Authors: Sherri Browning Erwin
Tags: #Paranormal, #Fantasy, #Fiction, #General, #Romance, #Vampires, #Science Fiction And Fantasy, #Fiction - General, #Humorous, #Orphans, #Fathers and daughters, #Horror, #England, #Married people, #Fantasy - Paranormal, #Young women, #Satire And Humor, #Country homes, #Occult & Supernatural, #Charity-schools, #Mentally ill women, #Governesses
Jane Slayre (15 page)
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I hoped for her sake, and that of her children, that she did not expose them regularly to the Reeds or Abbot.
"I live at the lodge. The old porter has left."
"Well, and how do they all get on? Tell me everything about them, Bessie. Have a seat. Bobby, come and sit on my knee, will you?" Bobby preferred sidling over to his mother.
"You're not grown so very tall, Miss Jane, nor so very stout," continued Mrs. Leaven. "I daresay they've not kept you too well at school. Still, Miss Reed is even slighter in figure than you, though I daresay she still stands taller. And Miss Georgiana is stouter, perhaps two of you, but still fancies herself a beauty."
"I am sure she should. Her mother always said so."
Bessie smiled. "They had a carriage made without windows and with heavy drapes to cover every crack so that they could go to London last winter. Everybody admired Miss Georgiana, and a young lord fell in love with her. His relations were against the match; and--what do you think?--Miss Georgiana and her mother and sister made a feast of them! They tried to make the lad into one of them, but he couldn't handle the transformation. He died, poor thing. Miss Georgiana blamed her sister for insisting on having a taste of his blood and draining him too dry before he had a chance to return the favour. Now she and her sister lead a cat-and-dog life together; they are always quarrelling."
"Tragic! And what of John Reed?"
"Oh, he is not doing so well as his mama could wish. He declared himself to be of age to handle the household affairs, but his mother did not agree. He insisted on going off to find his own way in the world. We hear from him but rarely, usually when he has gambling debts to discharge or bodies to hide. He's not much of a hunter. He prefers to attack travellers and passersby, easy targets. He doesn't concern himself if their blood is too common for his tastes."
"Troubling. His mother must be constantly concerned lest he pick up a taint."
"Missus has grown stouter, though she looks well enough in the
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face. She hunts often to take her mind off her troubles. Mr. John's conduct is indeed a constant worry."
"Did she send you here, Bessie?"
"No. I have long wanted to see you, and when I heard that there had been a letter from you, and that you were going to another part of the country, I thought I'd just set off and get a look at you before you were quite out of my reach."
"I am afraid you are disappointed in me, Bessie," I said, laughing.
"No, Miss Jane, not at all. You are genteel enough. You look like a lady, though rather plain, and it is as much as ever I expected of you. I daresay you are clever. What can you do? Can you play on the piano?"
"A little." I still smarted from the sting of having been called plain, though I treasured Bessie's frankness.
Bessie went and opened the piano in the room, then asked me to sit down and give her a tune. I played a waltz or two, and she was charmed.
"The Miss Reeds could not play as well!" said she exultingly. "They did eat their music master."
"That's right." Bessie smiled. "I'd forgotten. Mrs. Reed kept them quarantined for a week in case they caught something until she remembered that his grandfather was a viscount. And can you draw?"
"That is one of my paintings over the chimneypiece." It was a landscape in watercolours. I had given it to the superintendent in acknowledgment of her obliging mediation with the committee on my behalf. She'd had it framed and glazed.
"Well, that is beautiful, Miss Jane! It is as fine a picture as any Miss Reed's drawing master could paint, and have you learned French?"
"Yes, Bessie, I can both read it and speak it."
"Oh, you are quite a lady, Miss Jane! I knew you would be. You will get on whether your relations notice you or not. There was something I wanted to ask you. Have you ever heard anything from your father's kinsfolk, the Slayres?"
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"Never in my life."
