Midsummer at Eyre Hall: Book Three Eyre Hall Trilogy (4 page)

“I will not marry a man I do not love.”

“I’m afraid you will do as John decides,
and you’ll find he’ll agree with my suggestions. In any case, you will certainly
not marry a village doctor.”

My hands were trembling and my head
spinning. What kind of hell had Eyre Hall become in the space of a few hours?

 “What about Helen? Why can’t I see her
and why is she locked in her room?”

“She has bewitched Mrs. Mason into
believing that she is her mother. I haven’t decided whether she’ll be spending
some time at the asylum, too. What do you think? I have enquired. There is a
children’s ward.”

My heart raced. Helen in an asylum? I
had to stop him. “Please don’t do that, Archbishop Templar. I beseech you.” I
forced myself to smile. “She is a very sensitive child.”

“In that case, it was Jane who, inspired
by her madness, decided the child was her long-lost daughter, was it not? If
you would testify to that, Annette, Helen would be sent to a strict boarding
school, instead of an asylum. She needs some discipline. She spends the day
running around the house and the kitchen like an unbridled pony.”

I nodded. There was nothing more I could
do until John returned. I would make him understand, but for the time being, I
had no choice but to follow the archbishop’s instructions. He pushed the
document towards me.

“Kindly sign here, Annette. I believe
Lowood is the best institution for liars to be taught to speak the truth.”

I scratched my name on the document. “Where
is Michael?” I asked quietly.  

“I wanted him in prison, in York. I had informed
the constable that he had stolen some goods from my house, but I thought better
of it. The constable insisted on a hearing and I didn’t want to wait, so I
hired some men. It took four of them to restrain him. Two were badly injured,
but he received a good beating in the end.”

He gulped the last of the wine. “He’s
here, in the ice house. I want to make sure he’s close and under control. We
both know how resourceful he is, don’t we?”

“It’s freezing in the ice house.”

“It is. He’s paying for his sins. He
should never have put his filthy paws on Mrs. Mason.”

I was alone. I couldn’t speak to John, Harry
or Michael, and I didn’t have any money of my own, except the housekeeping
allowance and some jewellery. I had to make sure Michael was safe and find a
way to set him free as soon as possible, so he could help Jane.

“Michael will need blankets, food and
water.”

Fred walked in. “Can I bring you dessert,
Archbishop, Miss Mason?”

“Ah, here you are, Fred. Yes, bring us
some fruit and any cakes and biscuits Cook has prepared.”

“At once, sir.” He bowed and turned to
leave.

“And Fred, see to it that the prisoner
has some bread and water.”

“And blankets, please, Fred,” I added.
Fred looked at the archbishop, who nodded.

The following day after breakfast, I
informed the archbishop that I would go downstairs to see if Leah was better
and discuss the household arrangements with her, as I did every week. He warned
me that Mrs. Leah would lose her job if she disobeyed his instructions. We had
to be careful, but I was sure Leah, Cook and Joseph would help Michael escape.

Only Fred and Joseph were allowed to go
to the icehouse. It was usually Joseph who took down his food, so I made sure
Michael had enough supplies. There were no windows, the door was heavy, and the
bolt and lock were solid. Michael would never be able to open it from the
inside. The archbishop would punish anyone who helped him escape. I felt
hopeless, until a week later, when the heavy rains started. 

Fortunately, the icehouse flooded and
Michael was moved to the stables. To my relief, he was chained to a horse bar,
which would make it much easier to plan his escape. We had to make it look
believable, so Michael had to hurt poor Joseph, but it was a small price to pay
to free Jane.

***

Grimsby Retreat, 16th December 1866.

Poole’s second visit occurred two days after
I fainted. I stood by the grated window of my new room, looking into the ample
gardens below. Some of the male inmates were employed in gardening chores,
mostly shovelling and digging. I wished I could be let out like the men to work
in the garden. I could breathe fresh air and escape from this tortuous confinement.
I would run away, barefoot even, until my feet were sore and cracked and the
wolves would smell my fear and blood and put me out of my misery.

“How are you feeling today, Jane?”

My whole body tensed on hearing his
voice. “I am much better, thank you, Mr. Poole.”

“Please call me Daniel. We are about to
be good friends, Jane.”

He smiled and stood so close I could
feel his breath on my hair.

“Mr. Poole, I’m afraid I must decline
your generous offer. I would like to return to my previous room.”

“You still think I’m not good enough for
you!” He grasped my shoulders and shook me so hard I thought he would break my arms.

