Twelfth Night at Eyre Hall

by Luccia Gray

  Last night the sea had been still and silent. The captain had told us that we were close enough to see Bermuda very soon, and then a few days later other larger islands and then Jamaica. After dinner, we retired to our rooms. Nell usually slept with me, other days she slept with Annette. Both our rooms had two berths, one above the other, but mine was larger. There was space for a small desk and an armchair. Annette’s cabin was so narrow that there was just enough room for a stool to stand between the edge of the berth and the trunk, where she kept all her belongings. That night I had a headache and wanted to sleep, and Nell and Annette preferred to read, so Nell slept in Annette’s cabin.

  I dreamt I was in Thornfield Hall again, lost along its third floor corridors leading to the windowless attic, and then suddenly I was running through the blackened ruins after the fire. Seconds later, I was wandering around Eyre Hall, walking into rooms I had never seen with crumbling walls, torn curtains, and rotting wooden furniture.

  Hours later, we were woken by a wild raging storm, which tossed our ship mercilessly like a seashell on the shore. My whole body was shaken, and turned inside out. It seemed my entrails desired to escape the storm by tearing out of my body. I looked out of the tiny porthole and saw a huge mass of water and dark objects spinning like a whirlpool, and I was thrust back against my desk.

  I remembered the letter. If ever there was a time to read it, it was now, this very moment, if I could manage to recover it. My cabin had become a greater mess than my poor stomach; papers, bottles, and clothes flew about haphazardly. I found the chaos to be more frightening than the pain. I could endure the pain if I was lying in my bed, as I had done so often, but the anarchy that reigned was unbearable. I knew not if I was standing or lying, rolling on the wall or the floor, being hit by a chair or a candlestick. The low wooden ceiling seemed to trap me like a coffin, and I seriously doubted if we would survive.

  My vomit flew like the rest of the objects in a whirlwind around me. I was as helpless as a dandelion in a snowstorm. Was this the end of my life? Was Jane Eyre to die in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, where she would dissolve into the hungry waters, or worse still be devoured by sharks? I saw before me, as if I were watching a puppet show, the faces of all the people I had known; those I had loved, and those I did not wish to see again popped up grotesquely and randomly, pulling distorted faces at me. My aunt, my childhood cousins, John and Georgina, my present cousins, Diana and Mary, the girls from Lowood, Helen, Miss Temple, Edward, servants at Thornfield Hall, Bertha, and many more. They all watched me die, making fun of me cruelly. “It is your fault,” accused Mr. Brocklehurst. “You are a liar and you will have your portion in the lake burning with fire and brimstone!” His voice howled in my mind. Had they come to say goodbye or to meet me at the gates of hell?

  Finally, I saw Michael, the way I loved to see him, smiling, unperturbed, and at ease sitting by my side. I realised I might never see him again. I remembered that I had not yet been reunited with my daughter, and I realised I had to survive through the storm a while longer, because I had to find Michael’s letter and read it, so he would be with me when I died.

  It had been in a locked box, which was now lying open and empty on the floor. I dropped to my knees and felt the floor with my palms until I recognised the long, rectangular envelope, which I ripped open. I pulled out the contents, two letters, and started reading.

  My Dearest Jane,

  If you are reading this letter, it is because I am no longer with you, but, at least, I have left you with Helen.

  I would have liked to tell you all about her discovery myself, but obviously I was not able to, probably because I have died at sea, as I can see no other person or force of nature capable of preventing me from returning to your side.

  Every moment I spent near you or thinking about you has been a gift, and I am sure my last and only thoughts were of you, ‘and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.’

  I trust you will find a way of compensating Helen for her first ten years away from her true kin, and that she will understand and forgive the people responsible for those events.

  I regret the loss of our child, and my unforgivable behaviour in abandoning you, but I trust that finding and returning your abducted daughter will replace, or at least mitigate, your pain with love and hope for the future.

  Your eternal servant,

  Michael Kirkpatrick.

  I pushed my clothes, paintings, bags, jars, and other tumbled objects, which were burying me alive, away from my head. My elbows were firmly pressed against the floor as I opened the second letter. The handwriting was large and childish, as if it had been painstakingly written.

