Thornfield Hall Page 18

  ‘You’d have me. I’d still be your friend.’

  ‘Thank you, Grace.’

  At this moment lightning flashed and we heard a great roll of thunder nearby. The rain rattled down and the air cooled and freshened. The sudden alteration in the weather felt like a sign. I made my mind up to accept this herald of change. I would cease delaying. It was time to put our plan into action. I was about to tell Grace my decision when, in spite of the uproar produced by the elements, some sixth sense alerted me to an unseen presence nearby in the corridor or the hall; the great door to the outside was not yet locked. I put my finger to my lips to warn Grace to keep silent, opened the door to my room and ventured cautiously into the corridor.

  The clock was striking twelve as I left my room. On the threshold was Mr Rochester. He was removing Miss Eyre’s wet shawl and tenderly shaking it out. I stood transfixed as he went on to kiss her several times and murmur sweet nothings in her ear. They parted with reluctance. As Jane turned away she saw me. A smile of immense and tranquil joy illuminated her face. Without a word she glided up the stairs. Mr Rochester went back to bolt the great door and I slipped back into my room.

  The scales fell from my eyes. It was Miss Eyre that Mr Rochester wanted. The fragile little governess was his choice, not the haughty Miss Ingram. The passion I had felt pulsing in the drawing room was mutual. My mistake had been in thinking that it was Jane alone who loved and that the gap between her and Mr Rochester was too wide and deep to be bridged. I had earnestly urged her to strangle her love at birth; instead she had hidden her love, sent it underground. Mr Rochester had used the facade of the house party to disguise his real desire. The lavish attention to Miss Ingram, the coach and the new servants were all a charade. He had been playing the oldest game in the book: making the object of his affections jealous!

  When I told her, Grace found it hard to believe me. She lacked the evidence of the embrace that I had seen with my own eyes. Once she was convinced she exploded with anger.

  ‘I knew we should have tackled him earlier. This blows our plan apart.’ She pounded her fists on the back of a chair.

  ‘Why? What difference does it make?’

  ‘Because it no longer matters that he already has a wife. He will just make her his mistress. Who cares about the reputation of some measly governess? Now the Ingrams are a different matter. They have standing in society. The lofty Blanche has to have the vicar say the words in church and have the ring put on her finger.’ Grace waved her left hand in my face to show me the wedding ring she wore. I knew it was completely bogus; she had already let slip that she had not been married to her son’s father.

  ‘You think he will just make Jane his mistress?’

  Grace gave me a look of pity mixed with a large dollop of contempt. ‘You said it yourself. Gentlemen don’t marry governesses. Why not just bed her?’

  ‘Because she won’t let him. He must have proposed. Jane Eyre would never have let him put his arm round her and kiss her so many times unless he had proposed. The gentry have rules about these things. A lady who allows a man such liberties is committed to him. The conventions are very strict. And Jane is ferociously virtuous. Besides, that’s not what he wants. He wants a wife who will be mistress of Thornfield Hall and who will give him an heir. A legitimate one.’

  ‘Let us hope so. Or we have wasted our time and spent our money on lawyers to no avail. We need to think about this.’ I was pleased that this time it was Grace who wanted to delay. I too needed time to examine our plan from this new angle.

  The storm raged that night, but I cannot blame the weather for my disturbed sleep. I had much to think about. The lowly governess was the chosen one. If Miss Eyre consented to be Mr Rochester’s mistress our plan would be in serious jeopardy. Jane was virtuous but also strong-minded. I had seen that in the way she teased and vexed Mr Rochester and disagreed with his opinions on occasion. Would her independence of spirit enable her to defy convention and to live with him? Or would she refuse to accept the thankless role of mistress, the position that Adele’s mother must have briefly filled? Or had he really defied the conventions of society and the law of the church by proposing marriage to her? Did he intend to lead her to the altar in defiance of God and the courts?

