Thornfield Hall Read online

  This morbid speculation was too much for me. I stopped being dumb and spoke briskly to him. ‘Come, Mr Rochester, there are plenty more cheerful things to think of. Why, your marriage will be next. That will be a joyful occasion. And there could be children. There’s nothing quite like children to bring life to a house and joy to your heart.’

  ‘Enough!’ he snapped with one of those sudden changes of mood that I soon learnt to become accustomed to. ‘There are serious matters to deal with.’ He pushed the bible to one side and gestured for me to lay the account books in front of him. I prepared myself for a long and tiresome scrutiny of the kind his father enjoyed; the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

  Mr Rochester opened a book at random and turned a couple of pages. His black eyes sparkled as he returned the book to me. ‘I feel I would be failing in my duty if I did not make at least a pretence of looking at the figures.’ He smiled and for the first time I saw the frank and cheerful youth that he must have been.

  ‘Now to business. I shall not stay here long. I intend to travel in Europe. No more ocean journeys for me. However, I want to put your mind at rest. Make sure all the servants are told of my plans. Assure them the Hall will not be closed, nor will you be put on board wages. On the contrary, I want Thornfield kept in good working order, ready to receive me whenever I decide to come. I would say ship-shape but the memory of my recent voyage is too vivid.’ He gave a wry smile and pulled his hand across his forehead.

  ‘I may arrive at short notice. I expect my visits will be brief. Thornfield Hall holds little to attract me apart from business and my duties as a squire and landlord. I will come to attend to my responsibilities and when I come I don’t want to walk into clouds of dust and unmade beds. I want the Hall ready to entertain me and my guests at a moment’s notice and I will need plenty of guests to divert me. I intend to wrest as much enjoyment from my unexpected change of fortune as possible. I’ll try to give you a few days’ notice if it is to be a large house party.’

  I gave him my best blank servant’s stare. I remained standing motionless and looked at the patterned window above and behind him as if he did not exist. I said nothing. This time the silence was not a sympathetic one. It was a silence that grew. At first it was an awkwardness. Then it thickened into a dense soup of hostility. I waited for him to break it.

  At this point Mr Rowland would have picked up his magnifying glass and a beetle and forgotten all about me. His father would have harangued me about his poverty, the high price of meat and the availability of cheap servants on every street corner. Mr Edward was made of more intelligent metal.

  ‘Is there anything you need to enable you to carry out my wishes?’ he asked.

  He had asked so I told him. I ticked each item off on my fingers. Did he intend to replace Mr Merryman? If not, another footman would be useful or at least a boy for the kitchen and to help carry coal and hot water. Another housemaid to help Leah. Another pair of hands in the kitchen so cook could start to train her to be ready to help when guests arrived at short notice. Then there was the new lady. I knew not what to call her. And her attendant, Mrs Morgan.

  He held up his hand to stop me and fixed me with his glittering eyes. ‘I rely on you to deal with Mrs Morgan. Her task is not an easy one. I will make it clear to her that she must respect your position. Whatever you need to ensure that the lady is cared for with as much kindness as possible you shall have.’ His brow darkened and he seemed to struggle within himself. ‘If there is a problem that you cannot solve by yourself you can write to me. I will send what aid I can.’ His voice thrilled with emotion, his hand closed into a fist and the veins stood out on his brow. ‘But before God I swear the less I am reminded of that lady’s existence the better.’ I watched as he struggled to subdue some intense and bitter inner conflict.

  Once he was calm he spoke again. ‘You will be well rewarded – and not just in heaven. You will have a free hand to engage whatever extra servants are needed.’ He managed to give me his disarming, lop-sided grin. ‘Now tell me the names of the servants who will have most contact with the lady and with her attendant. I doubt I will know them; there have been many changes among the servants since I last lived here.’

  ‘The servants you saw in the entrance hall yesterday will be most closely involved with her care in the house. And probably Old John the coachman, when the lady is well enough to go out. You must remember Old John from when you were a boy. He is still with us.’

  ‘I do not think the lady will be going out. She will not mix in society.’ He looked quite alarmed at the thought of the lady taking the air in a carriage.