“Mr. Poole, I can see that you are a
successful and generous man, but I’m afraid I still miss my husband. I cannot
embark upon another relationship at present. I’ve lost two wonderful men in the
last two years. My sadness is absolute.”

I felt a sharp sting as the back of his
huge hand hurled my face towards the lattice window. I tumbled against the wall
as he fired his foul language at me.

“Damn you! You conniving liar! You do
not miss your husbands. You were going to marry a young servant. Am I too old
for you? Not good-looking enough?” His hands reached between his legs as he leered
at me. “I assure you I can fill you to the brim, as much as he can.”

My head was spinning, but I realised my
best option was to try to pacify his anger. “Please, Mr. Poole. Michael was my
servant some time ago, but he is no longer in my service. I assure you I have
no wish to marry him or anyone else. I have learned my lesson. There will be no
more men in my life, except my son, John. He is the only man who will live with
me at Eyre Hall.”

“You are a liar! And you’ll never return
to Eyre Hall. You have been incapacitated. The archbishop has the power of
attorney until your son returns. You are dead to the world. I am your only
friend, and you are fast making me into an enemy.” He pushed a fat finger into
my chest. “You would not like me as an enemy, Jane.”

He twisted my arm. “Come, I’ll show you
where you’ll be living if you don’t please me willingly, because, mark my
words, you’ll please me anyway. I would prefer not to have to beat you or
shackle you, but if it’s what you prefer, it can be arranged.” 

He led me down two flights of stairs and
along the narrow passages, which separated the dungeon-like apartments on
either side of long, snaking galleries. I heard the desperate yells in that
maze of human misery and wondered how long a person could survive in this
vault.

He kicked open a heavy iron door and
threw me inside. “Would you prefer to stay here?”

I glimpsed around the stone cell. Water
trickled down the moss-covered walls, and muddy earth and straw covered the
floor. There was a long wooden board fixed to a wall, which I supposed would be
the bed. Shackles dangled above it. I wondered where the wind came from, as
there was no window to be seen. I remembered Bertha’s windowless room where Annette,
her unwanted baby, had inhaled her first breath.

He pulled me out of the room and pushed
me back up the stairs. “I’ll give you another day to ponder on your future.”

When he returned, I had made my
decision. I couldn’t bring myself to submit willingly. I preferred to live with
a bruised body than with a broken soul.

The following day, a short scrawny man
with jerking limbs caught me by my hair and kicked me into the dungeon. I was
too weak and frightened to protest as he tied a belt around my waist with which
I was secured to a chair. A woman I had never seen before, dressed in rags, cut
my hair as she laughed hysterically. They ripped off my dress and covered me
with a torn and filthy uniform, which must have been worn by someone else. Probably
someone who had been fortunate enough to die and end her misery, as I was sure
I would shortly.

When I refused to take the medicine or
eat and they held me back and poured soup down my throat.

****

He’s coming back. I can hear him
outside my cell. What does he want now? They’ve stripped me, cut my hair, hosed
me with cold water, dressed me in a stiff, flannel sack which prickles my skin
as if it were made of needles, and tied me with manacles to the bed. I won’t
survive. I’m sure I’ll die here. Michael survived in the dungeon for almost
three months. I don’t know how long I’ve been here, perhaps no more than two
days, but I don’t think I can survive much longer, not after what happened
yesterday. 

I don’t even know why I’m here. Poole
told me I had to pay for my sins, because I had wronged his family, but I had never
seen him before. He’s a monster. I don’t want to think about what he tried to
do to me, and the dreadful words he spat at me.

I keep thinking it’s a nightmare and
that I’ll wake up soon, but I can’t wake up. I’ve been pulling my hands against
the chains, until they are bruised, but every time I open my eyes, I’m back in
this hell.

Michael, where are you? Help me.
Speak to me.

“Jane, think about good things. Think
about the plans we made on the ship on the way home from Jamaica.”

I closed my eyes.

“Think about the wonderful months we
spent at Eyre Hall, while we planned out wedding and our life together.”

Yes, Michael, so many days and nights
together.

“Think about our journey to London,
William’s christening and the evening we went to hear Mr. Dickens read Oliver
Twist.”

We had stayed at Brown’s Hotel,
because we wanted privacy, in separate but adjoining rooms. It was a waste
because we only used one, but Mr. Dickens advised us it was not wise to provoke
a scandal.

Michael, speak to me, I begged and I
heard his voice once again through the thick walls.

