Death of a Dowager (3 page)

Chapter 2

Under Mr. Carter’s direction, the men rolled John onto a blanket and carried him to his own cottage. Edward walked behind the impromptu stretcher, accompanying a crumpled version of Mary, a dazed figure at odds with the brisk woman who generally bustled around the manor. James brought up the rear, a solemn honor guard of one. While Lucy and I stood to one side and watched the procession.

“I suspect no one will want much to eat,” said Mrs. Fairfax, looking after them, “but Cook and I managed to put together a pot of stew over the fireplace in the drawing room. She also baked a loaf of bread. Dear, dear. John had been failing of late, but he tried so hard not to let Master know. With Master’s own health problems bothering him, John felt it was his place to serve, not complain.”

“Was he ill? Or simply suffering from old age? Before the fall, I mean.”

“A bit of both.” Alice Fairfax sighed. “His teeth have been bothering him. He’s lost weight. Mary begged him to slow down, but he refused to listen. Men can be so stubborn at times.”

“But my husband would have understood. Mr. Rochester did not want him to climb on the roof. He cares a great deal for John,” I said.

“Yes, I know that. And John also cares deeply for Master. After all, it was John who first set young Edward Rochester on a pony. John who gave him his first whipping for teasing the cat. John who told Old Master Rochester that Edward had been called out to duel.”

“Pardon?” I was certain I had misheard her. “Called out to duel?”

“Yes. It happened long before I came to Thornfield, of course, back when Master’s father was still squire. But from what I’ve heard, a man insulted the Young Master, and he responded in kind, then a letter came to the house calling him out.” Mrs. Fairfax closed her eyes and shivered. “I’m told it was a near thing.”

“What happened next? Did my husband meet him?”

“John handed the note to Old Master. Seems that Old Mr. Rochester had been corresponding with a family in Jamaica about their beautiful daughter and their fortune. John and two others went searching for Young Master. When they found him, they tossed a potato sack over his head, tied him up, and spirited him away aboard a ship bound for Jamaica. You know the rest of the story.”

I mulled this over. “So in essence, John both saved my husband’s life and was the instrument of his miserable first marriage.”

“Yes. I know it took Master a long time to forgive John for that, but he did. John and Mary never reached above their station—they were far too loyal for such nonsense—yet they have always considered themselves part of the Rochester family. When Master was hurt in the fire, John nearly lost his mind with grief. Now John feels he must help Master feel independent. Why, he follows Mr. Rochester everywhere. He’s especially mindful when Master goes outside.”

Ferndean’s surrounds were indeed full of unexpected dangers, from fallen tree limbs and rotting branches to the moors bordered by fields full of unpredictable farm animals. And, of course, there are always clumsy poachers, especially given the horrible winter of this past year; many locals struggle with hunger. Edward has given a sum to the church to be used for charity, and I planned to start delivering baskets of foodstuffs to the poor as soon as I mastered driving the dogcart.

On the other hand, where had all that worrying about Ferndean’s hidden dangers gotten us? Edward was fine, but it was John who was badly hurt!

Shaking my head in discouragement, I hurried into the house and down the hallway to the nursery where my thirteen-month-old son, Ned, lay sleeping and Adèle was burrowed under her covers. I kissed my fingertips and transferred the affection to the children’s cheeks before leaving them to their dreams.

Lucy and I joined Mrs. Fairfax in the drawing room for a quick bowl of the stew. The fragrance of lamb, rosemary, and carrots proved irresistible. There was no place to wash our dirty dishes, so Mrs. Fairfax piled them on a tray and carried them outside. “I’ll tend to them in the morning,” she told me before she retired to bed.

Edward had not yet returned. I feared the worst news possible as I paced the drawing room with its fireplace. The yellow red coals sent out a cheerful warmth that partially offset the chill I felt anytime I thought about John. Lucy sewed steadily on a little shirt she’d been making for nine-month-old Evans. “I wonder what color eyes he has,” she said as she plied the needle.

Evans had a nanny, Mrs. Wallander, a Swiss woman who had been by his side since birth. Mrs. Wallander had written to say that she would happily accompany the boy to London and stay on at her post, but their departure from Brussels had been delayed when the nanny’s own daughter was stricken with childbed fever.

“I am sure his eyes will be beautiful, no matter whether they are hazel or blue,” I said, picking up my own project. Taking my inspiration from illustrated manuscripts, I had drawn a large version of the letter “E,” followed by smaller letters “V”—“A”—“N”—“S.” I was filling the surrounding space with all manner of vines, flora, and fauna. After I sketched everything in pencil, I would apply India ink, and finally use watercolors to complete the design.

Lucy set her work aside. “Jane, please, come stay with me in London. There is more than enough room for all of us! Come and stay for a good long time. Without Augie, the house on Grosvenor Square is far too big for me to live in alone. Find an overseer to repair this place, and come away with me, Jane. You’ll be such a comfort when Evans arrives, and you know how I dote on Ned and Adèle. Besides, Edward is safer in London than he is here. Especially as this place crumbles around you.”