  ‘As long as the doctors think she is well enough, I can see no harm in her having a change of scene, taking the fresh air.’

  Mr Rochester chewed his lip and furrowed his brow and generally acted like a man who wanted to say No. ‘A closed carriage,’ I stressed. ‘With Old John who taught you to ride. She is sick, not a prisoner.’ I had him there.

  He thought for a moment. ‘So be it. I can trust Old John to keep silent. Collect the servants together and bring them here.’

  I left the library with my head reeling. My third Mr Rochester was a very different kettle of fish from his father and brother. He might be moody and melancholy, but he radiated power and force of character. I set about carrying out his orders immediately. It was the work of moments to summon the two Johns, Sam, Leah and Mary. There was much smoothing of hair and wiping of hands on aprons as we all trooped in to the library.

  We formed an apprehensive semi-circle in front of Mr Rochester as he stood at his desk. He spoke to us in his straightforward manner. ‘I have to tell you that the lady who arrived yesterday is out of her wits. Many would consign her to the asylum. But she is to be kept here. I would not send a dog to an asylum.’ We all nodded our approval. The thought of the asylum made us shudder. We had heard of the horrors there. Not just the company of the insane inmates, their wails and fits, but the cold baths, the sleeping on straw, the chains and the manacles.

  ‘I am not such a fool as to think that I can keep her existence a complete secret. There will be gossip and speculation. Let it continue. I can live with speculation. Let the countryside gossip but keep them in ignorance. All you need to know is that my father, through his business, came into contact with her and the Rochester family feels responsible for her. That is a duty I intend to fulfil.

  ‘Do not believe any of the nonsense she may tell you. Keep her safe and close confined. All you need to know is that she is not related by blood to the Rochester family. I cannot emphasize that too much; she is no blood relation of mine. Madness is not part of my family’s inheritance. Her care, though, has become my responsibility and I intend to discharge it honestly. To show you how important this is to me I want you to swear on the bible to keep your lips sealed about the lady as far as outsiders are concerned. Mrs Fairfax, will you set us an example? Who is better qualified than the widow of a good and honourable man of God to go first?’ He gestured to the bible in front of him.

  ‘I can do better than that,’ I told him. It never even crossed my mind to refuse. I took my own little bible out of my pocket. ‘I will use my own bible. In the front is written the name of my baby daughter. I kiss it every night before I go to sleep.’ I held the book in my hand and said simply, ‘I swear.’ Then I kissed the book and put it away.

  The others stepped forward one at a time and put their hand on the bible on the desk and took the oath until it came to Old John’s turn.

  ‘There be no use me swearing on that book, Mr Edward. I’m a bit of what you might call a free thinker.’

  ‘Is there nothing you hold sacred?’ Mr Edward asked him.

  ‘There be plenty things. Horses. Dogs. I tell you what. I’ll swear on my dog’s life.’

  A splutter of outrage burst from Mary. Old John slapped his forehead. ‘O! Mary, Mary, my lovely wife, I clean forgot you was here.’

  We all laughed and Mr Rochester put his hand on Old John�
�s shoulder. ‘That’ll do for me,’ he assured the old man. Then Mr Rochester told us all we should have an increase in our wages in return for the extra work and the responsibility. As we left the room we reckoned we were the luckiest and the best-paid servants in Yorkshire.

  That evening after our supper we sat around the table and speculated about our future with our new master. Old John from his seat at the end of the table nearest the door waxed philosophical. ‘Master’s got a bee in his bonnet about that there lunatic upstairs. Wanting us to swear! As if we’d go round neighbourhood telling his business to every Tom, Jack and Harry.’

  ‘Everyone knows already. Butcher’s boy called this morning.’ Sam peered through his spectacles at the sails of the model ship he was making, a hobby he had learned during his time at sea.

  ‘What you mean by everyone and what master means by everyone is two different things. The Cliffords’ cook may know there’s a mysterious lady staying here. But she ain’t going to tell Lady Clifford. She’s going to be saying pork chops on Thursday, milady, and how about duck on Sunday.’

