Midsummer at Eyre Hall: Book Three Eyre Hall Trilogy (16 page)

Sin-Eaters like myself have the
privilege of meeting the most interesting people, and visiting some magnificent
mansions. Much had changed in the fifteen months since my last visit to Eyre
Hall, after Mr. Mason’s death. It suited me very well. Many new, downcast faces
busied themselves around the house, which seemed to exhale a pleasantly
decadent stench. The smell of death and evil warmed my senses, and, once again,
another terrified maid fled as I walked through the closed door and asked to
see the corpse. She told me he was still alive, so I entered the drawing room,
where my most valued prey was alone with his decanter of brandy, dreaming about
his beloved Jane Eyre.  

Michael Kirkpatrick recognised me at
once. “Upstairs, Mr. Junot,” he said. “The Green Room, I believe.”

I smiled. He would soon learn I had come
to make his dreams come true. “I’m early for the archbishop.”

“I hope you don’t have to wait too long.
I’ll be glad to see the back of both of you,” he said, turning back to the
fireplace.

“Could we talk, Mr. Kirkpatrick?”

“You’re wasting your time, Junot.”

“I have an interest in your soul.”

He smirked. “I’m sure you do, but I’m
not planning on dying yet.”

I approached the fireplace. “No, not
yet. I have come to negotiate with you, Mr. Kirkpatrick.”

He turned to me, raised an eyebrow and
tilted his face, looking into my eyes. I smiled. He was interested in what I
had to offer.

“I’m interested in your sins, because
they are what I call ‘good sins’, perpetrated to protect or help another weaker
person, in this case your sister Susan, Helen, and Mrs. Mason.”

“What could you offer me that would
interest me? You have nothing I want.”

“Everyone has his price. There must be
something you want that is out of your reach.”

He stopped to think. Of course there
was. There is always something they want. Something I can negotiate with.

“Nothing you can procure, Mr. Junot.”

“Perhaps I can.”

“I shall not waste my time with you.
Jane is waiting for me.”

“Jane has something of yours which you
want dearly. It will not be easy to reach culmination. She is no longer young,
and she has suffered many mishaps already.”

He tried to touch me but I dissolved and
reappeared in another corner of the room.

“Don’t you dare approach Jane.”

“She is of little interest to me, but
you, my dear, your courageous sins, carried out in the name of righteousness,
they are an invaluable prize for me. Most of my sinners are greedy, selfish and
proud.”

He was looking around the room
frantically. He could hear my voice, but I was invisible to his eyes.

“I could offer you money, enough that
your future wife could live like a queen, with ten times the comfort and riches
she possessed at Eyre Hall.”

“I am not interested in riches, and neither
is Jane.”

“Perhaps you are right. Would you be
interested in power? What if you were to meet one of the most powerful men in
London, as close to Queen Victoria as any man can be? He would make sure you
were eventually, and sooner rather than later, named a peer and in a position
to influence the Earl of Derby himself and control any ministry you chose.”

“I have no interest in political power
or influence.”

“What of fame? We could make sure Jane
was even more well-known to posterity than Mr. Dickens, or even Mr. Shakespeare;
would that be a suitable present for Jane?”

“Jane is not ambitious.”

“Perhaps not; or perhaps I will give you
all three, money, a peerage, and a place in the annals of world literature for
Jane Eyre for centuries to come, as well as the thing which you desire most and
have not yet disclosed.”

I reappeared to his eyes across the room.

“Why?” He approached me with a tormented
face. “Why do you want my soul? There are plenty for you to take.”

“Yes, of course, there are plenty who
have sinned greatly with an excess of pride, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath
and sloth, but there are not so many who have sinned in the name of prudence,
justice, temperance, courage, faith, hope, and love. Your sins are more
valuable to me because they prove that Satan was right. Goodness invented evil,
because the battle must be fought and won. Evil must be fought with a greater
evil, or good will perish, but of course, you know that only too well, don’t
you, Mr. Kirkpatrick?”      

“Sometimes good people must commit evil
acts, because if they didn’t, evil would conquer goodness.”

“Intentionality is everything, Mr. Kirkpatrick.
It is not the same to kill a man who is about to rape your sister as it is to
kill a man to steal his purse for gin, is it?” I waited for him to nod.

