Jane Slayre (27 page)

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Eshton will do well to put the hag in the stocks tomorrow morning, as he threatened."

Miss Ingram took a book, leaned back in her chair, and so declined further conversation. I watched her for nearly a half hour. During all that time, she never turned a page, and her face grew darker, more dissatisfied, and more sourly expressive of disappointment by the minute. She had obviously not heard anything to her advantage.

Meantime, Mary Ingram and Amy and Louisa Eshton declared they dared not go alone, yet they all wished to go. A negotiation was opened through Sam, and after much pacing to and fro, until, I think, Sam's calves must have ached with the exercise, permission was at last, with great difficulty, extorted from the rigorous sibyl for the three to wait upon her in a body.

Their visit was not so still as Miss Ingram's had been. We heard hysterical giggling and little shrieks from the library. After about twenty minutes they came running across the hall, as if they were half scared out of their wits.

"I am sure she is something not right!" they cried, one and all. "She told us such things! She knows all about us!" They sank breathless into the various seats the gentlemen hastened to bring them.

The others begged more information and the girls related how the woman knew such intimate particulars as their fondest wishes and what they dreamed at night.

In the midst of the tumult, and while my eyes and ears were fully engaged in the scene before me, I heard a hem close at my elbow. I turned and saw Sam.

"If you please, miss, the Gypsy declares that there is another young single lady in the room who has not been to her yet, and she swears she will not go until she has seen all. I thought it must be you. What shall I tell her?"

"Oh, I will go by all means." I was glad of the opportunity to

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gratify my much excited curiosity. I slipped out of the room and closed the door quietly behind me.

CHAPTER 22

THE LIBRARY LOOKED TRANQUIL enough, illuminated only by the light of the fire. The witch, if witch she was, was seated in an easy chair at the chimney corner. She had on a red cloak and a broad-brimmed Gypsy hat, tied down with a striped handkerchief under her chin. An extinguished candle stood on the table.

"Well, and you want your fortune told?" she said in a harsh voice.

"I don't care about it. You may please yourself. But I ought to warn you, I have no faith."

"It's like your impudence to say so. I heard it in your step as you crossed the threshold."

"Did you? You've a quick ear." I watched her carefully, thinking of the daggers I had strapped to my ankle in case of danger.

"I have, and a quick eye and a quick brain."

"You need them all in your trade."

"I do. Especially when I've customers like you to deal with. Why don't you tremble?"

"I'm not cold."

"You are cold. Cold because you are alone." She put a short black pipe to her lips and began smoking with vigour.

"You might say all that to almost anyone who you knew lived as a solitary dependent in a great house."

"I might say it to almost anyone, but would it be true of almost anyone? If you knew it, you are peculiarly situated, very near happiness.

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Yes, within reach of it. The materials are all prepared. There only wants a movement to combine them. Now, show me your palm."

"And I must cross it with silver, I suppose?"

"To be sure." She cackled again.

I gave her a shilling. She pocketed it and told me to hold out my hand. I did. She approached her face to the palm.

"It is too fine. I can make nothing of such a hand as that, almost without lines. I wonder what thoughts are busy in your heart during all the hours you sit in the window seat with the fine people flitting before you like shapes in a magic lantern. You see I know your habits--"

"You have learned them from the servants."

"Ah! You think yourself sharp. Well, perhaps I have. To speak truth, I have an acquaintance with one of them, Mrs. Poole--"

I started to my feet when I heard the name. Something wicked was in all this after all. My hand grasped at the stake I kept in my pocket.

"Don't be alarmed," continued the strange being. "She's a safe hand is Mrs. Poole. Close and quiet, anyone may repose confidence in her. But, as I was saying, sitting in that window seat, is there not one face you study? One figure whose movements you follow with at least curiosity?"

"I like to observe all the faces and all the figures."

"But do you never single one from the rest--or it may be, two?"

"I do frequently. When the gestures or looks of a pair seem telling a tale, it amuses me to watch them."

"What tale do you like best to hear?"

"Oh, I have not much choice! They generally run on the same theme, courtship and marriage." I relaxed my hold on the stake, feeling more secure.

