by Luccia Gray
She coughed and breathed with difficulty. “I can’t do this. I can’t go up and see his dead body. I killed him.”
“I told you, you killed no one. It was his time to leave us. He was called.”
She broke away from me and stood up impatiently.
“What about John? How will his father’s death affect him?”
I stood by her side. “It is you John needs. His father has been unable to help him for some time.”
“How will I have the necessary authority?”
“You will, you already do. You have been dealing with the house, the tenants and the administrator for the last year.”
“What about his sins, Michael? Who will pay for his sins?”
Her brow was furrowed and her eyes shone in the dark room. I knew what I had to say to ease her pain. “The soul who sins shall die. The son shall not suffer for the iniquity of the father, nor the father suffer for the iniquity of the son. The righteousness of the righteous shall be upon himself, and the wickedness of the wicked shall be upon himself.”
“But I killed him!”
“Nobody killed him. He died because his time had come. He was called by our Lord; that is why he died.”
“If only I could believe it.”
“Believe it. It is the truth. You must be strong. Mr. Rochester is in the past. Helen is your future. She needs her mother. We must find her. We will find her.”
“I know you are right, but I feel so terribly guilty.”
I took her hands and spoke quietly. “You cannot feel guilty for his death or for his sins. They are his sins, only his.”
She kissed my hands once more, and I moved them up towards her face; her cheeks were flushed. “You look warmer. Are you feeling better?”
She nodded and put her arms around me. I held her tightly, closing my eyes, imagining a world in which we were alone together. Seconds later, Simon’s unintelligible screams startled us. As he rushed down the stairs, his words started to make more sense. “Master is dead! Mr. Rochester is dead!”
She gasped. “Oh my God! Simon has already discovered Edward’s corpse.”
Her fearful face looked up to mine urgently. “What shall I do now?”
“You must accompany your son upstairs to pay your last respects.”
“I can’t do it.”
“John needs you, you must be strong. It will be a very long night, Mrs. Rochester.”
“The longest night of my life,” she whispered.
“I will be by your side.”
Minutes later, I watched her leave the room tearfully and walked behind her quietly.
***
Chapter XXIV Deceased
“Mrs. Rochester! The master is dead! We must stop the clocks and drape all the mirrors in the house, or his spirit will be trapped. He will not be able to leave Eyre Hall, so he will haunt us forever! The windows must be opened and the curtains drawn to let the good spirits in to look after him and keep the malignant out. We must bring ice from the kitchen to put under the bed, or malignant life will crawl out of his mouth and ears.”
Simon had reached the bottom of the staircase as I stepped out of the library into the hall with Michael. The drawing room door opened and Adele screamed, “Simon! For goodness sake be quiet, you will wake all the dead in the graveyard!”
John was standing behind Adele looking bewildered. “Mother, what has happened?”
His face was white and his expression quite horrified. I rushed to his side. “John, he is at peace at last. There is nothing we can do, except pray.”
“Father!” He shouted, as he pushed past me and rushed up the staircase.
“Wait!” I screamed and turned to Michael. “Michael, go with him! He can’t be alone now!” Michael obeyed at once.
Bishop Templar turned to me and spoke gravely. “Mrs. Rochester, may I suggest we follow John and say some prayers by his bedside?”
“Of course, my Lord, let us go upstairs together.” I took his arm and beckoned to Adele. “Adele, darling, will you come up with us?”
“Not yet, Jane. I can’t bear to think of his lifeless body! I can’t go up now.”
She seemed so distressed that I had no choice but to agree. “Well, wait here. Mr. Greenwood, would you be so kind as to accompany Adele in such a painful moment for her and console her as best you can?”
“Of course, Mrs. Rochester. Come, Adele, let us wait in the drawing room.”
“Mr. Mason, Annette, will you be so kind as to wait a few minutes while I go upstairs with Bishop Templar?”
