All Hallows at Eyre Hall: The Breathtaking Sequel to Jane Eyre (The Eyre Hall Trilogy Book 1)

by Luccia Gray

  Edward Rochester.

  “Is that all?”

  “Yes, well, there are a few lines I cannot decipher, but the message is clear. It is a petition for marriage.”

  “Wow, what fancy words! But why don’t they come to the point and say, ‘I love you’ or ‘marry me’? D’you think it’s worth anything?”

  “Not much. Who would want an old love letter?”

  “Suppose not.” He rubbed his stubbly chin first, then picked his bushy eyebrows, as if he were concocting a plan to obtain some sort of benefit from the epistle.

  “Simon, it is only valuable to Mrs. Rochester. She must have mislaid it, or someone stole it from her. I’m sure she would appreciate it being returned. It has sentimental value. It’s from her husband, and he is dying.”

  “What if I offers it to her? Do you think she might give me a tip for it?”

  “You might have to answer a lot of questions, like where did you find it? When did you find it? She may think you took it and are returning it for your benefit. Anyway, you’re not guaranteed she’d give you anything for it.”

  “Michael, you’re so clever. You think of everything. What can I do with it then?”

  “I suggest you put it on her desk, so she will find it. She will no doubt be pleased to recover it. It will be your good deed for the day.”

  “I ain’t interested in no good deeds. Good deeds never fed no one. I’ll put it back in the box then and keep it for a while. You never know when it might come in handy.”

  I realised the letter would bring serious problems, not only to whoever owned it, but also to both Mr. and Mrs. Rochester. He was on his deathbed, but the scandal would surely affect my mistress and young Master John. I realised I needed to keep the letter and give it to her myself at the right moment.

  “I wouldn’t keep it on me, if I were you. What are you doing with a private letter written by your master to his mistress? It would surely get you into trouble.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “Get rid of it.”

  “You mean burn it?”

  “No, don’t do that. I’m sure Mrs. Rochester would like to have it. Put it on her desk and she’ll find it there. She won’t know who put it there or why, but she’ll be glad to recover her husband’s love letter.”

  “Perhaps you’re right. What good is an old love letter from a husband to his wife, anyways?”

  “Mrs. Rochester is reading to Mr. Rochester now, but she will be coming down for lunch shortly. While she is having lunch in the dining room, go to the drawing room and put the letter on her writing desk. Make sure you draw the curtains between the two rooms, so that she does not see you. After lunch she goes back to the drawing room, sits at her desk and writes her letters. She’ll find it then and read it.”

  “Where shall I put it?”

  “Put it in her diary, it’s a large brown leather-covered book, which is always on the table next to the quill and the ink pot.”

  He scratched his head, looking confused.

  “And Simon, I wouldn’t mention it to anyone. No parodies or games, or you’d have a lot of explaining to do. This letter could get you into trouble, if anyone knows you have it. Count on me to keep your secret.”

  “Suppose you’re right.”

  “Let me read it one more time before Mrs. Leah comes.”

  “Be my guest, mate. I’m going to have some lunch. Stew smells good.”

  I sat on my bed and reread the distressing words.

  Dearest Uncle Robert,

  I know my father does not pay you well, and you know he does not treat me well. We must work together to free ourselves from his devilish claws. I am prepared to compensate you generously, if you help me get out of this inferno. I would prefer all the flee-ridden rats of London to these disgusting insects that pursue and bite English men, giving rise to a fever that makes a man loose his reason, as well as control of his limbs. Rats scuffle away when they see a man, but these murderous creatures of Satan pursue a man and drive him to a destiny that is worse than any plague. The fever turns you into another being with no reason, no will power. They reduce a man to a zombie. I tell you, I must return to England! I am plagued by a sorceress, who has gone mad, and this place is full of lazy, useless, sweaty natives, who cast spells and hypnotise innocent Englishmen.

