by Luccia Gray
“When are we going back to Eyre Hall?”
She had suffered many similar episodes of memory lapse since we had escaped from the asylum. Harry had warned me that people in shock often lost parts of their memory, but he assured me she would recover once she was safe, and I wondered when we would ever be safe together again.
I drew the curtains and pulled her into my arms. “Jane, we can’t go back to Eyre Hall at the moment.”
I felt her fingers press into my back. “Do you remember what happened?” I asked her.
“What’s happening to me, Michael? Sometimes I don’t know where I am. I feel terrified, but I can’t remember why. Other times I see faces of people I’ve never seen before and I’m afraid, and I can’t breathe.”
I squeezed my arms around her. “Don’t worry, you’re safe now, my love.”
“Michael, I’m so afraid. Don’t ever leave me.”
“Whatever happens, I promise I’ll never leave you, Jane.”
I waited for her to stop crying and resume her regular breathing before telling her we should leave.
The admiral had instructed me to take a cab to Kilpeck, which was about a hundred miles away. I found a driver who promised to take us there in less than two days for sixty shillings, plus meals. He was willing to sleep in the cab, but I offered him a room at the inn. The admiral had given us enough money to cover the cost, and I thought it best to make sure the driver rested and drove us safely to our destination.
The seats on the cab were wooden boards, which made the bumpy ride uncomfortable. I lined the bench with blankets so that Jane could lie down and rest her head on my lap for most of the journey. I busied myself massaging her head and combing her short hair with my fingers. “When your hair’s long again, we’ll be on our own, far away from everyone who wants to keep us apart.”
“You’ll have to think of something, Michael, because I’m useless at the moment. I’m far too exhausted and upset to devise a sensible plan. I can’t seem to keep my eyes open, or even think clearly. I feel like I’m drifting through time and space, like a cloud. I’m not even sure where I am now.”
“You’re safe. You’re with me, Jane. I’ll take care of you from now on.”
A few hours after sundown, the cab driver stopped at an inn. He claimed the horses needed to eat and rest, and so did he. We took some rooms and ate. I asked for a hot tub in our room and we left the driver to drink with the innkeeper. I hoped he would be ready at the crack of dawn, as he had assured me, because we had to arrive at Kilpeck the following evening, Christmas Eve, if my plan was to work.
Jane sat in the tub until the water was almost cold. I helped her out, wrapped her in a towel and lay her on the bed. She winced.
“Are you in pain, Jane?”
“The bath was wonderful, Michael, but it hurts.”
Harry had examined her thoroughly and told me she had no serious physical injuries, but I wondered if he had missed something.
“Where is the pain, Jane?”
“Everywhere.”
“Show me.” She pointed to her legs and her neck and shoulders.
“Lie down with your face to the bed. I have bought some ointment to soothe the pain.”
My fingers gently kneaded her back, her shoulders, and her legs. She moaned drowsily, and I could feel her body light up with desire. She turned to face me. Her eyes were closed and she seemed to be asleep, and, although her words were muffled, I heard her clearly. “I love you, Michael”
I missed her so much and desired her so desperately that I wished I had less willpower. I wanted to make love to her, but she wasn’t well enough yet.
“Do you still love me, Michael?”
“Jane, I’ve never loved you more than I do this minute, but you’re tired, and weak, and you’ve taken laudanum. You need to sleep and be looked after, and that’s what I’m going to do until you’re well enough to be devoured by my love.”
“Are you sure you still love this sick and ragged bag of bones?”
I traced my fingers along her arms and across her face. “I love every single inch of skin, every tiny pore and hair.” I pressed my lips on her eyelids. “And every single eyelash on your weary eyes.” My lips brushed over hers. “You are the reason I breathe every day. Nothing else matters, Jane. You are my world.”
Hours later, when the sun peeped through the curtains, she was still wrapped in my arms, and I felt like the luckiest man alive. She turned and I closed my eyes, pretending to be asleep. She kissed me and whispered, “Michael, I’m starving. Where’s Beth?”