  ‘True,’ says Sam, squinting down a pair of tweezers at a rope as fine as a hair. ‘Like on a ship. Some things, the captain is the last to know.’

  Mr Rochester did not stay long. He paid a few courtesy calls on his neighbours, bought a couple of horses and left. I missed him at first, in the way I miss the light when I blow the candle out and am left in the dark. The faces of the ladies of the county grew glum when they heard of Mr Rochester’s departure. They made anxious enquiries about the date of his return. We could not help them. He had given us no hint of his plans. For all we knew he had gone to the moon. Only Old John whistled happily as he brushed the two new horses that had arrived in his stable.

  GRACE

  1823

  THE CHILL OF WINTER HAD SCARCELY ARRIVED before I was struck down with a pleurisy. So severe was it that Mr Carter was called. He gave me some of his useless vile-coloured medicine and ordered me to stay in bed. As if I could have risen from it without the help of two strong men. It was Leah who nursed me through the worst of it. I thanked God that I had not been left in the clumsy hands of Martha.

  Slowly the illness left me. My hearing is still impaired but thankfully that is all the injury I suffered. One evening during my convalescence Leah brought my supper on a tray up to my bedroom. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes sparkly. I guessed it wasn’t for John with his puppy-dog-in-love eyes.

  ‘Are there visitors in the servants’ hall?’ I asked.

  ‘Just the blacksmith. Mary’s giving him a plate of supper.’

  I might have guessed it was the blacksmith who had brought a gleam to Leah’s eyes. The bronzed biceps, the leather waistcoat, the tangy smell of male sweat mixed with a whiff of horse.

  ‘He does not usually come into the house. Is Old John with him?’

  ‘Old John is still in the stable. A horse needing a drench or something. Blacksmith came to do a job in the house. For that Mrs Morgan.’ There was a vicious edge to Leah’s voice as she named the nurse. What need had a nurse for a blacksmith, I wondered. It was clear that there had been developments while I was ill.

  ‘Ask the blacksmith to come up and see me before he goes.’

  The young blacksmith arrived. All rippling muscles and a musky aroma that overwhelmed the mild lavender scent of my neat, nunlike room. He was a lad of few words and he was not happy.

  ‘I can guess what Mrs Morgan wanted you to make,’ I told him. ‘She had no authority from me.’

  ‘In that case.’ He handed me a key. ‘I was going to give it to Old John.’

  ‘I’ll make sure he knows. Have you been paid?’

  ‘For the horses. Yes. I’ll take no money for the other thing.’

  ‘I’ll pay you double when the time comes to take it off. I will make it my business to see you do not wait too long for your money.’

  When he had gone I took out my little bible and kissed my baby’s name and thought about the vow I had taken. I had promised not to talk about the lady to outsiders. Nothing more. I had not promised to stand idly by while she was treated with harshness and kept like a prisoner. When Mr Rochester was absent I was responsible for the Hall and for those who lived there. I berated myself soundly for my lack of supervision of Mrs Morgan. It was true I had been ill but that was no longer an excuse. It was time to gird up my loins as the good book puts it and go to inspect what was happening on the third floor.

  I laced my stays extra tight in the morning; it was the closest I could get to girding up my loins – whatever they are. At the top of the stairs I took a moment to get my breath and strengthen my resolve. I thought of Judith going to Holofernes’ tent. How she must have fixed her smile as she strove to ingratiate herself with the tyrant! What pleasure she must have felt as she looked down upon her sleeping victim and slowly drew her sharpened knife ready to cut his throat! I fixed an expression of polite concern to my face as I rapped on the door.

  ‘Mrs Morgan. A thousand pardons! I’ve neglected you.’ I smiled and gushed at her as she stood in the doorway. Surprise kept her motionless so I glided past her straight into the dragon’s lair.