  My agent, Mr. Cooper, who has delivered this letter, has informed me that my brother has been taken ill. He has told me Dr. Carter says it is a deadly scourge that is eating his liver. There is no hope for him. Uncle, I beseech you, I must have news of my father’s death, as soon as possible, and return to Thornfield to claim what is rightfully mine. I beseech you to assist me as you see fit, any discreet means, such as suffocation will be sufficient. He is old and weak, therefore, he will not resist. Know also that you have the compliance of both Mr. Cooper and Dr. Carter for any endeavour. Your apprentice, Mr. Wood, could be easily convinced to be of assistance, if needs be, but better leave him out of it, lest he should have an attack of guilt and take it on himself to confess.

  As soon as this is done (the sooner the better, or I may never return and will die in this Godforsaken hell), I will entreat to you half of my dowry. I would gladly give it all away to be rid of this inferno, but the other half will be used to take care of the mad creature, who has been thrust upon me. Destroy this letter as soon as you have understood the contents. Send a message through Mr. Cooper when all is clear to return home.

  You are a good, kind man and may find it difficult to accomplish this task, but may I also remind you how savagely my father treated my mother, your sister, probably breaking her heart and her body into irretrievable pieces? Let this thought give you the strength you may need to help me and avenge her memory. I trust your kind wife, Mrs. Fairfax, is in good health and recovered after her recent illness. Rest assured that neither of you will ever need anything, as long as I am Master of Thornfield.

  Your nephew,

  Edward Rochester.

  I was not sure what should be done with the letter yet, but I did know it should not fall into unscrupulous hands. My mistress had enough worries on her mind. I realised it was time for her to receive some good news, so I proceeded to write a letter which she would receive, instead of her husband’s murderous request.

  I returned the letter to Simon and went upstairs to Adele’s first floor tower room to get some paper and a pen. I knew she had gone out for her usual midmorning walk with the dogs. Her room overlooked the gardens, so I would see her return. I wrote my letter in a few brief minutes. I had written many imaginary letters to my mistress over the last three years. None had been put to paper, because I never thought I would materialise my fantasy until an hour ago. Suddenly it dawned on me that the precise moment had come, not only to write the letter, but also to deliver it to the woman I had adored in silence, since I was a boy. I reread the contents until I saw Adele approach the front door, followed by Piper, Keeper and Flossy, who were busy sniffing the limp, battered leaves along the driveway. I put the letter in my pocket and dashed down the stairs to open the door for Miss Adele.

  “Nice walk, Miss Adele?”

  “Quite chilly actually, Michael. I can hardly feel my hands, in spite of my mittens. Make sure all the hearths are in full swing today, it is deathly cold!”

  “Yes, miss.”

  “What’s the matter, Michael? You’re breathless, and you look quite dishevelled. Mrs. Rochester will be most shocked if she sees you serving lunch like that! For God’s sake, go and clean yourself up!”

  “Yes, Miss Adele. At once. Will you be having lunch in the dining room with Mrs. Rochester today?”

  “Yes. Something light. Jane isn’t very hungry today. Bring up some bread and butter, milk and honey, some hot broth, and cold meat, preferably mutton, and some tea for me.”

  “I’ll ask Cook to prepare it immediately.”

  Later, when I brought up the lunch tray and set it on the table, my mistress was indeed pale and lost in her thoughts. I had im
agined my declaration would cheer her up. It would let her know that someone loved her more than himself, more than anything in the world. Suddenly my chest tightened and I couldn’t breathe, perhaps my letter would not please her. Perhaps it would trouble her even more than she already was. Perhaps she would expel me from her side and I would never see her again. No! That would be worse than death.

  “Michael? Are you alright? You look most unwell.” Adele’s voice was sharp and loud, as usual, unaware of anyone’s feelings except her own. She might understand me if I could speak to her about my silent adoration, but of course I had to keep my secret. I coughed and started breathing. “I am very well, Miss Adele, just a little cold.”

  “But you were too warm only a while ago. Perhaps you have a fever!” insisted Adele with a prickly scream.