My eyes sprang open. I sat up and pushed my hands through my hair.
“Michael, what’s wrong?”
Every morning she woke up, she forgot where we were, what had happened and where we were going. Could I help her recover? Would she ever understand what had occurred?
“Michael, tell me, please.”
I pulled her into my arms, pressed her against my chest and whispered into her hair. “We’re not at Eyre Hall any more, and we can’t go back, Jane.” Her body trembled and I knew she was stifling her tears. “Don’t cry, my love. We’re alive, and we’re together. We’ll start a new life, Jane. I promise.”
She hardly spoke during the journey, although she placed her hand firmly in mine. She must have recognised the small Norman church, with its stone walls and carved corbels, where Mr Wharton carried out christenings, weddings, funerals, and Sunday services.
“I never liked the graveyard. The headstones are far too near the church,” she said, and I knew she was having gloomy thoughts, and so was I.
“We’re close to Mary’s cottage. What are we going to do when we arrive, Michael?”
“Your cousins will look after you.”
“My cousins?” I nodded. I had to let her believe I would leave her with them.
“What do you mean?”
I didn’t reply. I knew Mr. Wharton would not let me stay for very long at his house. Perhaps it would be for the better. Jane would eventually recover and return to Eyre Hall with her son, and I would travel to a faraway land in search of my fortune and a new life. Would that be the best thing to do? Is that what Jane needed? Was I being selfish by keeping her by my side?
“Why are you so quiet, Michael?”
I could not postpone the inevitable. I had to tell her. “I promised the admiral I would leave you here and return to London, to join the navy again.”
“Why did you make such a promise, Michael?” Her face grew even paler and her eyes wider, searching mine. “Why?”
“Because it was the only way to stop him turning us in to the archbishop. You would have returned to the asylum and I would be in prison. That’s why, Jane.”
The chickens and geese were running around Thrush Cottage when the cab stopped outside the courtyard.
Jane’s eyes were full of tears. “You should have told me.”
I looked up at the upstairs windows of the farmhouse where the bedrooms should be and turned to Jane. I realised there was something I had to tell her before I left. “Jane, I’ll be back. Remembrance like a candle burns brightest at night.”
She shot me a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”
But I had no time to reply. Mr. Wharton pulled the door open and thrust his hand into the carriage. “Come, Jane,” he said. His jaw was clenched and his eyes held a look of disgust as they swept over my face.
She hesitated and turned to me. I looked away and watched as she placed her fingers in his palm. He pulled her out with a sharp tug. She almost slipped, so I moved forward to steady her.
Mr. Wharton grabbed my arm. “Stay where you are.”
I realised I would not even be allowed into the house. Jane turned around and tried to get back into the cab, saying my name, but he pulled her arm and easily hauled her forwards. He was a large heavy man, and Jane’s eyes were terrified.
Her cousin Mary walked along the path and hugged her. “Jane, it’s wonderful to see you again. Come, we will take good care of you from now on.
Soon everything will be as it was. Tomorrow is Christmas Day. I’m so glad you’ll be spending the holidays with us.”
Jane pulled away from her cousin and made a feeble attempt to move back to the cab. Mr. Wharton stood in front of the door. I wanted to tell Jane that I would be back for her in a few hours; as soon as the moonless night cast its dark shadow, I would take her away.
“Get away from my property, you shameless scoundrel. Haven’t you made her suffer enough already?”
I could have finished the matter there and then. I could have knocked them both unconscious and removed Jane from their sordid grasp, but I didn’t want to distress her any more. She had witnessed enough violence. I hoped I would be able to take her away quietly and safely later in the evening.
“I won’t be calling the constable because Admiral Fitzjames seems to think he owes you something as your father died on board his ship. There is no doubt in my mind that you should be punished for what’s happened to Jane. I’d like to see you in jail for the rest of your life, but my brother-in-law seems to think he’s made a pact with you and wants to keep it. He says you’re a man of honour, but I can see through you, Mr. Kirkpatrick. You’re not a man to be trusted.”