“Mrs. Rochester, I would like to go up with you, if you don’t mind.” Annette was looking at me earnestly. I had told her Edward was her father. She had just met him and he was dead, quite a dreadful succession of events for an evening. “Of course you can. Are you sure you won’t be too distressed?”
“Quite sure.”
“Then come with us. Mr. Mason, would you kindly wait with Adele and Mr. Greenwood?”
“Of course, madam. Accept my most sincere condolences, and if I can be of any use, please let me know.”
“Thank you, Mr. Mason.”
Before heading up the stairs I turned to Simon. “Please see to the clocks. Go down to the kitchen to tell the rest of the household what has happened and bring some drapery to cover the mirrors, and of course, the ice.”
“Yes, madam.”
“I will tell Michael to fetch the undertakers at Millcote and Dr. Carter.”
“Yes, madam.”
“I understand you worked for an undertaker in London before working at Eyre Hall, is that so?”
He nodded proudly. “Yes, madam.”
“Could you dress Mr. Rochester when…?” Tears came to my eyes as I said his name. My feet softened and floated and my hand slipped from the Bishop’s arm. The floor swayed and I lost my balance. I felt rough, sturdy fingers clasp my waist as I fell backwards and looked into Mr. Mason’s furrowed brow.
“Mrs. Rochester! Are you unwell?”
“Thank you, Mr. Mason. I am feeling a little dizzy.”
“Please, allow me to accompany you upstairs.” I nodded, and he held out his arm for me to cling to. “Thank you, Mr. Mason.”
When we arrived at the top of the stairs, the gallery seemed darker and narrower than usual and the floor was rolling, as if I were walking on waves. Tears were running freely down my cheeks and I was still having difficulty breathing.
Mr. Mason took my hand in his and squeezed it hard. “Unfortunately, Mrs. Rochester, this is God’s plan for all of us.” I cringed at his touch, which fortunately brought me back to reality.
Inside Edward’s chamber our son was kneeling down on the floor by his father’s side, holding his hand and kissing it. Annette was kneeling down on the opposite side of the bed, doing exactly the same. Bishop Templar stood behind John with his hands on his shoulders, attempting to comfort him, while Mr. Mason left my side and stood vigilantly behind Annette.
The bishop was speaking, but my heart was thumping so loudly I could not hear what he was saying. The room was hot and the air was thick and putrid. I looked at my husband and gasped. Edward’s eyes were frighteningly open, as if he had seen a ghost, and his mouth was wide open, too, as if he had gasped for air before dying. His face was as pale as death itself and his chest crushed and lifeless. He had gone.
Once more I felt my legs bend into the floor. The hexagonal forms on the carpet were sliding into squares as my stomach churned. Michael rushed to my side and I managed to say, “I’m going to be sick,” just before he carried me to the toilet table. When I had finished, he took the ewer and poured some water on my hands and I washed my face, then he led me to a chair at the foot of the bed.
I heard the distant voice of the bishop saying some prayers to bid him farewell and facilitate his transit to his new abode in the Kingdom of Heaven, but I was not sure if that would be his destination. He had not confessed his sins. He had not repented for his misdeeds. He had not made his peace with our creator b
efore dying, and he might not be allowed to leave Eyre Hall yet.
I stood up and turned to Michael beckoning him to follow me. We walked out of the chamber and turned into the shorter gallery and the stairs leading to my chamber, where we could not be seen. His eyes shone in the unlit passage. I reached for his hands and he pulled me closer, whispering, “Are you all right, Mrs. Rochester?”
“Yes, I shall be all right.”
“You look unwell.”
“Michael, please go to Millcote and bring the undertaker as soon as possible. There are many preparations that need to be attended.”
“It shall take more than four hours. Will you not need me here?”
“Simon will attend to matters here in the meantime. He knows what to do.”
His concerned eyes bore into mine. “But you will be alone.”
“Only for a few hours.”
He moved closer. “Before you go, Mrs. Rochester, promise me something.”
“What is it?”