  As I pondered these questions I heard over the turbulence of the weather a gentle tap at the door of the bedroom next door. Mr Rochester had come to enquire after his beloved during the thunderstorm. I heard her reassure him, but nothing else. There was no sound of the door being opened, no scampering of feet, no creak of the bedstead or moans of passion. Three times he came and three times the door remained closed and he went away. These were hopeful signs from my point of view.

  In the morning I had breakfast with Miss Eyre as usual and my little hopes were dashed. A girl who is newly engaged does not usually keep the news to herself. Jane was radiantly happy, but she said nothing of the events of the previous night, although she knew I had seen Mr Rochester kiss her. I was quiet and cool with her as I waited and hoped for her to announce a formal betrothal rather than an illicit liaison.

  Later that morning Mr Rochester came to tell me that he did indeed plan to marry Miss Eyre in four weeks’ time at the church in Hay where my late husband had been parson. He waited for me to congratulate him; he was so confident his secret was safe. I managed a few mumbled words before he whirled off to order the carriage to take Miss Eyre shopping.

  I should have been filled with delight. It was true. Mr Rochester planned to marry Jane. His words confirmed it. The last detail for my plan had fallen into place. Mention of my late husband and the church at Hay had startled me and thrown me into confusion. What would my dear husband think of me? I intended to stand by and let his successor perform a bigamous marriage that one word from me could prevent. And Jane! I felt for Jane like a mother to a daughter. How could I let her walk innocently into a marriage that was nothing more than a fraud?

  My resolution momentarily failed me. I was tempted to run after Mr Rochester and shout out in the corridor before the whole household, ‘Stop. Stop this farce. There already is a Mrs Rochester. Bertha who has lived on the third floor these ten years is Mr Edward Fairfax Rochester’s legally married wife.’ The truth would be out but I would have broken my most solemn bible oath and brought unhappiness to three people I held dear.

  I was still thinking about my husband when Miss Eyre came seeking my reaction to the news. She was in bliss. Mr Rochester returned her love and against all the expectations of society he had proposed to her in an honourable way. My tepid response must have disappointed her. I had been sitting with my bible open, looking in vain for a verse that told me it was perfectly acceptable to allow bigamy to take place as long as people were happier as a result. There did not seem to be a proverb to that effect. The general feeling of the good book was that human beings flourish best by being honest – especially with God.

  Though I could not give her my heartfelt congratulations I did manage not to blurt out the dreadful truth that Mr Rochester was already married. Instead of my felicitations I gave Jane that little talk that older women feel it is their right to inflict on younger ones. I warned her about not anticipating matrimony. It was the little homily I should have given Martha but had failed to do. I worded it as delicately as I could. ‘Keep your distance,’ I told her but she grew impatient with me and hurried off. Mr Rochester was taking her to Millcote to buy wedding goods.

  ‘That’s good news,’ said Grace. The minute I was free I had rushed up to the third floor to bring her up to date. ‘Buying wedding clothes. He must be serious.’

  ‘What do you think he bought his French mistresses?’

  ‘True. A few yards of silk do not tie the knot.’

  ‘He says they’ll be married in four weeks at the church by the gate. It was my husband’s church. I feel bad about that.’

  Grace grabbed my arm and looked fiercely into my face. ‘Did your husband’s church keep you when you were widowed? Did they pay your
rent? Didn’t they turn you out of your home so that Mr Wood could live there?’

  I nodded miserably. It was all true.

  Grace cupped her hands round my face and shook me gently. ‘Do you want to keep working thirteen hours a day? Do you want to spend your life cooking and cleaning until your whole body aches? We women must look out for ourselves. And we have very few ways of doing so. We must fight with the weapons that we find to hand.’

  ‘You are right. We will play them at their own game.’ I thought for a moment. ‘We will wait till the first banns are called. It’ll be this Sunday if they want to marry next month. There’ll be no going back after that.’

  Grace was enthusiastic. ‘We will take Bertha. It will add a certain bite to the occasion and will cut the last bond that ties her to him. It is time to talk to her about her future. I will start rehearsing her in her part. Trust me, she will be ready.’