“Nevertheless, in the eyes of the law,
and in the eyes of God, both are sinners. Both will be denied entry into the
Kingdom of Heaven. They are a necessary casualty for the sake of the
perpetuation of ‘good’. So, you see, good can be selfish and cruel too, making
profit from evil, yet condemning it to hell once the service has been done.”

“What is your point, Mr. Junot?”

“You may not go to prison, Mr.
Kirkpatrick, but you will go to hell. The question is, will you go to hell
having mingled your seed with Jane’s? Will there be a descendent, a young James
Eyre Kirkpatrick, who will one day inherit the Rochester Estate and both his
parents’ legacies?”

He stumbled, dropped on an armchair and
covered his heart with his hands as if I had shot him. 

“You have nothing to lose, my boy. You
will go straight to hell in any case. However, you could sell your soul to me
for a few years of happiness on Earth with Jane in exchange for eternity with
me.”

He shook his head. “You are right. There
is something I wanted, a child, but I want Jane more. You see, you have nothing
to bargain with. I am free again. Jane is already mine. I have enough.”

I wondered if he were telling me the
truth. He had dug her grave. If he didn’t want the child, I would have to aim
for the mother.

“It’s too late for that I’m afraid, Mr.
Kirkpatrick.”

“What do you mean?”

“The seed is there, as I’m sure you
already suspect. It’s done.” I watched his tormented face. Of course he knew.

“The question is, will you lose the
mother, the child, or both?”

He didn’t try to grab me this time. He
didn’t even move. His eyes were bloodshot, their look empty. I smiled. This was
going to be so easy. It never ceased to amaze me that it was always easier and
quicker when my prey was in love. Love was so weak and malleable compared to
hate.

“I want Jane,” he said at once.

“What shall we do with poor little
James?” I teased maliciously, revelling in torturing him. “Let me see, there
could be another miscarriage, a still birth, or death in infancy. Jane would be
so upset. That would be such a pity for her frail heart.”

I watched his face twist in pain.

“Don’t you think she’s suffered enough,
Mr. Kirkpatrick?”

My holograph danced with the flames,
filling the room alternately with light and darkness. I stopped and
materialised beside him. “On the other hand, she could die in pregnancy, in
childbirth, or shortly after the birth.”

I disappeared again into the flames and
danced on the ceiling. He looked up. “If I have to choose, I choose Jane.”

The fireplace was extinguished and the
candles snuffed to my command. My voice rang in the darkness. “What would Jane
choose? To live a few more years, or leave you with James for your lifetime?”

“This is my decision. I choose Jane.” 

This was my favourite part; the agony of
making decisions. Freedom of choice is such a curse. And it was so easy to
raise doubts in their feeble minds. Still, he needed one more push before he
signed.

I ignited the candles and the fireplace
with renewed vigour. The room was as hot as hell and as bright as its flames.

“You can’t have both, but I’m a generous
man.” His face was a perfect picture of torture. I waited a few more seconds
before continuing. “You can have James.”

Then it happened. Sooner than I
expected. He begged.

“You know I can’t live without Jane.”

I watched him battle with his own will,
but he had already bent to my desire.

“Please.” His tearful eyes surrendered
to mine and he sobbed. I waited for his request, and it came, just as I had
expected.

“I need Jane.”

I had won. He had realised that his need
was greater than his love, and he knew I satisfied needs, not love. We had
reached an understanding, at last.

“I grant you both.”

Once Jane was gone, his son would prove
useful in keeping him under my grasp, and I wanted his sins to grow for as long
as possible.

 “How do I sign this deal?”

“No signature, just your word and my mark
which I will lay on you to seal our pact.”

“Where?”

“That will be my decision and you will
not refuse.”

“As long as it is somewhere Jane will
never see or touch.”

I nodded and contained my joy. He was
mine at last. I would brand my initial on his heel that very night.

“Imagine if you had a magic potion which
could separate the good and evil in a person, one would be totally good, and the
other totally evil, what would happen? Which one would be stronger? Could good
survive without evil, or evil without good? Would they both survive, or would
they both die? Think of yourself, Mr. Kirkpatrick, where would you be, where
would your sister be, or Helen, or Jane, if you had been only, and totally, good?

