was looking at the map intently.

  “Over a hundred miles. It is a big and beautiful island.” He smiled tracing the outline with his finger.

  “But we can sail straight to Montego Bay; there are docks there. It is an important sugar port,” he said drawing a cross on the spot.

  “Very well, we sail to Montego Bay, and then where do we go? Where is Michael?”

  “My family name is Rey, it means ’king’ in Spanish. My ancestors were Spanish Conquistadores, explorers of new territories in the 16th century. Since the English have taken over the island, their property was confiscated and they had to flee into the mountains. However, my family has worked hard to regain respectability. We would like to buy a plantation and export sugar, as our ancestors did, but we lack finance. It is all in the hands of your countrymen. It is unavailable to us on our island, so we have to look further out. Shortly before the ship was wrecked, there was a rebellion in Jamaica, so nobody wanted to help a British vessel. They are the enemies of the people. Kirkpatrick was lucky we caught him alive and did not kill him. Now, with your money, we can buy the land and pay the labourers.”

  “The West Indies were cleanly won from the Spanish at war,” Mrs. Mason told him, and I started sweating again, fearing they would get into a dangerous argument.

  “When the English invaded Jamaica, defeating my ancestors, the Spanish colonists, they enslaved Africans and made Jamaica a place for pirates and privateers to become wealthy. My family benefitted for a time. Then, when sugar became more lucrative than piracy, we were not able to buy land or take part in the trade, so we have to continue with our piracy, don’t we?”