“I know your generous invitation comes from your heart,” I said. “Let me see what Mr. Rochester thinks of it. But first, we need to be sure that we’ve done all we can for John.”

“It will do you good to get away,” said Lucy.

Our conversation was interrupted by Edward’s heavy footsteps. I met my husband at the door, and under the guise of an affectionate embrace, I lightly guided him to his favorite chair. Pilot, his faithful Newfoundland, trotted over to his master for a pat.

“How is John?” I asked after Edward was seated. Pilot pressed his nose into Edward’s hand.

“Carter reckons the old man might never walk again . . . if he survives. The fall jarred him badly, so there’s no telling what injuries he might have internally. We should count ourselves lucky if he makes it through the night.” Edward shook his head. “I should have forbidden him from climbing up on the roof. I should have told him no.”

“I believe I’ll turn in for the night. You know, of course, that my home is always open to both of you.” With that, Lucy excused herself, leaving my husband and me to talk in private.

I waited until the door closed behind her. “You cannot blame yourself. John is a proud man, and he refuses to accept his own limits. You have said as much.” I slipped my arm around Edward’s shoulders and he leaned his head against mine. After a moment in this awkward position, he pulled me onto his lap. There I stayed for a while. When the embers in the fireplace changed to gray and white as they cooled, I whispered, “Come, my husband. Let us go to bed.”

Chapter 3

Edward slept restlessly, tossing and turning. At one point, he moaned in his sleep. Of late, his slumber was often interrupted by dark passages that set him thrashing and fighting the bedclothes.

“I am here, my love,” I said as I wrapped my arms around him. “Edward?” I raised my voice enough to rouse him slightly.

“Wha—? Jane? Oh, my darling Janet.” He called me by his favorite endearment. Soon he settled back into a regular pattern of breathing.

But I was wide awake. Slipping out of bed, I went to the window and threw open the shutters.

The thought of being here alone, surrounded by my young family, filled me with pleasure. Far from feeling isolated, I felt protected, as if by keeping it at bay, the world at large could not destroy the joy we found in one another.

And yet, was the world beyond these borders really so daunting? After Lowood Institution, the charitable school where I had been sent as an unwanted orphan, could any place be more hostile? And hadn’t Lowood turned out for the best? Yes, at first it had been difficult, but eventually I’d gained my footing and found friends. And even at my lowest point, when I’d truly had nothing, I had managed to discover not only friends but family in unexpected places.

Surely I could do the same wherever we went.

A bat winged its way through the night sky, moving in silence against the mottled gray of a moonlit landscape. If only my husband could move through his darkness with such confidence!

A trip to London was in order. I had a sure friend in Lucy Brayton, and another in her brother, Bruce Douglas.

We couldn’t remain in Ferndean any longer, not in its current condition, not with children and my husband’s health to consider. Edward’s melancholy and his vision grew worse each day. Ned could easily catch a fever. Adèle? Right now, with her school in Millcote closed for the summer, she was bored out of her wits. Without an outlet for her energies, she often chose misbehavior as a way to capture our attention. Certainly, Adèle would find the trip delightful, as she adored Lucy, or more correctly, she was agog at Lucy’s well-appointed house and fashionable lifestyle. Moreover, my husband would have much-appreciated opportunities for entertainment and socializing in that friendly environment.

The next morning, while Lucy slept in, Mr. Carter joined my husband and me for breakfast and brought good news. Seeming blessedly oblivious of the disarray in our dining room, he took a place at our table. Once Leah served him hot tea, toast, a plate of sliced ham, cooked rashers of bacon, and cheeses, he gave us his full report. “The crisis seems past. If he is kept quiet, I believe your manservant will recover, Mr. Rochester.”

“His full measure of health?”

“That I cannot say. He fractured his arm. I encouraged him to move his legs, and he was at last able to do so. But he did hit the ground hard, and at his age, such a blow can set off other issues. It’s impossible for me to know what else might be amiss. A portion of his healing will depend on the sort of care and rest he gets now. To that end, I’ve inquired after the services of a healer, a Mrs. Pendragon, who lives several miles away, closer to Millcote. I hope you don’t mind me taking this liberty.”

“Not at all. John’s recovery is my primary concern.”

“Good. I thought you would feel that way.” Mr. Carter looked relieved. “Mrs. Pendragon is of Welsh descent. More than a few of the locals actually fear her, but their reaction is born of ignorance. She has remarkable knowledge of the healing arts, and a vocabulary of herbal recipes that are unexcelled. As a matter of fact, I have learned much from the woman. I should like for her to stay here for as long as necessary. Mrs. Pendragon can instruct Mary in the preparations of certain tisanes and poultices. My biggest fear right now is that John will develop a fever or pneumonia. Both are common after an injury like this.”

“Mr. Carter, is our help needed here? Perhaps my husband and I should repair to London. My husband and I had discussed going to the city, rather than staying here at Ferndean with all the repairs that need to be made,” I said. “Is that wise? Or would it be best for us to wait?”