“I know what you are thinking. Was it
your evil side, which seduced Jane? Because John is right. If you hadn’t
seduced her, if you hadn’t told her you loved her and kissed her first, she
would never have maintained a relationship with you. You would still be her
servant and she would still be running the Rochester Estate. You were her
temptation, her potion, and look where it has led her.”

“Jane has not behaved in an evil way.”

“She has not committed the crimes you
have, certainly, but she is not completely innocent either. She was unfaithful
to her husband and encouraged you to do evil.”

“I did what I wanted to do. Jane didn’t
encourage me. Mr. Rochester had lied and cheated and been unfaithful to her for
years.”

“Then she should have left him. She
chose to stay, so she should have behaved loyally.”

“Who are you, evil personified, to judge
Jane’s behaviour?”

“Do not despair. Jane has a small amount
of evil that all good people need for their own protection, no more.”

“In any case, she was not unfaithful. We
did not become intimate until Mr. Rochester had died.”

“True, but the intentionality was there
while he was alive. Intentionality is everything, as we have already
established.”

“What are the consequences of this pact
while I am alive?”

“You will have money and power, and your
wife will have fame for generations to come. You will have a son called James
Eyre Kirkpatrick, who will be master of the Rochester Estate, and Jane will
live, for a time.”

“Until the child is an adult.”

“You are not in a position to bargain
further, and in any case, that will not be my decision.”

“And once I die?”

“I’ll absorb your sins and your soul,
and I will give you the option of travelling with me instead of going to hell,
but you will have plenty of time to think about that before the time comes.”

“Will I see you again?”

“Probably.”

“Jane mustn’t know.”

“There would be no advantage for me in
telling her, would there?”

My image swirled towards the door and,
before disappearing, I bade him farewell. “I must leave you, Lord Kirkpatrick.
I have another urgent matter to attend.”

He brooded and drank himself senseless. When
he woke, he would wish it had been a nightmare, but he knew he had made a pact
with the devil, and his itching heel would remind him he had been branded for eternity.

***

Helen. Manderley, Easter 1866.

Michael saved my life twice. The first
time was when he discovered Jane was my mother, and the second time was when he
returned me to her side after my brother had me sent to Lowood Institution.

Our life in Cornwall was very different
to our life at Eyre Hall. Our house was pretty and clean, but it was even smaller
than the servants’ quarters at Eyre Hall. I spent all day with my mother, doing
my homework while she was writing, and later reading together. I often helped
Shirley in the kitchen, especially baking cakes. We went to the local school
most afternoons for French and music lessons, and took long walks by the beach
with Michael before sunset. I told her everything I had learnt at Lowood, and
she said she was very proud of me. Michael brought my school reports, which
were very enthusiastic and full of praise for my hard work.  

One day, my mother had to visit Mr. de
Winter, who sponsored the local school, so that he would donate some more books
and money. She took me with her and asked me to wait in the garden. There were
swings and a lawn but after a while, I decided to walk down to the beach. I had
never been so near the sea. I sat by the shore and made shapes with the pebbles
and seashells on the sand.     

“What are you doing here?”

I jumped. I hadn’t heard anyone
approaching. Of course, with the strong wind, which was blowing that day, I
could hardly hear anything. A young boy, who looked a few years older than me, was
pointing at the seashells.

“I’m playing.”

“I can see that, but why are you playing
here?”

“Why not? It’s a beach. I can play here
if I like.”

“It could be someone’s beach.”

“Beaches don’t belong to anyone. They’re
free like the sun, the air and the wind.”

“That’s how it should be, but it isn’t. This
is a private beach.”

“A private beach? I’ve never heard of a
private beach.”

“What have you got in your hands?”

“Some seashells and pebbles.”

“That’s stealing. They’re not yours.
They belong to the sea, or to the owner of the beach.”

“How do you know the beach has an
owner?”

“Because it’s mine. I’m the owner.”

I dropped the seashells, jumped up and
took some steps away from him. “Do you want me to leave?”

He walked towards me and picked up the
seashells. “No, please stay.” He held out his hand. “Here, these are your
seashells.”

“No, they’re yours.”

“Not anymore. You found them. Take
them.”

Our fingers brushed as he placed them in
my hands. I felt a tickle and moved my hands away. The seashells fell back on
the sand. He picked them up again.