"And do you like that monotonous theme?"

"I don't care about it. It is nothing to me."

"Nothing to you? When a lady, young and full of life and health,

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charming with beauty and endowed with the gifts of rank and fortune, sits and smiles in the eyes of a gentleman you--"

"I what?"

"You know--and perhaps think well of."

"I don't know the gentlemen here. I have scarcely interchanged a syllable with one of them."

"Will you say that of the master of the house?"

"He is not at home."

"A most ingenious quibble!"

"No, but I can scarcely see what Mr. Rochester has to do with the theme you had introduced."

"Can't you? You have seen love, have you not? And, looking forward, you have seen him married and beheld his bride happy?"

"Not exactly. Your witch's skill is rather at fault sometimes."

"What the devil have you seen, then?"

"Never mind. I came here to inquire, not to confess. Is it known that Mr. Rochester is to be married?"

"Yes, and to the beautiful Miss Ingram."

"Shortly?"

"Appearances would warrant that conclusion. But I gave her some intelligence that seemed to quite upset her. It seems she prefers to marry for fortune, and I assured her that Mr. Rochester was on the brink of ruin."

Ha. Fortune-teller indeed. It could be that his fortunes had been reduced, though I saw nothing of it. But on the brink of ruin? No wonder Blanche was most distressed.

"But, I did not come to hear Mr. Rochester's fortune. I came to hear my own, and you have told me nothing of it."

"Your fortune is yet doubtful. Chance has meted you a measure of happiness. She has laid it carefully on one side for you. It depends on you to stretch out your hand and take it up. The problem is that I can't tell whether you will do so, stubborn one. Kneel on the rug."

I leaned as if I would kneel, but instead retrieved my daggers and lunged at the old fraud, daggers extended, one in each hand. "What

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of the master not being at home? Who are you? Who sent you? Do you intend to rob me as you have perhaps robbed others tonight? Or are you about to perpetrate a foul scheme, with perhaps Grace Poole? Confess, or die!"

"Confess?" She stood to full height, taller than I imagined. Not intimidated, I slid a dagger under her throat. Much to my surprise, the old hag reacted with lightning speed, gripping my wrist and twisting my arm behind my back.

"What act is this?" The hag's voice deepened to a gravelly huskiness. "Daggers, Jane?"

She knew my name. No doubt I was right about her being in league with Grace Poole. I steadied my breathing, as Miss Temple had instructed, imagined my enemy's position behind me, and--

Slammed my head back into what should have been her head, but surely was only her chest. Still, the move was effective enough to startle my aggressor into dropping my wrist. I spun, reared up on my toes, and delivered a solid kick to the old witch's jaw. "Ha, take that!"

She slammed back into her chair, and I filled with that surge of power that accompanied such victories. "Now tell me your name, and your purpose!"

"No such thing." She bounced back with surprising skill, slamming into me, and pinioning me against the wall with supernatural strength. I gasped in surprise. Zombie or vampyre? I'd lost my daggers, but I still had a stake in my pocket if only I could twist my arm out of her viselike hold and--

"Enough, Jane," my aggressor said quietly, the voice registering in my mind. I knew that voice. I looked. I knew those eyes. "We could clearly engage in combat all night, but I had only thought to entertain you for a quarter hour. The guests will be getting anxious for you."

"The guests don't take any notice of me, Mr. Rochester. As you know. But what are you doing dressed up? Reading fortunes? Sir, what a strange idea."

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He stepped back, freeing me while he removed his red cloak. "As strange as a governess armed with Egyptian daggers that she clearly knows how to use?" He picked them up and returned them to me after making a close study of the handles. "Exquisite workmanship."

"And stakes, sir. I have one in my pocket at all times. There are vampyres about."

"What do you mean, vampyres?"

"You explain first. What were you doing in costume?"

"Simply trying to amuse my guests."

"But with me, sir? It felt as if you were trying to draw me out."

"And so I have, Madam Assassin, speaking of acting a part. Do you forgive me, Jane?"

"I don't know yet. If, on reflection, I find I have fallen into no great absurdity, I shall try to forgive you."