“Promise me you will not take any of Mr. Rochester’s drops.”
He was right. I had thought of succumbing to the easy comfort of the miraculous drug. I put my arms around him. “Hold me, Michael.”
He spoke into my hair. “I cannot leave, if you do not promise. I saw you looking at Mr. Rochester’s medicine cabinet.”
“You are right, the temptation is great.”
“It is very harmful. Think of John, he needs you, so does Helen… and so do I.”
I pressed my face into his chest, praying I would be strong enough to get through the wake and the funeral without breaking down, or relapsing into the comfort of laudanum once again. It was a pleasant and swift evasion, but I shuddered at the thought of its dire consequences, which I had already experienced. Michael was stroking my hair, waiting for my reply. “Promise me,” he insisted.
I broke away and smiled. “I promise. Now go, and please be careful, Michael. It is very late and there is a full moon. Last month a pack of foxes attacked a farmer.”
He told me he would be back as soon as possible and I returned to the death chamber. They were all looking at Edward and listening to Bishop Templar’s prayers, except Mr. Mason, whose dark ominous eyes were fastened on me as I entered the room. We listened in solemn silence to the familiar words of Christian consolation. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me...”
Minutes later Simon arrived with drapery for the long mirror. He told me he had covered all the other mirrors in the house and had stopped the clocks. I told him to bring the ice and wash, shave, and dress Edward in his best clothes. We all left when he returned to prepare the corpse.
Downstairs in the drawing room, Adele was still distraught and being consoled by Mr. Greenwood. I excused myself and went downstairs to discuss arrangements with Mrs. Leah.
***
I had been waiting for Mrs. Rochester’s instructions, so I was not surprised when I heard her tread heavily down the stairs while I was sitting in the kitchen, having a cup of tea with Cook, Beth, Christy and Susan. The maids we had hired for the dinner had already left, Simon was preparing the corpse upstairs, and Michael had gone to fetch the undertakers. She walked in sorrowfully and spoke slowly. “Mr. Rochester has died.” We stood up and expressed our condolences tearfully, and then she addressed me personally regarding the arrangements for the following days.
“I’m afraid it’s going to be a long night. We will not be sleeping. We will need food and drink upstairs for tonight. Tomorrow we will have more guests coming to express their condolences, so please make sure there is someone in the drawing room and a footman at the door all day. There must be enough food and drink for everyone who wishes to pay their respects. Employ extra staff. If you found the young girls, who were here yesterday satisfactory, call them back for the week. I leave it to your judgment, Mrs. Leah.”
“What can I do, Mrs. Rochester?” volunteered Susan. “I could help in the afternoons, after school.”
“Very well, Susan. You can help the footman receive the visitors at the door and take care of the cloaks, umbrellas, hats and bonnets. Prepare the dining room for that purpose, as we will all be eating and receiving guests in the drawing room.”
“Would you like me to prepare cake and sandwiches, madam?” suggested Cook.
“Yes, please, and roast fowls, which can be served cold, potted meats, bread, and whatever else you think will be needed. Make sure there is plenty of food and drink for everyone at all times.”
“What about spirits, Mrs. Rochester? Shall I prepare some decanters with Madeira?”
“Yes, and don’t forget some water and some lemonade.”
“Shall I serve it on our best blue and white china dishes and cut glass wine glasses?”
“As you wish.”
“We will need fruit bowls, tablecloths, napkins, and…”
“Leah, I leave the selection of cutlery, crockery and the rest to you. Use the best we have, just make sure it is not too colourful,” she broke in, clearing the tears from her cheeks.
“Mrs. Rochester, would you like some tea? You look very tired,” said Cook with concern.
“Yes, I feel very tired,” she acknowledged and sat down wearily, holding her head in her hands. I watched some tears drop from her cheeks onto the table and wondered why she was crying. I knew she had stopped loving him a long time ago. I handed her a kerchief and busied myself pouring her tea.