“Please don’t be afraid of me.”

I held my hands behind my back and
fidgeted.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

He smiled and I noticed his eyes were
such a light brown they were almost green. I felt a strange ripple in my tummy
and took another step backwards. My heart started pounding in my chest. I realised
I was afraid of him. My skirt was too long. If I tried to run away, he would
easily catch me.

“I’ll leave them here on the sand, so
you can pick them up whenever you like.”

 “I think I should go.”

“No! I mean, please don’t leave.”

I wondered if it would be better to
humour him than try to run away.

“There’s a summer house at the end of
the path.” He pointed towards Manderley. “There are some books and toys, and
benches outside. Mrs. Benson could make us some tea. Come on!” He waved his
hand.

I had no chance of escape. I walked past
the mountain of seashells I’d picked up and followed him.

Cove Cottage was smaller than our
cottage. There was a lovely garden outside with a wooden table and benches and
it had pretty plastered stone walls. The windows were small and the ceilings
were low, so it was dark inside. The furniture was dark, too. There was a small
staircase leading to two bedrooms, one for Mrs. Benson, the lady who looked
after the cottage, and one for Fritz, their footman.

When we arrived, Mrs. Benson was sitting
in a stiff rocking chair by the stone fireplace knitting a very long garment or
scarf. The boy asked her to make us some tea, and she said she’d baked some
fairy cakes. We sat outside on the benches on the porch in the front garden overlooking
the sea while we had our tea.

“Did you come to the beach on your own?”

“I came with my mother. She told me to
take a walk in the gardens while she spoke to Mr. de Winter, but I strolled
down to the beach.”

His face clouded over. “What’s the
matter?”

“Mr. de Winter is my father.”

“What’s your name?”

“Max, like my father and my grandfather.
It’s a family name. When I have a son, he’ll be called Max, too.”

He looked sad and lonely. He turned and
asked me my name.

“Why is your mother here, Helen? Does
she work for my father?”

“No. My mother doesn’t work for anyone.
She’s a writer and the best person in the world.”

“I can’t imagine why such a nice person
would want to spend time with my father.”

“She isn’t spending time with him! She
came to speak to him about the school. She teaches French there.”

“Where’s your father?”

“Dead.”

“So, your mother’s a widow.” He shrugged
his shoulders as if that explained it all.

“My mother isn’t a widow. She’s married
to Michael. He’s my step-father.”

“What’s he like?”

“He’s the bravest and best person in the
world.”

“Lucky you. I hate my father.”

He looked so sad. “Let’s walk back to
the beach,” he said.

“My father wasn’t very nice either. He
didn’t love me, but Michael loves me.”

“Is he rich? Where does he work?”

“At the fishery. He works hard. We have
enough money. Money isn’t everything, you know!”

“If your mother’s pretty and Michael’s
not rich, my father will try to steal her from your Michael. He always does
that. He thinks everything’s his for the taking.”

“No one will ever steal anything from
Michael, especially not my mother. You don’t know how much she loves him, and
he loves her even more.”

He threw some pebbles into the sea. “You
don’t know my father.”

“What happened to your mother?”

“She died. I can hardly remember her. My
grandmother looked after me until she died too. Now it’s just my father and me.
There’s no one else in the family, and we don’t even like each other. How sad
is that?”

He threw some more pebbles, which rippled
in the shoreline. He looked more sad than angry. He had a regal face, like the
Roman emperors I’d seen in pictures, with short curly hair, large, angular
features, and a strong, square jaw.

“I should go,” I said at last.

“Please stay. I’m lonely, and I like …
talking to you.”

“Don’t you have any friends?”

“No. Will you be my friend?”

“I don’t know if I can be your friend.
I’m a girl and you’re a boy. Girls don’t play with boys.”

“You’re right, but that’s silly and
unfair. Why shouldn’t we be friends? Can’t we have tea and talk and walk along
the beach and read together?”

“I suppose we could.”

“Come back another day. Come back
whenever you want to. Tomorrow? I haven’t shown you my books yet.”

“I’ll ask my mother and Michael when I
can come back.”

He pulled my hand. “Come on. I’ll take
you back to Manderley.”

