Jane Slayre (23 page)

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ewer. Fortunately, one was wide and the other deep, and both were filled with water. I heaved them up and threw them at the flames. The bed was deluged and its occupant, too. But he slept on. I flew back to my own room, brought my own water jug, and doused the whole bed again, this time extinguishing the rest of the flames.

The splash of the shower I had liberally bestowed roused Mr. Rochester at last. Though it was dark again, I knew he was awake. I heard him cursing, much as he had on our first meeting when he'd been thrown from his horse.

"Is there a flood?" he cried.

"No, sir," I answered. "But there has been a fire. Get up. You are quite soaked. I will fetch you a candle."

"In the name of all the elves in Christendom, is that Jane Slayre?" he demanded. "What have you done with me, witch, sorceress? Who is in the room besides you? Have you plotted to drown me?"

"Be quiet, sir. Get up. I will fetch you a candle. Somebody has plotted something."

"There! I am up now. But at your peril you fetch a candle yet. Wait two minutes until I get into some dry garments, if any dry there be--yes, here is my dressing gown. Now run! Come right back."

I ran. I brought the candle from the hall. He took it from my hand, held it up, and surveyed the bed, all blackened and scorched, the sheets drenched, the carpet swimming in water.

"What is it? Who did it?" he asked.

I briefly related to him what I knew of it, about the strange laugh I had heard in the gallery, the step ascending to the third floor, the smoke, the smell of fire, which had conducted me to his room, in what state I had found matters there, and how I had deluged him with all the water I could lay hands on.

He listened gravely. His face, as I went on, expressed more concern than astonishment. He did not immediately speak when I had concluded.

"Shall I call Mrs. Fairfax?" I asked.

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"What can she do? Let her sleep. Be still. Tell me, what possessed you to go in search of this demonic laugh? Did you not worry that you could be attacked?"

"To have disregarded my own safety would have been the height of foolishness. I was prepared to defend myself."

"How?" he scoffed. "You're but a wisp of a girl!"

"I'm braver and stronger than you would suspect."

"Braver, perhaps." He sighed. "You have a shawl on. If you are not warm enough, you may take my cloak. Wrap it about you and sit down in the armchair. There--I will put it on." He must have seen me shivering, for he grabbed his cloak, wrapped it around me, and made me sit down. "Now place your feet on the stool to keep them out of the wet. I am going to leave you a few minutes. I shall take the candle. Remain where you are until I return. Do not move or call anyone. I must pay a visit to the third story. I need to know you are safe and accounted for until I get back."

"All right," I agreed, but reluctantly.

He went. I watched the light withdraw. He passed softly up the gallery, opened the staircase door with as little noise as possible, shut it after him, and the last ray vanished. I was left in total darkness. I listened for some noise, but heard nothing. A long time elapsed. At last, the light once more gleamed dimly on the gallery wall, and I heard his unshod feet tread the matting.

"I have found it all out," said he, setting his candle down on the washstand. "It is as I thought."

"How, sir?"

"I forget whether you said you saw anything when you opened your chamber door."

"No, sir, only the candlestick on the ground."

"But you heard an odd laugh? You have heard that laugh before, I should think, or something like it?"

"Yes, sir. Mrs. Fairfax says it is Grace Poole. I have met her and found her rather unremarkable, but now I wonder."

"There's nothing to wonder," he said quickly. "It is Grace Poole.

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She is, as you say, unremarkable, except perhaps for her penchant to drink. Gin, I believe, was her poison of choice tonight."

"That's all? A tendency to drink? She tried to burn you in your bed."

"Not on purpose. I think she was stumbling about, in her cups, when she got confused trying to find her way back to bed. She must have confused my room for hers and dropped the candle in fright when she heard my snoring. I shall reflect on the subject. Say nothing about it. I will account for this state of affairs. And now, to your own room. I shall do very well on the sofa in the library for the rest of the night. It is near four. In two hours, the servants will be up."

"Good night, then, sir," I said, departing.

He seemed surprised--inconsistently so, as he had just told me to go.

"What!" he exclaimed. "Are you quitting me already, and in that way?"

"You told me to go, sir."

"But not in such a fashion, abrupt, without taking leave. You have saved my life! Saved me from a most excruciating death! At least shake hands."

He held out his hand. I offered him mine. He took it first in one, then in both his own.

"You have saved my life," he said again. "I have a pleasure in owing you so immense a debt." He stood back, paused, and gazed at me. Words almost visible trembled on his lips, but his voice was checked. "I knew you would do me good in some way, at some time. I saw it in your eyes when I first beheld you. People talk of natural sympathies. My cherished preserver, good night!"

Strange energy was in his voice, strange fire in his look.

"I am glad I happened to be awake," I said, and started away. Clearly, he was shaken from the events of the night and nearly overcome.

"What! You will go?" Again he called me back to him.

"I am cold, sir." I laughed at him now.

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"Cold? Yes, of course, and standing in a pool! Go, then, Jane. Go!" But he still retained my hand, and I could not free it. Perhaps I did not wish to free it.

"I think I hear Mrs. Fairfax move, sir," I said, an excuse to finally be away.

"Well, leave me." He relaxed his fingers, and I was gone.