  Dear Nell,

  I am your mother, the person who saved you from death and misery and brought you up as best I knew how to do. It weren’t a fancy life, but you always had a morsel to eat and a roof over your head. It was all I could offer. If it hadn’t been for me and my kindness, I have no doubt you’d be dead, so when they tell you I ain’t your mother, remember you’re alive because I looked after you instead of leaving you in a ditch.

  When you were a newborn baby, Dr. Carter gave you away, following instructions from your father, Mr. Rochester, it would seem, who didn’t want no more kids at Eyre Hall. I was told to take you to London, which I did, with my own daughter, Nell, who was just a month older than you. I was told to leave you there in the care of a woman who looked after unwanted babies for a sum of money, which they gave me to give her. I remember it was 50 pounds, because I hadn’t never seen so much money before.

  Anyways, shortly after we arrived in London, you both contracted whooping cough. My daughter died, and you survived. I told the woman it was the other baby who had died, and mine had survived, she gave me some money, and sent me back out into the streets with you.

  The rest you know. Do not despise me. I thought no one wanted you, so I kept you for myself. You was a lovely little girl. I’m sure you have good memories of your childhood. I do. Then, when we came to Eyre Hall, you changed. You were with her all the time, and you even started looking like her and acting like her, and I didn’t like it. I always thought she didn’t want you, that’s why I never gave you back or asked for more money, but perhaps I was wrong and she was fooled, too.

  Michael discovered it all. He threatened to have me hanged for baby theft and made me go to Australia with Thomas, but I never wanted to leave you. He says he’ll give you this letter one day. When he does, please forgive me.

  Your loving mother,

  Jenny Rosset.

  The storm was ripping my body apart, but the letter was ripping my heart to pieces. Tears of relief streamed down my face. My daughter was with me, had been with me, for the past fourteen months, yet I had not realised it was her. I understood Michael’s insistence that I should look after Nell. Nell. But where was she? She had to be in her cabin with Annette. I crawled out of my cabin towards theirs. They were huddled together on the bed praying. I managed to join them and we prayed on loudly, trying to quell the sound of the sea’s fury.

  Miraculously, hours later, the storm stilled. The silence was so sudden and unexpected, that I wondered if we had ceased to exist. I touched Nell’s arm. “Nell, are you well? Have you any pain?”

  “I have a headache. I hit my head, and a book flew into my eye.”

  I examined it. “It is bruised, but there is no blood. Anything else?” She shook her head.

  “Annette, are you all right?”

  “I think I have injured my leg and I cannot move my arm.”

  “Let me have a look.” Her leg had a nasty–looking cut, and her arm was bruised.

  “I must find Dr. Carter. Wait here,” I said.

  “But Jane, are you not hurt?” asked Annette.

  “I am sore all over, but I am sure it is nothing important.”

  “Your clothes are soiled,” Annette said

  I remembered I had been sick. I looked at my vomit–stained clothes and imagined it must sme
ll dreadfully, although fortunately the only odour which had washed its way into my senses was of brine and seaweed.

  “I will be back shortly with Dr. Carter.”

  I decided to replace my dress first. The letter was still on the floor, where I had left it, so I put it back carefully into the envelope, hid it in my clean dress pocket, and rushed out in search of help.

  ***

  Jane was behaving most strangely after the storm. She had returned with Dr. Carter fussing around Nell and insisting the doctor should make sure she was well. I had a bleeding cut on my leg and a bruised and painful arm, which Jane seemed to ignore.

  “Mrs. Mason, Nell is perfectly well, logically upset after the sudden and violent storm, but I must assist Miss Annette who has more serious contusions.”

  He busied himself gently swabbing and bandaging my wound, while Nell reassured Jane. “I am very well, Mrs. Mason, Look, it is Miss Annette’s leg which has blood. Dr. Carter must look after her.”

  Then Jane surprised us all by raising her voice impatiently. “Do not call me Mrs. Mason, or say Miss Annette or Dr. Carter again, Nell! You are to call us Jane and Annette from now on.”