We walked back along the path. The
ground was covered with thick tree roots hidden beneath the foliage. I tripped
and he squeezed my hand. I suddenly felt heat pour to my face. Was I blushing?
Was this what happened when Elizabeth Bennet met Mr. Darcy?

“You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever
seen, Helen. Will you be my friend?”

“Will you be kind to me?”

“Always. I’ll be like a knight in
shining armour, ready to pick you up if you fall, cheer you up if you’re sad,
help you if you have a problem. That’s what friends should do, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Will you cheer me up when I’m feeling
discontented, Helen?”

I nodded.

“I’m often in a bad mood. Mrs. Benson
says I’m melancholic because I miss my mother, but I hardly remember her. Can
you miss someone you’ve forgotten, is that possible?”

He looked like a lost puppy, and I
suddenly felt sorry for him. I faced him and picked up his other hand.

“You can’t have forgotten your mother.
Close your eyes.” I waited until he had done so. “Now see her. Just smile,
think of something nice and you’ll see her. When I was away at boarding school,
that’s what I did.”

He opened his eyes.

“Well,” I asked, “Did you see her? What
was she like?”

He looked at me very seriously, pulled
me closer, and whispered in my ear, “I only saw you, Helen, just you.” Then he
hugged me and kissed my cheek.

I pushed him away. “You see. That’s why
we can’t be friends.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You spoiled it. I liked you, but now we
can never be friends.”

“I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

“Why did you kiss me?”

“I don’t know. I wanted to see what it
would be like to be close to someone, to you. I haven’t kissed anybody for a
long time, and nobody ever kisses me.”

“Not even your father?”

“Especially not my father. I hate him.”

“You mustn’t say that.”

He pushed his hands into his pockets,
bent his head towards his shoes, and kicked some soggy leaves.

“Let’s get back to Manderley. Follow
me.”

I walked behind him in silence. When we
reached the house, he turned to me.

“Am I forgiven?”

He looked so sad and apologetic that I
nodded. He pushed open the door and held it for me to go inside.

“Welcome to Manderley,” he said proudly.

We could hear voices upstairs.

“My father is talking to your mother.”
He pointed upstairs. “They’re in my mother’s bedroom.”

“I thought you said she died when you
were born.”

“Did I?”

I nodded.

“That was before I knew we would be best
friends. She’s not dead. No one has ever used her bedroom since she left. It’s
closed and draped. I can’t think why they’re in there. Let’s listen.”

“How?”

He pulled my hand. “Come with me,
there’s a passage on the other side. We’ll hear everything they say.”

I stopped and twisted my hand away from
his. “That’s eavesdropping.”

“Don’t you trust your mother?”

“Of course I do.”

“I hope you’re right. Then you’ll find
out what kind of a cuckoo my father is. He steals other men’s wives.”

We rushed up the side stairs and tiptoed
along the corridor. “In here,” he whispered, pulling my hand again. We stood by
the wall, next to a large oak door. He pointed to his ear and then to the
wall. 

“Look at these beautiful dresses!” said
my mother.

“Such a pity they are not being put to
good use. Many were never worn.”

I could hear the rustling of clothes,
and then my mother’s voice again. “It’s been such a long time since I’ve seen
such beautiful clothes.”

More rustling.

“Oh yes, they would look so wonderful on
Annette.”

“Annette?” asked Max’s father.  

“My previous husband’s niece. A
beautiful young woman.”

“I’m sure these dresses would fit you. Please
feel free to take any you would like to wear, Mrs. Stewart. They are wasted in
this old wardrobe.”

“Me?” She laughed. “I don’t need
beautiful dresses. Where would I wear them?”

“You wore beautiful dresses once, I’m
sure.”

There was silence for a few minutes.
Then I heard some footsteps. I wondered what my mother was doing. Finally, she
spoke again.

“I have worn many dresses, Mr. de
Winter. I have worn handed-down pinafores, uniforms made of stuff, and
expensive dresses brought from London.”

“Why not wear them again, now?”

“I don’t need them now, or want them. I
have the dresses I need, thank you, Mr. de Winter.”

“I didn’t wish to offend you, Mrs.
Stewart.”

“I have taken no offence.” Silence and
footsteps again. “I don’t want expensive dresses any more. They brought me a
great deal of heartache.”