Jane Slayre (19 page)

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ran up and down my spine. The new face, too, was like a new picture introduced to the gallery of memory. Rough-hewn and masculine, it stood out from all the others. The dark whiskers, the bold line of his jaw, here was a man who was used to being in command. No doubt it was injury that rendered him oblivious. The pain must have been great. I imagined him capable of slaying scores of vampyres if left to his own devices, and in good health without injury. The idea of it was still before me in mind when I entered Hay and slipped the letter into the post office. I saw it as I walked fast downhill all the way home.

When I came to the stile, I stopped a minute, looked around, and listened, with an idea that a horse's hooves might ring on the causeway, and that a rider in a cloak, and a Newfoundland dog, might again show up. I saw only the hedge and a pollard willow before me, rising up still and straight to meet the moonbeams. I heard only the faintest waft of wind roaming fitful amongst the trees around Thornfield, a mile distant, and when I glanced down in the direction of the murmur, my eye caught a light kindling in a window. It reminded me that I was late, and I hurried on.

I did not like reentering Thornfield. To pass its threshold was to return to stagnation. To cross the silent hall, to ascend the dark-some staircase, was to quell the faint excitement wakened by my walk. I lingered at the gates, then on the lawn. I paced on the pavement. The shutters of the glass door were closed. I could not see into the house, and both my eyes and spirit seemed drawn from it to the sky overhead, a black sea absolved from taint of cloud. The moon ascended in solemn march. Little things recall us to earth; the clock struck in the hall. That sufficed. I turned from moon and stars and headed for the door, but something on the third story caught my notice. Was it Grace Poole sitting in the window, also lost in contemplation of the moon? It probably was, strange woman. Who knew what a waxing moon meant to her? I opened a side door and went in.

The high-hung bronze lamp suffused a warm glow on the staircase

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that shone into the hall. Yet a light seemed to come from another direction. I followed the glow to see the great dining-room doors stood open and a genial fire burned in the grate, glancing on marble hearth and brass fire irons, and revealing purple draperies and polished furniture in the most pleasant radiance. It revealed, too, a group near the mantelpiece. I had scarcely caught it, and scarcely become aware of a cheerful mingling of voices, amongst which I seemed to distinguish the tones of Adele, when the door closed.

I hastened to Mrs. Fairfax's room. There was a fire there, too, but no candle, and no Mrs. Fairfax. Instead, all alone, sitting upright on the rug, and gazing with gravity at the blaze, I beheld a black-and-white, long-haired dog.

"Pilot?" I said, remembering its name. He got up, came over, and started sniffing my skirts. I caressed him, checking the bite marks on his neck, and he wagged his great tail. I rang the bell, for I wanted a candle.

Leah entered.

"What dog is this?"

"He came with master."

"With whom?"

"With master--Mr. Rochester--he is just arrived."

My heart stopped a second, then started racing. "Indeed! And is Mrs. Fairfax with him?"

"Yes, and Miss Adele. They are in the dining room, and John has gone for the surgeon. Master has had an accident. His horse fell and his ankle is sprained."

"In Hay Lane?"

"Yes, coming downhill. It slipped on some ice."

"Ah! Bring me a candle, will you, Leah?"

Leah brought it. She entered, followed by Mrs. Fairfax, who repeated the news, adding that Mr. Carter, the surgeon, had come, and was now with Mr. Rochester. Then she hurried out to give orders about tea, and I went upstairs to take off my things.

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"Mr. Rochester." I repeated the name aloud as I changed in my room. All I could see was that rugged, masculine face. Mr. Rochester, indeed.

CHAPTER 16

MR. ROCHESTER, IT SEEMED, by the surgeon's orders, went to bed early that night and stayed in bed late the next day. When he did come down, it was to attend to business. His agent and some of his tenants had arrived and were waiting to speak with him.

Adele and I had to vacate the library. While Mr. Rochester remained in residence, it would be in daily use as a reception room for callers. A fire was lit in an apartment upstairs, and there I carried our books and arranged our future schoolroom. I discerned over the morning that Thornfield hall was a changed place. No longer silent as a church, it echoed every hour or two to a knock at the door, or a clang of the bell. Steps, too, often traversed the hall, and new voices spoke in different keys below. A rill from the outer world was flowing through it, and I loved it. Though, for my part, I would have liked it even better had I got to play a more active role. It seemed vampyres seldom came so close to Thornfield.

Adele was not easy to teach that day. She kept running to the door and looking over the banister to see if she could get a glimpse of Mr. Rochester. I looked for him, too, on the pretext of running after her. She wanted to know what presents he had brought her. Apparently, on the night before, he had intimated that when his luggage came from Millcote, amongst it would be a little box in whose contents she had an interest.

Adele prattled on in French about her present and about Mr.

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Rochester. She insisted he must have brought me a present as well, and why should we wait? We should go down to the library and insist upon them. I would not indulge her. Probably vexed with me over my refusal to interrupt Mr. Rochester's business, she made up a little story about how he'd asked about me last night. What was my name? Was I a small, pale little one with eyes like the stars? Adele could be quite inventive when she was eager to have her way.

We remained in our new schoolroom, quite out of the way, and then we dined as usual in Mrs. Fairfax's parlour. It was a wild and snowy afternoon, and we returned to spend it in the schoolroom until dark. Only then did I allow Adele to put away her books and work and to go downstairs, for it was finally silent and Mr. Rochester was likely at liberty at such an hour.

Mrs. Fairfax came in. "Mr. Rochester would be glad if you and your pupil would take tea with him in the drawing room this evening."

"When is his tea time?" I inquired.