***
“Is there anything to eat?” I asked, suddenly hungry, remembering I had not eaten anything during the meal.
“There are some soul cakes I made with Cook, madam. They are delicious!” I smiled at Beth, such an attractive and lively girl. I wondered if Michael had ever considered her as a girlfriend. Her long curly blonde hair was tied back in a bun and her large blue eyes smiled easily, brightening her cream complexion. She was much younger and prettier than I had ever been. Was I prepared to suffer once again the torment of love with its doubts, jealousy, and insecurities? Could I surrender once more to the whims of another person? Yet I must. Michael was the only person I could trust. He had given my daughter a name, and he had given me a purpose in life, but what future was there in our relationship?
I pushed away my conflicting thoughts and forced myself to eat and drink while the girls chattered and Cook and Leah discussed the groceries and wrote lists of products to buy for the hectic days ahead.
Simon came down and told me everything had been prepared in Mr. Rochester’s room. “Madam, we should put flowers and more candles in the room, or it will start smelling soon.”
“No doubt the undertaker will see to it tomorrow, meanwhile, take all the flowers in the house up to the room. I believe Adele has some scented candles, which she brought back from Paris, and she may also have some flower essences; ask her to give them to you and use them.”
“We will need a black crepe ribbon for the door,” added Leah.
“I can make the ribbon for tonight, Mrs. Rochester, with an old black dress someone discarded years ago,” Beth volunteered helpfully.
I remembered it was the dress I had worn after my daughter died. “Yes, it is about time it was put to good use,” I sighed.
“Who will watch Mr. Rochester tonight?” asked Simon.
“What do you mean, Simon?”
“While the undertaker brings the mutes to stand outside his door, someone must protect the deceased. I can do it tonight if you like, madam.” I nodded.
“Mrs. Rochester, I can also stand by the front door in case we have visitors tonight,” volunteered Susan. I nodded once more.
Nobody slept that night. Simon stood by the chamber door, and the rest of the residents in the house took turns to sit by his bed, pray, and console each other. Susan stood by the front door, in case anyone came to pay their respects. The others were busy in the kitchen. I found shelter in the library to think about what would happen after the funeral
.
My turbulent mind could not settle down or think clearly. I knew I had to go to London, and I knew Michael had to come with me, but I had no idea where my daughter was. I knew where she had been taken nine years ago, but I did not know where she had been removed afterwards. Adele would be in Italy and John would return to Oxford. Annette would be travelling to Belgium and Mr. Mason would hopefully return to Jamaica, although I might have to give him some funds to help him on his way, but I was prepared to do anything to get rid of him. I would have to wear widows’ weeds for a year and make sure the estate was well attended.
I was lost in my thoughts when Susan showed the undertaker into the library. “Mrs. Rochester, Mr. Tempest from Tempest Undertakers to see you.”
I looked up to see an elderly gentleman with unkempt frizzy white hair, bushy grey eyebrows, shifty black eyes and a chalky complexion. He was wearing a black suit, cloak, scarf and gloves and held a black hat in his hands. His excessively thin, pale blue lips remained perfectly straight as he expressed his condolences in a stiff, monotone voice. He looked like the bringer of death itself.
“Thank you, Mr. Tempest. Please sit down and we can discuss arrangements.”
I informed him of the duties Simon had already performed and he sneered displeasingly. “While no doubt your employee has acted with the best of intentions, an employee of mine will do the job properly tomorrow by injecting arsenical salt and alcohol, which will greatly reduce the odours…”
“No injections, Mr. Tempest. My husband’s body will not be further disfigured. He has been cleaned and dressed to my pleasing. We will use ice, scents and flowers to cover any unpleasant odour.”
“As you wish.”
“I would like the interment to take place as soon as possible.”
“Shall we say in four days’ time? Sunday the fifth of November? Sooner might be considered inappropriate; no doubt all of the tenants, neighbours, friends, and relatives will need time to pay their respects to such an esteemed gentleman.”