"Well, you know Missus always said they were poor and quite despicable, and they may be poor, but I believe they are as much gentry as the Reeds are. One day, nearly seven years ago, a Mr. Slayre came to Gateshead and wanted to see you. Missus would not admit him. How she screamed when she saw him! And when he came in anyway, she begged him not to slay her. Queer, is it not?"
"Most assuredly." I remembered what my uncle Reed had said about my uncle Slayre, that he lived too dangerously to care for an infant. But perhaps he'd decided I was ready to start training. Would he not be proud to know how I'd handled the zombies?
"Missus said you were at school fifty miles off. He seemed so much disappointed, for he was going on a voyage and the ship was to sail from London in a day or two. He looked quite a gentleman, and I believe he was your father's brother."
"A voyage? To where, Bessie?"
"An island thousands of miles off, where they make wine--the butler told me--"
"Madeira?"
"Yes, that is it--that is the very word. He did not stay many minutes in the house, what with Missus screeching at him. She called him afterward a sneaking murderer."
It occurred to me, not for the first time, that perhaps he was the one who had taken mercy on my uncle Reed and staked him. After all, how many vampyre slayers would Uncle Reed have known?
"That's not very nice of her," I returned, "but as to be expected."
Bessie and I conversed about old times an hour longer, then she was obliged to leave me. I saw her again for a few minutes the next morning at Lowton, while I was waiting for the coach. We parted finally at the door of the Bokorhurst Arms there. She set off for the conveyance that was to take her and her little boy back to Gates-head. I mounted the vehicle that was to bear me to new duties, and a new life, in the unknown environs of Millcote.
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CHAPTER 13
I LEFT LOWTON AT 4:00 a.m., and the Millcote town clock was just striking eight in the evening as I sat, in my cloak and bonnet, by an excellent fire in a room at the George Inn. My muff and umbrella rested on the table, and I warmed away the numbness and chill of long exposure to a raw October day.
Reader, though I looked comfortably accommodated, I was not tranquil in my mind. I thought when the coach stopped, someone would meet me. I looked anxiously around as I descended the wooden steps, expecting to hear my name pronounced, and to see some description of carriage waiting to convey me to Thornfield. Nothing of the sort was visible. When I asked a waiter if anyone had been to inquire after a Miss Slayre, I was answered in the negative. I had no resource but to request to be shown to a private room, and there I waited, while all sorts of doubts and fears troubled my thoughts. I had a few stakes tucked away on my person out of habit, old habit indeed, but my daggers, on which I was sure I could rely, were tucked away in my luggage for safekeeping.
A half hour elapsed and I was still alone. I thought to ring the bell.
"Is there a place in this neighbourhood called Thornfield?" I asked of the waiter who answered the summons.
"Thornfield? I don't know, ma'am. I'll inquire at the bar." He vanished, but reappeared instantly. "Is your name Slayre, Miss?"
"Yes."
"Person here waiting for you."
I jumped up, took my muff and umbrella and hastened into the
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inn passage. A man stood by the open door, and in the lamplit street I saw a one-horse conveyance.
"This will be your luggage, I suppose?" the man asked rather abruptly, pointing to my trunk in the passage.
"Yes." He hoisted it onto the vehicle, which was a sort of carriage, and then I got in. Before he shut me up, I asked him how far it was to Thornfield.
"A matter of six miles."
"How long shall we be before we get there?"
"Happen an hour and a half."
He fastened the door, climbed to his own seat outside, and we set off. Our progress was leisurely and gave me ample time to reflect. I supposed, judging from the plainness of the servant and the carriage, Mrs. Fairfax was not a very dashing person. So much the better. I never lived amongst fine people but once, and I was miserable with them. I wondered if she lived alone except for this little girl. If so, and if she was in any degree amiable, I would surely be able to get on with her.