  News of the engagement spread quickly round the household. Those of us who knew the identity of Mr Rochester’s resident lunatic had to hide our very different reactions beneath expressions of surprise at his choice of bride. Old John placidly whistled as he groomed his horses; as long as they had hay in their mangers and a warm stable, he was happy. Mr Rochester could have a whole harem as far as he was concerned. Young John the footman was particularly affected by news of the betrothal. The banns for his own wedding had twice been called and the date was fixed. He took Mr Rochester’s intended bigamy as a personal insult. I told him sternly that Leah’s welfare and the coming baby were more important and that he should keep his disapproval to himself. A hint that I would put in a good word for him temporarily sealed his lips.

  As Leah grew rounder poor John grew more nervous and agitated. He spilled the wine and dropped the trays. I feared he would start spilling secrets soon and I asked Sam to keep an eye on him. Sam used the occasion to have a quiet word of his own with me. He was growing restless. He had spent too many years at sea to live much longer in the country. He wanted to live on the coast. A place with a little harbour. A bit of fishing and a few odd jobs would keep him going if he had a bit of capital, enough to buy a cottage, you understand. He said no more but gave me a significant look, not so much as a nod or a wink but I felt he had worked out more about my plan with Grace than I thought wise.

  Martha, who was under the illusion that Mr Rochester was free to marry, was the most outraged at the news. She was furious when she heard that the master of the house was marrying one of the servant class. If Mr Rochester could marry a governess, why could not young Lord Ingram do the decent thing by her? She was carrying his child, wasn’t she? It was no use explaining to her that not only was Mr Rochester a man of courage and independent mind, happy to cock a snook at society, he was also a man of considerable wealth. On the other hand the new Baron Ingram was a feeble specimen, who was afraid of his mother and deep in debt. Reason had no effect on the girl. Jealousy and envy raged through her blood clouding what little judgement she ever had.

  In spite of railing at her fate at the hands of the Ingrams, Martha showed a curious loyalty to the family. She took the slighting of the Honourable Blanche as a deep personal insult. The bruises on her arms and the threats over her reference were forgotten. According to Martha, Mr Rochester had treated Blanche badly. His attentions had been interpreted by the whole neighbourhood as a serious prelude to matrimony. Blanche would be a laughing stock. I will confess that I amused myself by picturing the rage of Blanche and her formidable mother when they heard of the engagement. I told Martha she should be glad she was not in striking distance of either of those bad-tempered harpies when they heard the announcement.

  CALLING THE BANNS

  1832

  WORD OF THE UNLIKELY MATCH SPREAD like wildfire round the servants of the neighbourhood. The groom passed the word to the housemaid, who promptly told the cook. Cook told the butler who might – or might not – pass it on. A valet might whisper the news confidentially into the ears of his master, who would wisely keep the information from his womenfolk. No one wanted to be first to break the news to the Ingram family; shooting the messenger counted as a field sport in that household. We knew the family was in residence and the women usually attended church of a Sunday. The sight of the Honourable Blanche being jilted was one we all wanted to see from a safe distance.

  Mr Wood must have wondered at the size of his congregation that Sunday. John and Leah volunteered to stay at Thornfield Hall; the last of their banns was being called and they wanted to avoid all the coarse jokes it would provoke. This enabled the rest of us to attend church, all in our best Sunday clothes.

  Much to my annoyance Martha insisted on coming with us. Grace and I were still deciding how much money to ask of Mr Rochester for Bertha’s trust fund. It was a delicate question. Ask too much and he would turn us out on our ear. Too little was equally dangerous. There would be no opportunity to come back for more.

  We never reached a decision. The silly girl blundered about among us interrupting every conversation and robbing us of any opportunity for the private exchange of information. By this time her condition was evident for all to see. Even Mr Wood might notice. In his nosy parson’s manner he would be sure to ask about the father. I feared Martha still harboured hopes that young Lord Ingram would ride up to church on his white horse, get down on his knee and propose to her.