  “Jane?” asked the confused child.

  “Yes, I am tired of hearing Mrs. Mason all day.” She turned to Dr. Carter. “And you too, Dr. Carter. You must call me Jane, and Annette is Annette, not Miss Mason.”

  Dr. Carter seemed to ignore her comments and proceeded to examine my arm. I winced as he turned it right and left and pressed my skin with soft movements, which I found unexpectedly comforting.

  “Well, it isn’t broken, Annette, just bruised.” My heart skipped a beat when I heard my name on his lips. He smiled warmly, and I wondered why I had never noticed his thick red eyelashes and sparkling blue eyes.

  “You can all call me Harry.”

  “Your name is Harry?” asked Nell. He nodded.

  “I like Harry,” she said. “I have never met anyone called Harry.”

  “Pleased to meet you Harry.” I held out my hand, which he held firmly and squeezed before taking it to his lips.

  “I suppose we have survived a storm which could easily have killed us. That should make us friends for life.” said Harry.

  We all laughed, thankful to be alive and well.

  “Now, Jane, how are you feeling?”

  “Better, much better, now that we are all well. Thank you Harry.” She hugged and kissed us all ardently and repeatedly. I imagined that such a profuse display of warmth and affection was the result of the build–up of the excitement of the journey and the stress of the storm.

  Hours later, we had dinner with the captain and the mate, as usual. We were all avid for information of the events that had occurred that morning, so he told us what had caused our predicament.

  “We crossed part of the Sargasso Sea in the middle of a tropical storm.”

  “I have never heard of this sea, Captain. Aren’t we in the Atlantic Ocean?” Nell asked.

  “The Sargasso Sea is a cool, tranquil, motionless area, more like a lake in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.”

  “That is strange, a sea in the middle of an ocean. How is that possible?” insisted Nell.

  He took a pen and pencil and drew a picture of the coast of the United States and Florida, and the scattered Caribbean islands to the south. He then added circular lines and arrows as he explained.

  “The currents of the Atlantic, entering the Gulf of Mexico, circle it gradually, making it a liquid island within an ocean.”

  “How strange.”

  “Some say the Sargasso Sea covers the island of Atlantis. Some people even think the seaweed is the vegetation of the ancient continent. If a ship is caught up, the voyage can be delayed for weeks, or even postponed permanently due to the weeds. The vegetation can solidify and take over ships, which have disappeared in its dense carpet of algae.”

  “Please, Captain. You are frightening our little girl,” said Jane.

  “I am not frightened now, Mrs…Jane. The storm has passed,” said Nell. “But why is it called Sargasso Sea?”

  “Apparently, the locals call it sargazo, a mixture of Spanish and their native tongue which must mean gulfweed. It is the name of the seaweed you can see in the sea.”

  “And why was there such a whirlwind?” Nell’s curiosity was insatiable.

  “Because the ocean streams surround it, and the lighter substances crowd together in the centre of the sea, where there is the least motion. When there is a storm encircling the stream, it builds up into a whirlwind in the centre, twists in circles, and hurls its contents. That is why we found tree trunks and tortoises on deck this morning, young lady.”

  “I suppose ships usually avoid it, why didn’t we? We could have sunk,” I asked him, rubbing my sore arm.

  “We avoided part of it, madam. We cut through the northern edge. If we had been nearer the centre, it would have pulled us inside, and we would now be conversing in purgatory. Ships rarely go anywhere near the wide Sargasso Sea when there are storms.”

  “So why did we?” I asked.

  “Because storms are unusual before July, and Mrs. Mason insisted on arriving as soon as possible, which meant taking a short cut. The storm was unforeseeable. We have just had a unique experience, and survived. We are fortunate, indeed,” he said gravely.

  Nell was oblivious to the dangerous moments we had experienced. “Yes, it was pretty this morning. I saw brown weed, large leafed plants, jellyfish, and floating tree trunks, wooden boards, and lots of seashells floating on the water. It was pretty!”

  “Some of those pretty things, as you call them, were probably the wreckage of other less fortunate ships who did not survive the storm. Many ships have been lost in the Sargasso Sea.”