I let down the window and looked out. Millcote was behind us, judging by the number of its lights. It seemed to be of considerable magnitude, much larger than Lowton. I felt we were in a different region to Lowood, more populous, less picturesque, more stirring, less romantic. We passed a church. About ten minutes after, the driver got down and opened a pair of gates. We passed through, and they clashed to a close behind us. We slowly ascended a drive and came upon the long front of a house. Candlelight gleamed from one curtained bow window. All the rest were dark. The carriage stopped at the front door. A maidservant opened it and greeted me. I alighted and went in.
"Will you walk this way, ma'am?" the girl said.
I followed her across a square hall with high doors all round. She ushered me into a room that had a double illumination of fire and candle to dazzle me, contrasting as it did with the darkness to which
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my eyes had been for two hours inured. When I could see, however, a cosy and agreeable picture presented itself, a snug, small room with a round table by a cheerful fire, a high-backed armchair, wherein sat the neatest imaginable little, elderly lady, in widow's cap, black silk gown, and snowy muslin apron. She was exactly as I'd fancied Mrs. Fairfax to be, only less stately and milder in appearance. A large cat sat demurely at her feet as she knit. A more reassuring introduction for a new governess could scarcely be conceived. As I entered, the old lady got up and kindly came forward to meet me.
"How do you do, my dear? You must be cold, come to the fire."
"Mrs. Fairfax, I suppose?"
"Yes. Do sit down."
She conducted me to her own chair, then began to remove my shawl and untie my bonnet strings. I begged she would not give herself so much trouble.
"Oh, it is no trouble. I daresay your own hands are almost numbed with cold. Leah, make a little hot negus and cut a sandwich."
"Now, then, draw nearer to the fire," she continued. "You've brought your luggage with you, haven't you, my dear?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"I'll see it carried into your room." She bustled out.
I thought she treated me like a visitor. I little expected such a warm reception.
She returned, cleared her knitting apparatus and a book from the table to make room for the tray Leah brought, then handed me the refreshments. I felt rather confused at being the object of more attention than I had ever before received, and that shown by my employer and superior. As she did not seem to consider she was doing anything out of her place, I thought it better to take her civilities quietly.
"Shall I have the pleasure of seeing Miss Fairfax tonight?" I asked when I had partaken of what she offered me.
"Miss Fairfax? Oh, you mean Miss Varens! Varens is the name of your pupil."
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"Indeed! Then she is not your daughter?"
"No, I have no family. I am so glad you've come." She sat down opposite me and took the cat on her knee. "It will be quite pleasant living here now with a companion. To be sure it is pleasant at any time, for Thornfield is a fine old hall. Still, in wintertime one feels dreary in even the best quarters. Of course, I do have Leah, and John, your driver, and his wife are very decent people. Since the end of summer, we have little Adele Varens and her nurse. A child makes a house alive all at once. And now that you are here, I shall be quite gay."
My heart really warmed to the worthy lady as I heard her talk, and I drew my chair a little nearer to hers and expressed my sincere wish that she might find my company as agreeable as she anticipated.
"But I'll not keep you sitting up late tonight," she said. "You have been travelling all day. I've had the room next to mine prepared for you. It is only a small apartment, but I thought you would like it better than one of the large front chambers. To be sure they have finer furniture, but they are so dreary and solitary I never sleep in them myself."
I thanked her for her considerate choice and, as I really felt fatigued with my long journey, expressed my readiness to retire. She took her candle, and I followed her from the room as she led the way upstairs.
The steps and banisters were of oak. The staircase window was high and latticed. Both it and the long gallery into which the bedroom doors opened looked as if they belonged to a church rather than a house. A vaultlike air pervaded the stairs and gallery. I suddenly had a queer feeling, an icy chill snaking through me. Mrs. Fairfax and even Leah had seemed decent and quite right. They aroused in me no suspicions. I felt I could trust and get to know them. But something in the hall as we walked gave me pause. I couldn't tell what it was, and when I was finally ushered into my chamber, it faded fast. My room was much more pleasing to me, a