He turned to the cab driver. “Take this man straight to Birmingham at once.” The driver nodded, and although I had paid him for the return journey he added, “Of course, but that’ll cost you. He only paid me to bring him here.”
Mr. Wharton took some coins out of his pocket and handed them to the driver, and then pointed an accusing finger at me. “You better make sure you take the next train to London, and never come back.”
“You have my word I shall never return to Kilpeck.”
He slammed the cab door and shouted, “Go!” to the driver. I could hear Jane’s sobs, but I looked away. They had to believe I wouldn’t return.
I was about to call the driver and ask him to stop at the inn we had passed before reaching the church, when he pulled the carriage off the road and sat in the back with me. “Right mate, looks like you’re in big trouble.”
“Not if they think I’m going to London.”
“You don’t want me to take you to Birmingham, then?”
“Not at the moment. I’m going back for my companion and we shall go to London together; perhaps you could take us?”
“It’ll cost you.”
“How much?”
“How much you got?”
“A few guineas.”
“Seems to me you’ve got a mighty big problem. You’ll need to give me a lot more than a few guineas to keep me from turning you in to the constable.”
I had thought of offering him money to take us to our next destination, but I realised I couldn’t trust him. I didn’t have time to lose, and I needed every penny I had to carry out the next part of my plan. I also needed his horse and carriage.
“Will you take me to the inn first so that we can negotiate your payment?”
“I don’t think so.” He took out a knife. “Give me everything you have. I saw you pay at the inn. You had lots of money in your purse. What do they want you for? Thieving?”
He thrust the knife forward and tried to stab me, but I dodged and managed to jump out of the carriage.
He followed me out. “You better hand over the money unless you want the law to find you.”
“Very well, you win. My purse is in my boots.” I bent down as if to untie my bootlaces, but instead I kicked the knife out of his hand, knocking him onto the ground. I jumped on him, thrusting my knee on his chest, and grabbed the knife.
“Sorry, mate. I was joking. I’ll leave you here and be on my way. No hard feelings.”
I held the knife to his throat. He deserved to die, and I wanted to kill him, but Jane’s tortured face and pleading words came to my mind. “Don’t kill him, Michael. They’ll hang you.”
I pulled him up, threw him into the carriage and told him to take his clothes off. I ripped his shirt and tied his hands behind his back, led him into a nearby wood, and used the rest of the torn shirt and belt to tie his feet. I had to gag him because he wouldn’t stop shouting. I waited an hour by his side, until nightfall. He was shivering but fully conscious when I left him. I supposed someone would find him the following morning. I had made sure he thought we’d be going to London, which is what he would say if anyone asked him about us, but we’d be well away by then, on our way to Bristol.
I hoped Jane was alone in her room, because I didn’t want to have to use violence on the Whartons, unless it was inevitable.
When I arrived at the cottage, there were some candles lit in one of the downstairs rooms, and one upstairs. I waited until the downstairs lights were out, but the upstairs candle flickered on. I held my breath and threw a pebble up to the window, hoping that Jane had understood my message, and had left her candle burning.
Seconds later I breathed again, as her smiling face hung out of the window. She held out her hand, gesturing to me to wait. Seconds later, a crumpled piece of paper flew out of the window.
“Back door. I love you.”
I walked to the rear of the house and waited.
“I thought you weren’t coming back, Michael.” Her voice was less than a whisper as I brushed my lips against hers.
“Let’s go, Jane. We’re leaving and nobody is stopping us.”
We ran down the path and along the lane to the place where I had left the horse and carriage. I made sure she was comfortable with the cushions and blankets I had placed on the wooden bench, and told her to sleep. I jumped onto the driver’s seat and spurred the horse on down the moonless, solitary lane and on to the next stage in our journey.
***
Part Two: Spring of Hope
The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?