“Jane, remember Dante’s exhibition at
the Royal Academy.”

Yes, darling, we bought some
beautiful landscapes for our new wing at Eyre Hall. 

I tried to remember the colours, but
I could only see blackness. 

Michael, keep talking to me. Don’t
leave me.

“Jane, think about Helen, how happy
and cheerful she is in her new rooms, and her plans to go to a finishing school
and travel to France to learn French.”

Yes, Michael, I’m thinking about
Helen and I’m so worried about her.

“Think about our trip to the theatre
with Mr. Dickens and Miss Ternan.”

Yes, we had a wonderful evening, but
Michael, where are you? They could have killed you. Is that why you haven’t
come to take me away from this place? Is that why you are talking to me through
these walls?”

Michael didn’t reply and I cried in
desperation. The monster was coming back.

****

Poole tied a handkerchief over my mouth
so that I could not bite him as I had done the first time he had tried to
assault me. Yesterday I had pierced the dragon tattoo on his thigh with the
butterfly hairpin Michael had asked me to wear. Blood had poured down his leg,
but even so, he easily crushed me. That’s why my wrists were wrapped in iron
hand-cuffs and my hands swollen and purple, as if they were ready to burst.

His brutality was devastating. I closed
my eyes and tried to take my mind away from my wrecked body, but his tainted
breath and groping hands reminded me that I was at his mercy.

He shouted at me with offensive insults
and pushed me with his foot to rise up. “You are no more than an infested
beast. Who will want you now that you have no beauty and no money? Where is
your champion now? Your young lover has gone, probably looking for another rich
widow to swindle.” 

I never wanted Michael, or anyone else,
to see me in this bottomless pit where I had fallen. I prayed for death to
unlock the doors of this prison and free me from more degradation.

****

It was a raw and chill December morning
when I was told to dress, dragged out of my warm and cosy bedroom, and taken to
a hostile place. Cook cried in the kitchen as she watched me drink a glass of
warm milk and eat some dry bread. “Be sure to do as you’re told, Helen, and
pray for your mother to get well and collect you soon.”

“Where’s Mummy?” I asked.

“Come on,” said Fred. “You’re leaving.”

“Where’s Annette?”

I hadn’t seen Michael, Annette or my
mother since the archbishop had arrived and locked me in my room, three days
ago. The only person I had seen until this morning was a new maid, who had
brought me my food, but refused to speak to me when I asked her who she was or
where the others were.

“Stop asking questions. The carriage is
ready. Move,” Fred said.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll soon find out.” He pushed me
towards the door.

I kissed Cook goodbye and walked out to
the drive. Joseph bid me good morning and said, “Poor child,” under his breath.
It was dark and the moon was nowhere in sight. I spoke not a word in the
carriage, avoiding Fred’s spiteful smirk. “You’re going to learn some manners,
little Miss Hoity-Toity.”

Joseph drove for a long time and we
eventually descended into a dark, wooded valley. The wind made wild noises as
it blew amongst the trees and I wondered if I’d be abandoned in the forest and
eaten by a wolf. Rain, wind and darkness filled the air as the carriage stopped
outside a sturdy brick wall and an ornate iron gate.

A very tall woman with a sallow face and
small beady black eyes greeted us at the entrance. “We’ll take her from here,”
she said to Fred, whose fingers were ruthlessly clasping my upper arm.

I saw a young girl at her side. She looked
older than me and wore a black stuff dress with a starched linen collar and
carried a lantern. Her russet hair was combed away from her pretty face, and
her large green eyes scrutinised my clothes curiously.

“Where do you think you’re going,
wearing those extravagant clothes?” said the woman with a smirk.

I was wearing my new red coat and bonnet
and red patent shoes. The archbishop had told me I was going somewhere special
and that I should wear my Sunday clothes. I thought it best not to reply, so I
looked down to the muddy ground.

“I can see why the archbishop says you
have no manners. Look at me when I’m speaking to you and answer my question,
Miss Rosset.”

Mrs. Rosset was the name of the woman
who kidnapped me when I was a baby. Nobody called me by her surname any more.
My mother and Michael had told me my real name and nobody was going to take it
away from me. I looked up.

“My name is Helen Eyre Rochester.”

Joseph was holding the reins on the
carriage. He looked at me and shook his head. “Follow orders, Miss Helen,” he
called. “It’s for your own good.”