  “Michael, go and rest for a while, if you are not well.” My mistress’s voice was absent, but soft and caring. Her heavy eyes rested on mine for a moment longer than I could bear. I wished I could embrace her and tell her she shouldn’t be distressed because I loved her and would protect her from anyone who ever tried to harm her. I wanted to tell her I would gladly die for her, because my life without her was worthless. Instead, I turned my eyes down to the table and insisted that I was in good health.

  She spoke again softly. “You had a busy day yesterday. Make sure you rest after lunch, Michael.”

  I could hear Simon in the drawing room, fidgeting by the desk. Much as I detested the idea that he would touch her diary and her personal papers with his uncouth hands, it was the only way to recover the letter. He would leave it there for her, and I would exchange it for my love letter and keep the Master’s letter myself. I heard the wood squeak under the weight of his footsteps, then the sharp snap of the door closing.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Rochester, but I am well. I will go to the drawing room and make sure the fire is kindled. I’m afraid today is the chilliest day we have yet had.”

  I slid the curtain to one side, making sure it hung back in its place behind me. As I approached my mistress’ majestic oak desk, I heard Adele’s piercing voice once more reproaching my appearance. I heard my mistress answer quietly, asking Adele to stop berating me because I had never been sick for a single day in five years. I was sure she valued my service, but I shuddered to think what she would feel after reading my letter. Simon’s letter bulged in her diary. I pulled it out and replaced it with mine, sliding her husband’s letter into my pocket, and then walked towards the fire, poking the coals to spark up the flames.

  The blood had drained from my head and chest and descended to my heavy feet. I fell to my knees before the fire and begged God to save my mistress from pain. She deserved to be happy. She deserved to be loved. The bright orange flames glowing on my face warmed my soul. She would soon read my letter. I had opened my heart to her, it was in her hands. What would she do with it? Crumple it in her fingers? Burn it in the fire? Laugh at me for my presumptuousness? Hate me for my cheek? Cast me away for my depravation in daring to even think of her in such a way? It was true. I was not worthy of her; no one was good enough for her. How could I have dared to love her? How could I have dared to importune her? I needed to remove the letter. I had been a fool to even imagine she would want to read its contents.

  I stood up, my body warmed, my blood circulating once more, and returned to the desk to retrieve the imprudent words I had written. Too late! Adele drew the curtains with a swift sharp pull before I could complete my purpose.

  “Shall we sit here and rest a few minutes, Jane? It’s the warmest room in the house.”

  “Yes, stay with me for a while, Adele.”

  My mistress turned away from Adele to look at me before speaking. “You look much recovered, Michael. Are you still cold?” I nodded, unable to speak once more. I was about to leave the room, when she called me back.

  “Just a minute, Michael. I would like you to run an errand for me this evening before supper.”

  She got up and sat at her desk, then moved her diary to one side gently to make room for some note paper. My legs felt as heavy as lead and then soft like jelly, as her hand inadvertently approached my letter. She dipped her pen in the ink bottle and scratched a brief message, blotted it, folded it over and slid it into an envelope, which she closed with the Rochester seal.

  “Please take this message to the Rochester Arms. You must deliver it personally to the person whose name is on the envelope and wait for an answer.” I nodded. “And Michael, ask Mrs. Leah to come up when she has had lunch. I need to speak to her about dinner tomorrow and housekeeping arrangements. We will be having guests shortly.”

  My letter was still inside her diary. Unseen. Untouched. Unread. No longer in my possession, but not yet in hers. What had I done?

  “Michael, what is the matter? You are quite pale once more.”

  I could not reply. I was paralysed with fear and quite unable to move or utter a single word. Had I made a mistake beyond repair?

  “Rest for a while before you take the message. The next few days will be very busy at Eyre Hall.”

  She took a step closer and deposited the envelope in my hand, which she squeezed lightly. Then she pressed her other hand against my forehead.

  “Michael, your hands are cold and your face is too warm. Tell me, are you feeling unwell?”

  “I told you he was unwell, Jane,” accused Adele from the other side of the room, on the couch by the hearth.

  I heard myself speak. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Rochester. I must have caught cold yesterday on my way to Ferndean.”