Ode to the West Wind by Percy Bysshe Shelley
A man’s reach should exceed his grasp, or what’s heaven for?
Andrea del Sarto by Robert Browning.
Chapter XI – Locked out of Heaven
The journey from Kilpeck to St. Ives was longer and more dangerous than I had imagined, and Jane was still not fully recovered. The first stage to Swansea was the quickest. We left the Wharton’s in the dead of night. The following afternoon, the magnificent gothic spire of Saint Elvan’s Church, presiding over the valley of Cynon, welcomed us to Aberdare. The bells pealed boisterously, beckoning us to approach the Christmas Day celebrations. I realised it was a large town, which must have many beggars around the church, so I left the horse and carriage close to some nearby trees, certain that someone in need would make good use of it. We walked across the meadow towards the town centre, in search of an inn to eat and a coachman willing to take us to Swansea that very evening.
When we arrived, the sea was so rough that even watching the furious waves bursting into white froth against the rocky harbour made Jane so sick and uneasy that I decided it would be better for her to travel in a laudanum-induced sleep for the rest of our journey. I was relieved that she would never remember our perilous escape from her cousin’s home.
We took a room for the night at a modest brownstone inn, where I bathed Jane and gave her some beef tea, which was the only food I was able to persuade her to have. Then I left her in deep slumber while I went to the nearest public house, full of rowdy seafarers, in order to find a pilot who would take us to Ilfracombe, the next stage in our journey. It was not easy, because cutters were not allowed to go beyond the Swansea pilotage, so Ilfracombe was out of bounds, meaning it would cost me double the price, but it would guarantee our escape. Nobody would suspect I’d take Jane across the treacherous Bristol Channel in a cutter with a hired pilot, but it was our safest option to reach Devon without leaving a trace.
I found a pilot who agreed to transport us for a guinea, double his weekly salary, and his debts at the cutter’s pub. I didn’t trust him to be sober enough in the morning to do the job on his own, so I spent the trip on deck, helping him with the
masts and steering in the treacherous waters.
I wrapped Jane in a woollen blanket and tied her to the bunk bed below deck, so she would not be tossed around the boat in the wild waters of the Bristol Channel. It couldn’t have been worse than the storm she’d experienced in the Sargasso Sea on her way to Jamaica, but I was glad she was oblivious to the crossing. She was sick when I went down to see her, and I couldn’t fathom how, as she hadn’t eaten anything solid for days. Her skin was ashen, and dark circles framed her dull eyes. I hadn’t planned to stop at Ilfracombe, because I wanted to reach our final destination as soon as possible, but I realised we’d have to stay, because Jane needed to rest for at least a few days.
Jane had not yet recovered from her son’s betrayal and her stay at the asylum. Both her cousins’ lack of sympathy had devastated her, and she was missing Helen and her life at Eyre Hall. Finally, I had led her to believe I had abandoned her, when Mr. Wharton ordered me to leave Thrush Cottage. She was still confused, mumbling incoherently or sleeping most of the day, but at least I was sure we were safe, at last. Nobody would find us.
The Whartons would suppose we had gone to Birmingham or Bristol and then to London, but we had travelled in the exact opposite direction. We were heading to Cornwall via Swansea, the Bristol Channel, and Devon. By the time the archbishop was informed, we would be impossible to trace.
Ilfracombe’s pale grey uniform terraced houses looked drab in comparison to the colourful landscape. The afternoon we arrived, a violent storm poured over the gloomy buildings and continued its merciless onslaught throughout the following day. Jane sat by the window overlooking the harbour, watching the dark waters and gradually recovering her senses. I convinced her to eat some stew and bread and drink some ale, and miraculously she was not sick this time, as she had been almost every day since she had left the asylum.
I found a copy of A Christmas Carol in the lounge. She accepted it, saying only, “Thank you, Michael,” and started reading at once, which was a good sign. I told her I would return shortly and left in order to buy some items we would require for the rest of our journey.