“I think you should go. If you stay here, John might try to hurry the mending process. If you are gone, he and Mary can devote themselves entirely to his recovery. He won’t be tempted to move around before his bones knit.”

“That reminds me,” Edward said as he turned toward me, “before you came to breakfast, James scrambled up on the roof and took a look. The supporting beams have rotted through. The entire skeleton will have to be replaced. This is more than a simple patching job.”

“I don’t mind the inconvenience, nor am I put out by having to fend for ourselves, but I am worried about the damp. We can’t risk having Ned catch a fever. Especially living so far from Millcote. You saw how long it took James to fetch Mr. Carter.”

“Yes, and you were lucky he managed to hunt me down.” Mr. Carter put down his fork and looked at me sternly. “He happened upon me while I was on the road. Otherwise he’d never have found me going from door to door. I could have been too far away to be helpful. Of late, I’ve taken to making monthly visits to London myself, to meet with other like-minded men in the medical field. In fact, that’s how I came to learn about Mr. Parmenter, the specialist whom I suggested you visit after I examined your husband several months ago.”

“But you are still our local surgeon.” Edward said this by way of confirmation. If Mr. Carter was not keeping his practice here, we would need to see what we could do about engaging another doctor for the people of our estate.

“I have been meaning to speak to you about that. This is a most inopportune circumstance, but well, I believe the time has come for you to engage another surgeon for your estate. Millcote and its surrounds are growing, and I am past my prime.”

To this disclosure, Edward reacted with alarm, as did I. Mr. Carter seemed too young to retire, being only a few years older than my husband. However, we did not reply quickly enough to interrupt the surgeon’s speech.

“More and more, I find myself arriving too late to be of maximal assistance. I spend more time in my carriage, riding from patient to patient, than I do at bedsides. Another doctor would lessen my load and assure your tenants of the sort of attention they need.” I felt my husband relax—Carter merely wished for assistance, not to leave his position. “I’ve taken the liberty of mentioning this position to a young colleague of mine in London, a Samuel Lerner. There is another benefit you will find most interesting; he is a specialist in matters of the eye, having studied under Mr. Parmenter. He served me well for a short while when you were healing from your injuries after the fire. In fact, it was he who saved your one eye by his quick thinking and knowledge of ocular arts.”

“Did he indeed?”

“Yes, I was delivering Mrs. Mulcahy of a child coming into this world breech, so I dispatched Lerner to your bedside. You were unconscious, and badly mauled, but he managed to spare you excess pain and to stabilize your condition until I could arrive. Believe me, his skills are astonishing, and you are living proof.”

“Lerner? A Jew?” Edward asked.

“Yes, and one of the best minds for healing that I’ve met in my lifetime. Surely you won’t hold his religion against him, if his skills are commensurate? Or exceptional?”

“Carter, remember to whom you are speaking. Of everyone you know, surely I am the most tolerant. Given the crooked path I’ve taken, how can I not be? Furthermore, I’ve met many of the Hebrew persuasion in my travels. I think they are ill-used as a people. Your suggestion surprises me only because I wonder if my tenants would accept him.”

“I believe they will if I take him with me and introduce him around as my second.”

“All in all, then, I believe it behooves us to take Lucy up on her kind offer,” said Edward. “We can leave as soon as we pack. Some things should not be left unattended.”

His words were straightforward, but they held a special meaning for me. He was suggesting that I bring along the letter.

I never meant to own it. Although I had thought about destroying it, as I had done the others, cooler heads than mine prevailed. I had sought the counsel of Lucy; her brother, Bruce Douglas; and my own dear Edward. My husband’s argument had been particularly compelling: “That letter could change the course of history. If George IV slips into madness as did his father before him, it might prevent a bloody fight for control of the throne by pointing the way to a simpler solution.”

And so we had kept it locked away. Now Edward was suggesting that I bring it along rather than letting it remain here at Ferndean. After all, there would be a myriad of workmen in and out of the house. The strongbox could easily be discovered, and a hammer applied to a chisel could force it open. Leaving it or any other valuables behind would not be prudent.

Mr. Carter interrupted my musings as he said, “If you would like, I can stop and speak with Thadius Farrell on my way home. He’s a local builder well-qualified to see to your roof and kitchen. Mrs. Carter and I have engaged his services in the past, and we were well pleased. I’ll send him round to talk with you.”

“I believe your father once employed Thadius to make repairs to the stable,” Mrs. Fairfax said as she carried a kettle of hot water to replenish our teapot. “I will stay here to direct the repair efforts and forward your mail.”

“Excellent,” said Edward.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to see if Mary needs anything,” said the housekeeper.

“I will go with Mrs. Fairfax to look in on John one more time and then be off,” said Carter. “As soon as I’m home in Millcote, I’ll pen a letter to Lerner telling him to expect you. In fact, I am overdue for a visit to London myself, and I’d like to hear his opinion on your eye. Perhaps our visits will overlap.”

“Yes,” said Edward. “I think that would work nicely. I shall go with you to see John. While I cannot fix what is broken, I can reassure Mary that I will do everything in my power to aid her in his care.”