  Bertha came in her disguise of widowed great aunt. Black crepe covered her from head to foot. ‘And a very appropriate costume for this day’s work it is too,’ Grace told her as we clustered protectively round our charge. Sam and Sophie brought up the rear as we climbed up to the gallery at the west end of the church. We had come early to be sure of sitting in the front row and enjoying a bird’s eye view of the gentry in the pews below.

  Mr Rochester did not attend. He seldom put himself through the tedium of one of Mr Wood’s sermons. Most unusually Miss Eyre was absent; he must have warned her to stay away. She was a modest creature and would not enjoy the fuss and attention that would follow the revelation of her engagement. All the knowing eyes were fixed on the Ingrams’ pew. Would Miss Blanche be making an appearance today?

  The baroness, tall and stately in black, swept in during the first hymn with her two daughters in tow. They bowed to selected acquaintances, sank gracefully into their seats and settled their rustling skirts around them while the rest of us finished singing the verses. I shut my ears to Mr Wood’s sermon. I feared he might have chosen a theme that would make my conscience squirm – the importance of honesty, the sanctity of marriage or the necessity for obedience to God’s law or some such relevant topic.

  As he drew to his conclusion a tremor of excitement flickered round the servants in the gallery; they knew what was coming next. The banns. Mr Wood rushed through the third time of asking for John and Leah. He was keen to reach the main course of the feast. When he arrived there he made the most of it, rolling his tongue round the words as he announced the name of Edward Fairfax Rochester of Thornfield Hall, bachelor of this parish. As Mr Wood spoke, all eyes swivelled to focus on the Ingrams’ pew. Most of the gentry among the congregation were under the illusion that the Honourable Blanche’s name would follow. It did not. Mr Wood paused for effect before he pronounced the next name: ‘Jane Eyre, spinster of this parish.’ A great gasp of surprise barrelled its way through the nave.

  In the Ingram pew the feathers on two hats quivered and shook in the windless air as the baroness and her elder daughter reeled from the shock. The younger sister raised her hand to her mouth. Whether it was to conceal a smile or suppress a squeal of pain I could not tell. All I could see were two pairs of white knuckles gripping the pew rail. Next to me the woman in widow’s weed bent her head and said nothing. I patted her gloved hand and prayed she would not fall into one of her paroxysms of insane rage. From the far side of her I heard Grace murmuring how well she was doing and how we were going to transform her life.

  To give the baroness and her elder daughter their due, they bore the
ir disappointment well. There was no wailing or tears, just stony stares, clenched jaws and a lot of glowering at the congregation as they stalked out of church. They swept past the fawning vicar in the porch and ignored their neighbours’ greetings. The baroness signalled for their carriage to be brought up. Without a word they climbed in. The last we saw were three straight backs as the coachman whipped the horses to a trot.

  ‘There’ll be tears before bedtime,’ said Grace.

  ‘And tantrums, and smashing things. And beatings with hairbrushes and nasty painful pinches.’ Martha added some details from her own experience of life at Ingram Park.

  ‘There’ll be none of that kind of behaviour at Thornfield Hall,’ I told her, hoping that she’d give up all her fantasies of a happy-ever-after before the pangs of childbirth squeezed all the illusions out of her.

  We formed a bodyguard round Bertha as we walked back to Thornfield Hall. Sam drew level with me, clapped his gloved hands together like a trap closing and whispered, ‘You’ve got him now.’

  I’ll say this for Miss Eyre. Although she was formally recognized as Mr Rochester’s betrothed she continued to carry out her duties as an employee. Morning school with Adele went on as before. She frequently accompanied Adele and Sophie on their afternoon walks, insisting that Adele needed the extra practice in speaking English as she would soon have to leave Thornfield Hall and go to school; Mr Rochester was determined to travel abroad with his new wife after the wedding. What I was supposed to do with all the extra servants he had employed he did not deign to explain to me.

  The news that I would have to part with Adele was a great sadness to me; I had been captivated by her conscious childish charm and I suspected that an English school would be severe on her continental ways. I was powerless to intervene. I had no right to a say in Adele’s future; that was in the hands of Mr Rochester.