  Nell was not deterred and continued her account of what she had seen earlier that day.

  “I saw some huge starfish, too. Some were bright pink, others orange, and there were turtles and birds. I hadn’t seen a bird since we left Eyre Hall, almost.”

  “That means we are near land. You see this little island in the middle,” he said, pointing again to the map he had drawn, “it is called Bermuda. We will be sailing past it tomorrow.”

  Nell gave a little jump and spun around. “Can we stop, Captain?” He shot a look at Jane whose eyes widened as she shook her head.

  “I am afraid we need to get to Jamaica as soon as possible,” he said.

  Nell dropped her arms and looked down to the wooden floorboards. Jane reached out and caught hold of her hand. “On our way back home, Helen, we shall stop on our way back if you like.”

  Nell wrinkled her nose and stared at Jane.

  “Would it displease you if I called you Helen? If we all called you Helen from now on?” asked Jane, shocking us all once more. “It would be like a game, and it would make me very happy. Do you mind, Helen?”

  Nobody dared to speak after Jane’s strange words. I turned to Harry, wondering if she had suffered some kind of shock during the storm, or perhaps it was the strain of the twenty–eight days we had been at sea, but he was smiling and broke the silence.

  “I think Helen is a beautiful name. I would like to use it, too, if you don’t mind, of course, Helen.” He stepped on my toe and nodded at me with a wink.

  “Helen is my favourite name,” I said, suddenly remembering the name on the envelope Diana had given Jane before we left. Could Nell be Jane’s daughter? She was the same age, and at times, she did look extraordinarily like Jane. I had thought it was the child’s desire to imitate her, but perhaps they were mother and daughter.

  “Any more questions, Helen?” asked the captain.

  “When will the seaweed go away? It is nice for a change, but I prefer to see the ocean; the seaweed is scary.”

  “Tomorrow, the ocean will resume its usual appearance, and we will be very near land, so near, in fact, that we may be able to see an island. Our journey is fast coming to an end.”

  We spent a pleasant afternoon reading and walk
ing along the deck, spotting starfish, huge seashells, plants, sea birds, and flowers.

  The following morning we all rushed up to the deck to see the beautiful island of Bermuda. The seaweed had almost disappeared and the waters were deep blue once again. Harry stood by my side caressing my hand with his. I did not move my hand away, and he threaded his fingers through mine and squeezed them gently. His warm hand and firm hold sent tickles all along my arm, and down to my fluttering stomach.

  Jane and Helen rushed down the deck to get a better view of the emerald coastal waters, white beaches, and lush green landscape.

  I sighed. “I had not realised how much I missed Jamaica until this very minute,”

  “I am not surprised. What breathtaking colours,” he whispered and turned to me.

  The view was unlike any other place on earth. The newly risen red sun shone radiantly above the horizon, and the bright colours around us sprang to life, while a warm breeze caressed my face. The salty smell of the sea, tinged with a hint of sweet tropical fruits, filled my senses.

  “Just like your eyes, your hair, your skin, and your lips.” His fingers tipped my chin upwards, and his lips brushed mine gently. I felt serene and hazy, my eyelids fell heavily, and my lips parted. He kissed me unhurriedly, embracing me tenderly, and I wished the magical moment could last forever.

  “Harry!” cried Helen, “Are you kissing Annette?”

  We broke away immediately and giggled self–consciously.

  “I apologise, Jane. I was not aware you had returned,” said Harry, looking perfectly mortified.

  “Not at all, no need to apologise,” Jane said, “and Helen, you should not be spying or peeking. Come, I believe Annette and Harry need some time alone, to talk.”

  He took my hand again. “I am not sorry I kissed you,” he said, looking at Bermuda.

  I moved closer. “Neither am I,” I whispered, and we kissed again and again, until Bermuda and the surrounding islands were only specks on the ocean.

  Later, after lunch, when we walked along the deck, hand in hand, I told him what was on my mind. I had seen too many lies and secrets ruin relationships. I cared for Harry, and I did not want to have to pretend I was an innocent damsel.