Fred burst out laughing. “Mrs. Rochester
is at Grimsby Retreat, and she has only one son. This little tramp, the
daughter of a seamstress at Eyre Hall, is under the delusion that she is her
daughter. You have your work cut out for you, madam.”

The woman raised her eyebrows and nodded
at me, pursing her lips. “Miss Rosset, my name is Miss Heath. We’ll soon show
you your place.”

“I suggest you keep a strict eye on
her,” said Fred, nodding towards me. “She has a tendency to deceit.”

“Deceit is, indeed, a grave fault in a
child so young,’ said Miss Heath. “Liars will be purged in the lake, burning
with fire and brimstone.”

“She’s all yours to purge,” said Fred
with a smile, as he dropped my trunk on the floor and left.

“Pick up your case Miss Rosset. You have
no servants here, and you will have no use for the clothes in your trunk.”

My teeth chattered and tears welled as I
struggled to repress a sob. I couldn’t lift the heavy trunk, so I pulled it
along the muddy floor, as I looked down at my soiled shoes and stockings. Mummy
would be so upset if she saw me crying. I wiped my tears and looked up to the
imposing, old grey building with its latticed windows. I shivered. A stone
tablet over the door bore the inscription,
Lowood Orphan Asylum. 

Inside the house, I was led along
various silent passages until I heard the hum of quiet voices and we came to a
large room with long tables and candles and benches on either side. There were
dozens of girls, of all ages, a few younger than me, but most were older, all
wearing the same brown stuff frocks and long pinafores. They were having breakfast,
which looked like porridge.

Miss Heath turned to the girl who had
held the lantern as we walked along the path and was now standing beside me.
“Miss McKenzie, show Miss Rosset to her room and make sure she knows the
rules.”

I dragged my heavy trunk up the stairs
and the girl spoke for the first time. “Let me help you.”

“I can manage,” I answered stubbornly.

“Please let me help you, Helen,” she
said softly.

I put the trunk down, swiped away my
tears with my sleeve, looking firmly at the wooden floorboards.

“I’ll pull the handle and you stand
behind me and lift the back.”

I did as she asked. When we reached the
top of the stairs, we dropped the trunk on the floor with a thump.

“My name’s Catherine,” she said.

“Thank you, Catherine.” 

She smiled. “You’re welcome.” She had a
sprinkling of freckles over her nose, rosy cheeks and dimples.

I followed her into the bedroom, which had
long rows of beds on either side. There were two lamps and two washbasins on
two wooden stands, one for each row of beds. It was a bitterly cold room with
small windows so high on the wall it would be impossible to see the stars at
night.

She pointed to the end of the row.
“That’s your bed. Put your uniform on and your clothes in the trunk. I’ll be
waiting for you downstairs.” I looked at the long grey pinafore and sighed.

I didn’t know why I was in an orphanage,
where my mother and Michael were, or what was happening at Eyre Hall, but I did
know I had to fit into this ominous place and survive until Michael rescued me
again.

Catherine was waiting for me downstairs
in the hall. “You’re one of us now,” she said and I shivered.

She smiled. “Don’t worry. It’s not that
bad here, but you’ll have to get used to it and follow the rules. Every morning
we are woken by a bell before dawn. We have to get up at once, get dressed and
line up to wash. Then we go downstairs for prayers, which Miss Heath reads every
day before breakfast.” She waited for me to say something, but I just nodded.

 “Breakfast is porridge. Sometimes it’s
lumpy, sometimes it’s cold, other times it’s warm and smooth. It doesn’t
matter. You have to eat it every day, otherwise you’ll get ill, and the gruel
can be horrible, but the doctor’s medicine is much worse.” She waited again and
I nodded.

“After breakfast, we clear the bowls and
spoons, sweep the floor and rearrange the tables, and the dining room becomes the
schoolroom.” She paused. “I suppose you can read and write well enough?” I
nodded once more.

“How old are you, Helen?”

“Eleven,” I whispered.

“Second table on the left.” She pointed
to a long table, where ten silent girls sat, then to another table in the
corner. “I’m fourteen, so I sit over there.”

Three teachers came into the room; each
sat at a different table. I soon learned that each one taught a different
subject. Mrs. Watts, who was tall, slim and sullen, wore a scarf and a pair of
gloves while she taught geography. Miss Norton, who was shorter, stouter, and
quick to use the ruler on our knuckles, taught us history. The nicest was Miss
James who taught grammar and spelling with a patient smile and soft voice.

We stopped lessons when the clock struck
twelve and rearranged the tables for lunch, which was usually bread, stew and
an apple. After lunch, we put on our coats and hats and were allowed some fresh
air in the garden.