  ‘You have everything you need?’ I was all warm solicitude. I made it sound like a question but it was more of a statement. A quick glance round the room showed that Mrs Morgan had not been idle during my illness; she was well-equipped with life’s comforts. Many of them were familiar to me; she had looted them from other rooms at Thornfield Hall. There were armchairs, cushions and rugs. There were tables littered with bottles and used plates and cups. A healthy fire blazed in the grate. In the corner was the huge four-poster bed. The new hangings were drawn roughly back, showing the unmade bed piled high with pillows. The deep feather mattress was shrouded in a stained grey sheet. The rug before the fire wore such a crust of crumbs and particles of food that I expected a family of mice with knives and forks to arrive at any minute. The dirty window let in little light and no air. The whole room reeked of neglect and dirt. The already substantial Mrs Morgan had been busy over the winter; she had been working at putting on even more flesh. Of the patient there was no sign.

  I occupied myself by wandering round the room apparently without a specific purpose. All the time I had to restrain my hand from opening the window to let in fresh air. I waited for Mrs Morgan to offer to take me to the lady. She did not volunteer an invitation. I decided to compel her into making one.

  ‘And how is the lady? I would like to see her.’ I saw little point in being subtle with such a coarse-minded creature as Mrs Morgan.

  ‘Asleep.’

  ‘So late?’

  ‘She do sleep a lot. When she’s not sleeping, she’s crying. Better she should sleep.’

  By now I had manoeuvred so I was by the door to the adjoining room. Before she could stop me I had the handle in my hand and was turning it. To my surprise the door opened. I expected to find it locked. With Mrs Morgan on my heels I went into the next chamber.

  I had steeled myself to encounter some unsavoury sights without showing shock or outrage. I did not want to create an enemy unnecessarily. Mrs Morgan had the keeping of this unfortunate woman. She had total power over her. Everything that makes life comfortable or the contrary was in her hands. Food, drink, warmth, sleep, conversation, comfort and occupations were all hers to dispense or withhold. How could I have let this go on unsupervised?

  It was difficult to experience the room in front of me without showing horror. I like to think I managed it. Mrs Morgan stood behind me so I had time to get my face under control. The smell had hit me like a blow to the chest: the chamber pot not emptied, the bed clothes not washed, the person not bathed, the window not opened. The naked floorboards were mottled with brown stains that I preferred not to identify. There was no curtain at the window. How could a room so cold and bare smell so bad?

  The only furniture in the room was a small iron bed. A great nest of black hair sprawled over one end of it. The rest of the figure wa
s hidden by a thin blanket that no self-respecting horse would have endured wearing. I could not be sure it was a person in the bed until I saw the arm. It was a thin, wasted arm that hung over the side. On its wrist was a heavy manacle; the chain was fastened to the leg of the bed.

  ‘Like I said. She sleeps.’ Mrs Morgan gazed down at her charge with an expressionless face. I strove to keep mine similarly blank.

  ‘I heard the blacksmith had been.’

  ‘It was necessary. They do it in the asylum when they have their fits.’

  Speaking your mind is regarded as a great virtue in Yorkshire. Most of the time, I say what I think. On this occasion a gap as wide as a church door opened up between the thoughts in my brain and the words that came from my lips. What I thought was, ‘You have chained her like a convict to make your life easier, so you can go and get your breakfast and stuff your face and then feed that poor soul the scraps.’ What I said was, ‘So it is a method practised by the medical profession?’

  The figure on the bed showed no sign of waking so I retreated to the other room where the air was slightly less poisonous. There I bid Mrs Morgan au revoir. I promised her that I would call in again sometime. The message, wrapped in the sweet paper of smiles and compliments, was that I would be inspecting daily and without warning. I thought I had controlled myself admirably but at the end I could not stop myself from firing a parting shot.

  ‘Get that chamber pot emptied.’ I saw no point in telling her to finish the cleaning of it with a few drops of turpentine. That was a little ambitious. I would settle for empty.

  When I returned to my neat, fresh-smelling bedroom I washed my hands and face very thoroughly, enjoying the sensation of clean water against my skin. Then I sat in my chair and looked out of the window at the drive that sweeps up to Thornfield Hall and at the hills that lie beyond the gates. It was a fine and sunny spring day and the light was so clear I could see for miles. The new lambs frolicked in the fields; I could hear the tender bleats of the ewes. Yet my mind was in a turmoil of disgust and doubt and my heart was heavy.