"Oh, you have been very correct. And quite impressive."

I reflected, and thought, on the whole, I had. It was a comfort, but indeed I had been on my guard almost from the beginning of the interview. Something of masquerade I suspected, but my mind had been running on Grace Poole.

"I am no assassin, sir. There were zombies at Lowood. Before that, I lived with vampyres. I have learned a few things to--protect myself." And others, but I didn't want to embarrass him by mentioning the few vampyres I'd killed to protect him at our first meeting. "I seem to get a certain feeling when vampyres are present, and I have had that feeling since you arrived with your guests. I am sure one of them is not quite right. I think one of them meant to attack Lady Lynn in her bed the other night."

"One of them, you say. A sense for vampyres? What an unusual skill. But that one of my guests could be so unnatural? I had no idea."

"They often manage to go about in the population unnoticed."

"You were raised with them?"

"There is much about me you don't know, sir."

"There is much I would like to know, but my guests must be

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growing impatient. Perhaps some other time. I suspect you have been watching out for the vampyre amongst them? Tell me what the people in the drawing room are doing."

"Discussing the Gypsy, I daresay. And, oh, are you aware, Mr. Rochester, that a stranger has arrived here since you left this morning?"

"A stranger? Who can it be? I expected no one. Is he gone?"

"No. He said he had known you long, and that he could take the liberty of installing himself here until you returned."

"The devil he did! Did he give his name?"

"His name is Mason, sir, from the West Indies." I hoped the name would draw Mr. Rochester out and allow him to tell me about his time in the West Indies. Did he know anything of voodoo? Did it have anything to do with Grace Poole?

"Mason!"

"Are you ill, sir?"

He shook his head, clearly distressed. He sat down, and made me sit beside him. "Jane, I wish I were on a quiet island with only you, and trouble, and danger, and hideous recollections removed from me."

"Can I help you, sir?"

"Yes. Fetch me a glass of wine from the dining room. They will be at supper there. Make note and tell me if Mason is with them, and what he is doing."

I went. I found all the party in the dining room at supper, as Mr. Rochester had said. They were not seated at the table. The supper was arranged on the sideboard. Each had taken what he chose, and they stood about here and there in groups, their plates and glasses in their hands. Every one seemed in high glee. Mr. Mason stood near the fire, talking to Colonel and Mrs. Dent, and appeared as merry as any of them. I filled a wineglass and saw Miss Ingram watch me with such a look, as if she'd caught me taking a liberty. I nodded in her direction and returned to the library.

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Mr. Rochester seemed more collected. He took the glass from my hand.

"Here is to your health, ministrant spirit!" He swallowed the contents and returned it to me. "What are they doing, Jane?"

I gave my report. He nodded. "Go back now into the room. Take Mason aside quietly and tell him that Mr. Rochester has returned and wishes to see him. Show him in here and then leave us."

"Yes, sir."

I did his behest. The company all stared at me as I passed straight amongst them. I sought Mr. Mason, delivered the message, and preceded him from the room. I ushered him into the library, then I went upstairs.

At a late hour, after I had been in bed some time, I heard the visitors repair to their chambers. I distinguished Mr. Rochester's voice and heard him say, "This way, Mason, to your room."

He spoke cheerfully and it set my mind at ease. I was able to stop worrying, turn over, and go to sleep.

The moon was full, bright, and shining in my window, waking me up in the middle of the night. I had forgotten to draw my curtain, which I usually did, and also to let down my window blind. I got up to do so and stopped in my tracks at a sound.

A strange noise split the air: a savage, sharp, shrilly sound that ran from end to end of Thornfield Hall.

My pulse stopped. My heart stood still. The cry died and was not renewed. Indeed, whatever being uttered that fearful shriek could not soon repeat it, I daresay. It would have damaged its throat.

I knew it at once to be out of the third story, for it came from overhead, right over my room. I heard a struggle going on, a deadly one from the sound of it. A half-smothered voice called out for help, three times in rapid succession. Then, more scraping and banging. Finally, a cry for Mr. Rochester, which set me at some