"Oh, at six o'clock. He keeps early hours in the country. You had better change your frock now. I will go with you and fasten it. Here is a candle."

"Is it necessary to change my frock?" We had never stood on such ceremony.

"Yes, you had better. I always dress for the evening when Mr. Rochester is here."

I repaired to my room and, with Mrs. Fairfax's aid, replaced my black stuff dress with one of black silk, the best and the only additional one I had, except one of light grey, which, in my Lowood notions of the toilette, I thought too fine to be worn, except on first-rate occasions.

"You want a brooch," said Mrs. Fairfax.

I had a single little pearl ornament, which Miss Temple had given me as a parting keepsake along with the Egyptian daggers. I put it on, then we went downstairs. Unused as I was to strangers, it was rather a trial to appear thus formally summoned in Mr. Rochester's

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presence. I tripped going down the stairs and couldn't keep my hands from fluttering nervously without great effort. How unlike me to dissolve into nerves! He was just a man. I reminded myself of this, but I let Mrs. Fairfax precede me into the dining room and kept in her shade as we crossed the apartment to the drawing room.

Two wax candles stood lit on the table, and two on the mantel-piece, three more candles than we usually kept lit in Mrs. Fairfax's parlour. Basking in the light and the heat of a superb fire lay Pilot. Adele knelt near him. Half-reclined on a couch, Mr. Rochester had his foot out, supported by a cushion. I knew my traveller with his dark eyebrows, square forehead, and black hair. I recognised his decisive nose, his grim mouth, chin, and jaw. His build, now divested of cloak, I perceived was as solid as I supposed.

Mr. Rochester must have been aware of the entrance of Mrs. Fairfax and me, but he appeared not to be in the mood to notice us.

"Here is Miss Slayre, sir," said Mrs. Fairfax in her quiet way.

He bowed, still not taking his eyes from the group of the dog and child.

"Let Miss Slayre be seated," he said with something in the forced stiff bow, in the impatient yet formal tone.

I sat down quite happily. Had he shown polite interest, he would probably have confused me, but harsh caprice laid me under no obligation. On the contrary, he gave me the advantage of returning his indifference, or worse. Besides, I grew all the more interested to see how he would go on.

He went on as a statue would; that is, he neither spoke nor moved. Perhaps he wasn't oblivious, but was steady and silent by nature. Mrs. Fairfax seemed to think it necessary that someone should be amiable, and she began to talk, kindly, as usual. She spoke of the snow and the roads, of the business visitors he'd had to endure all day, and on the likely frustration of being laid up with a sprained ankle.

"Madam, I should like some tea" was the only thing he said in return. When the tray came, she arranged the cups, spoons, and

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serving dishes with assiduous celerity. Adele and I went to the table, but the master did not leave his couch.

"Will you hand Mr. Rochester's cup?" Mrs. Fairfax asked me.

I did as requested.

As he took the cup from my hand, Adele, thinking the moment propitious for making a request in my favour, cried out.
"N'est-ce pas, monsieur, qu'il y a un cadeau pour Mademoiselle Slayre dans votre petit coffre?"

"Who talks of
cadeaux
?" he said gruffly. "Did you expect a present, Miss Slayre? Are you fond of presents?" He searched my face with eyes that seemed dark, irate, and piercing.

I did not fluster. If his intent was to frighten me, he might be in for a surprise. "I hardly know, sir. I have little experience of them. They are generally thought pleasant things."

"Generally thought?" His eyes did not change. "But what do
you
think?"

"I should be obliged to take time, sir, before I could give you an answer worthy of your acceptance." Now I delivered a short little bow as disingenuous as his had been earlier. "A present has many faces to it, has it not? One should consider all before pronouncing an opinion as to its nature."

"Miss Slayre, you are not so unsophisticated as Adele. She demands a
cadeau,
clamorously, the moment she sees me. You beat about the bush."

"Because I have less confidence than Adele has. She says you have always been in the habit of giving her playthings. But if I had to make out a case, I should be puzzled, since I am a stranger and have done nothing to entitle me to an acknowledgment."

"Oh, don't fall back on overmodesty! I have examined Adele and find you have taken great pains with her. She is not bright. She has no talents. Yet in a short time she has made much improvement."

"Sir, you have now given me my
cadeau.
I am obliged to you."

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I gave him a genuine nod. "It is the mead teachers most covet, praise of their pupils' progress."

"Humph!" said Mr. Rochester, then he took his tea in silence.

"Come to the fire," said the master when the tray was taken away, and Mrs. Fairfax had settled into a corner with her knitting. Adele and I obeyed. She wanted to take a seat on my knee, but she was ordered to amuse herself with Pilot.

"You have been resident in my house three months?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you came from ...? "

"From Lowood school."

"Ah! I know it. A charitable concern. How long were you there?"

"Eight years."

"Eight years! You must be tenacious of life. I should think half the time in such a place would kill me. Indeed, it killed many, if I remember the stories." I could feel his gaze on me but I refused to meet it, preferring to look down at the table.

"That was in my first year." I smiled, recalling the part I had played in it and keeping it my own treasured secret. "It was much improved afterwards."

"Still, to have lived there so long! No wonder you have rather the look of another world. I marvelled where you had got that sort of face, so serious yet so bright-eyed all at once. When you came on me in Hay Lane last night, I thought unaccountably of fairy tales and had half a mind to demand whether you had bewitched my horse. I am not sure yet. Who are your parents?"

I could feel him wishing I would look up, and still I refused. "I have none."

"Nor ever had, I suppose? Do you remember them?"

"No."

"I thought not. And so you were waiting for your people when you sat on that stile?"

"For whom, sir?"

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