  “Sit by the stove in the kitchen, keep warm and eat before you go. If you do not feel better, Simon can take the message.” She took my hand with both of hers and spoke softly, making sure Adele did not hear. “It is very important, so I would prefer if you could do it for me, please. And do take care, Michael.”

  My hand was trapped in hers and my heart was lost in her imploring eyes for the longest moment in time. When she finally released my hand, I nodded and said, “Of course, Mrs. Rochester,” before leaving the room.

  I leaned against the wall in the hall, too dazed to walk down to the kitchen at once. Adele’s renewed admonishment rang through the walls.

  “That boy is either sick or in love. Stuttering and stumbling like a schoolboy...”

  I held my breath, waiting for my mistress’ reply.

  “Nonsense, Adele! Michael is too healthy and too sensible for either.”

  ***

  Chapter X Mrs. Leah

  I took my housekeeping diary and pencil and went up to the drawing room as required to plan the week’s housekeeping with the mistress of the house. I had worked for the present Mr. Rochester since I was thirteen, almost two years before Miss Jane Eyre arrived at Thornfield Hall as governess to Miss Adele.

  I had been lucky to work for the Rochester family at Thornfield Hall. Everyone in Millcote, Hay, and the surrounding hamlets had heard of the Rochesters. They had owned most of the land in the area for at least four generations. Anyone who rented from them, hunted on their lands, or worked there had been appointed, or at least authorised by them. I myself had been sent to work at Thornfield from Highgrove Orphanage at Millcote. The headmaster, Mr. Brockbank, told me how lucky I was to have been chosen to work at the Rochester’s Great Hall, although I had never been aware of being chosen and never found out how it had happened. In any case, I was happier than I had been at Highgrove. The rooms were warmer, and the food was more plentiful.

  There was no mistress at Thornfield Hall, which was an obvious advantage, as mistresses are far more demanding and intrusive of their servants’ work. There was a master, who was often moody and at times vociferous, but we hardly ever saw him because he was usually away.

  The work was hard because the house was big and there were few servants, so we rarely had an afternoon off, but the conditions were pleasant enough. Mrs. Fairfax, the housekeeper, was an amiable manager, who rarely scolded and usually deemed our work had been well done.
Her late husband, Mr. Robert Fairfax, who had been clergyman at Hay, had been a relative of Mr. Rochester’s mother. She made no fuss of it, although to be sure she always kept her distance from the rest of the servants, and would have dinner with the master when he was in the house. She informed me that Mr. Brockbank had told Mr. Rochester that my mother had been a hapless Irish maid who had died in childbirth.

  Mrs. Fairfax was especially kind to me from the very first day I arrived. She would often ask me to read to her due to her failing vision. She was keen on the Book of Proverbs, because she said they contained God-given counsel to help us discern between good and evil. I presumed they were the ramblings of an old woman, yet over twenty years later, I often find myself rereading them and recalling her wise words and gentle voice, as she explained the teachings while I read to her.

  I’ll never forget the day I met Jane Eyre. It was the beginning of October, twenty-four years ago exactly. She was short and slight, and sickly pale. She stood insecurely in the kitchen, as if the ground might sink in under her feet, and looked quite ghostlike in her coarse, thickly woven black dress and black straw bonnet. Her hands were covered with black gloves and a muff. A black and grey woollen cloak, which seemed quite insufficient for the freezing weather she must have encountered, hung over her shoulders.

  She had just arrived at Thornfield Hall after an eighteen hour coach journey from an institution for orphans in Lowood. Mrs. Fairfax had sent a coachman to collect her at the George Inn in Millcote and bring her to our household. Miss Eyre looked as frail as a porcelain plate and as hungry as a church mouse. Her round, lidded and corded wooden trunk, which resembled a shipwrecked treasure chest, easily weighed more than she did herself, clothes and all. Mrs. Fairfax must have thought, as I had, that she hadn’t eaten in a week, and asked me to make her some hot negus and cut some sandwiches, no doubt to get some life into her, in case she would die of exhaustion and starvation that very night.