The garden was a wide expanse with broad
walks surrounded by high walls. There was a space in one corner assigned for
pupils to cultivate. There were no flowers when I arrived, but a few months
later, the flowers began to bloom and it was a pretty sight. Some of the girls
liked to walk around briskly or engage in active games such as catch or hopscotch,
while others sat on the benches playing twenty questions.   

Catherine was one of the prefects, so
she was usually busy during the breaks, making sure there were no fights. At
first, I spoke to no one, and nobody seemed interested in talking to me, which
was a relief because I preferred to sit on my own.

“Why don’t you play with the other
girls?” asked Catherine one day while I was sitting on the steps by the pond.

“I don’t want to talk to anyone, thank
you.”

She sat beside me. “Who are you
missing?”

“My mother and Michael. I don’t know
where they are.”

“Is Michael your brother?”

“My father died. Michael is my mother’s
betrothed.”

“Have you got any brothers or sisters?”

“I have an older brother who hates me,
but I want to go home with my mummy.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll go home eventually
if you have a mother.” Catherine was quiet. I watched her smile fade as she
looked into the still water.

“And you?” I asked her.

“My mother died and my father remarried.
That’s why I was sent here. I’ll never go back home.”

“What will you do?”

“I’ll stay here and be a teacher. I’d
like to be married one day and have children and a house of my own.” She smiled
as if she were sure she would be happy.

“What do you do when you’re sad,
Catherine?”

“I write poems and stories about animals
and I draw pictures. They’re like picture books for children.”

“What kind of animals?”

“I’ve written about the hairy
hippopotamus, the greedy giraffe, or the angry ant, for example.”

“You write fables?”

“Well, they’re like fables because the
animals have a problem and someone helps them, or they find a solution or a
moral in the event, but unlike fables, they always have a happy ending, and
there’s a bit of nonsense.”

“Nonsense?”

“Yes, you know like
hey diddle
diddle, the cat and the fiddle..
.” We both laughed and sang the song.

“Look, I’ve got some pictures of the
angry ant here.” She took out a little pocket book with illustrations of the
ant in the jungle hiding from a lion, up a tree avoiding a snake, and in a
storm on a whale’s back. They were beautiful drawings with humorous captions.

“What happens to the ant in the end?”

“I haven’t finished the story yet, but
the ant will survive. There’s always a happy ending after a long struggle.”

She showed me all her nonsense rhymes
and pictures and we made up lots of other stories together. Catherine made my
stay less miserable and even happy at times. I knew she would be the only
person I would miss when I left. I hoped she would be my friend for life. I was
sure my mother would love Catherine and her fascinating storybooks.

In the afternoons, after our lunch break,
Miss Brook taught arithmetic, Miss Norton returned to teach us music, and Miss
Watts taught us drawing. After supper, which was usually soup or cheese and
oaten bread, we were allowed an hour to read, do some schoolwork, or write
letters in the schoolroom. Finally, we were assembled for prayers again before
bedtime, which was at eight o’clock.   

Miss Heath was the headmistress. I soon
learnt that all the girls were terrified of her. I was relieved that she didn’t
teach us lessons. She led the prayers every morning and lectured at our weekly
assembly. Catherine had warned me to keep out of her way and make sure I was
never in trouble. I agreed to be called Miss Rosset and learned to lower my
head and curtsey every time I saw Miss Heath. It worked, because she seemed to
ignore me. Much later, I learned that Annette had given her some of my mother’s
jewellery in exchange for treating me kindly. She was never kind, but at least
she didn’t pick on me.

I enjoyed the lessons because they kept
my mind busy. I followed Catherine’s instructions and learned not to complain
and to work hard, so I was always the first to finish the exercises and raise
my hand to answer the teachers’ questions.

I hated the nights, and usually cried
myself to sleep because I missed my mother, Michael, Annette, and everyone and
everything at Eyre Hall.

Annette visited me for the first time on
Christmas Day, with Harry. She told me that Mummy and Michael hadn’t abandoned
me. They had been taken to a boarding school like me, against their wishes, so
they couldn’t visit me, at the moment. I knew they couldn’t be at a boarding
school, so I imagined they were confined. Annette gave me a Christmas present.
It was a beautiful porcelain doll, with green eyes and curly auburn hair like
my mother. “Whenever you’re sad, hug the doll and remember Mummy loves you more
than anyone, and she’ll come back for you as soon as she can.”