I went back to bed, but never thought of sleep. Too feverish to rest, I rose as soon as day dawned.

CHAPTER 19

The Next Morning, I both wished and feared to see Mr. Rochester. Any number of times I thought I had heard him coming down the hall or entering a room, but when I turned to look, he wasn't there.

The morning passed almost as usual, save for a little excitement about the strangeness of the previous night. No one addressed any of their concerns to me, but I heard John, Cook (John's wife), Leah, and Mrs. Fairfax going on about it.

"What a mercy Master was not burnt in his bed!"

"It is always dangerous to keep a candle lit at night."

"How providential that he had presence of mind to think of the water jug!"

"I wonder he waked nobody!"

"It is to be hoped he will not take cold with sleeping on the library sofa."

Ah, so he had explained it away as an accident with candle. The next incident he could not explain away, and I marvelled at it. John told the women about several cows that were attacked and slaughtered

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by something in the night. Vampyres in the area again? Predators? A wolf, or pack of wolves? Rabid foxes?

"But the strangest thing," John added, and the thing that occasioned the most trouble of the morning--one of the poor, bloodied cows had been dragged right up to the garden at the side of the house, its entrails left scattered in the thorn trees.

"What kind of animal could do such a thing? So far from pasture?" Leah asked.

Mrs. Fairfax imagined it would take something strong, a bear perhaps. John agreed with the assessment but hated to think of the size of the bear. I alone knew better, but I wasn't talking. A vampyre could have done it. I could imagine their faces if I walked into the kitchen and told them as much. Vampyres had just that sort of vigor and recklessness when they were on the hunt and eager to feed. I had seen it. With my own eyes, though it was many years ago. But Grace Poole a vampyre? Was she in league with others in the town?

Leah and Mrs. Fairfax spent the day scrubbing and setting Mr. Rochester's room to rights. I expected him to put in an appearance in the schoolroom at the very least, but he did not appear. I finally went to check on the progress in his chamber to find Grace Poole herself sitting on a stool at the corner of the room sewing the rings on new curtains. Leah was there, too, cleaning smoke off the windows.

I hesitated in the doorway. I wanted to see how Grace Poole managed to sit in the destruction she had created without showing the slightest hint of remorse. There she was, staid and taciturn-looking, as usual, in her brown stuff gown, her check apron, white handkerchief, and cap. She was intent on her work, perhaps her personal penance, in which her whole thoughts seemed absorbed.

As I'd earlier noted, and rechecked now, she did not have the hard eyes and grey pallor of a vampyre, or the sunken features and listless demeanor of a zombie. What, then, could she be? And how could she carry on as if blameless?

I was amazed--confounded. She looked up while I still gazed

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at her. No start, no increase or failure of colour betrayed emotion, consciousness of guilt, or fear of detection.

"Good morning, miss," she said in her usual phlegmatic and brief manner. Taking up another ring and more tape, she went on with her sewing.

"Good morning, Grace." I meant to put her to some test. "has anything happened here? I thought I heard the servants all talking together a while ago."

"Only Master had been reading in his bed last night. He fell asleep with his candle lit, and the curtains got on fire."

"A strange affair!" I said in a low voice, then I looked at her fixedly. "Did Mr. Rochester wake nobody? Did no one hear him move?"

She again raised her eyes to me, and this time something of consciousness was in their expression. She seemed to examine me warily. "The servants sleep so far off, you know, miss, they would not be likely to hear. Mrs. Fairfax's room and yours are the nearest to Master's, but Mrs. Fairfax said she heard nothing. When people get elderly, they often sleep heavy." Grace paused, then added, with a sort of assumed indifference, but still in a marked and significant tone, "But you are young, miss, and I should say a light sleeper. Perhaps you may have heard a noise?"

"I did," I said, dropping my voice, so that Leah, who was still polishing the panes, could not hear me. "And at first I thought it was Pilot, but Pilot cannot laugh. I am certain I heard a laugh, and a strange one."

She took a new bit of thread, waxed it carefully, threaded her needle with a steady hand, then observed, with perfect composure, "It is hardly likely Master would laugh, I should think, miss, when he was in such danger. You must have been dreaming."

"I was not dreaming," I said with some warmth, for her brazen coolness provoked me. Again she looked at me, with the same scrutinising and conscious eye.

"Have you told Master that you heard a laugh?" she inquired.

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"I have not had the opportunity of speaking to him this morning."

"You did not think of opening your door and looking out into the gallery?"

She appeared to be cross-questioning me. The idea struck me that if she discovered I knew or suspected her guilt, she might set her sights of being rid of me. No doubt she was dangerous. I thought it advisable to be on my guard.

"On the contrary," I said. "I bolted my door."

"Then you are not in the habit of bolting your door every night?" The fiend! She wanted to know my habits that she might lay her plans accordingly!

"Hitherto I have often omitted to fasten the bolt. I did not think it necessary. I was not aware any danger or annoyance was to be dreaded at Thornfield hall. In future, I shall take good care to make all secure before I venture to lie down."

"It will be wise so to do. A door is soon fastened, and it is as well to have a drawn bolt between one and any mischief that may be about."

I still stood absolutely shocked at what appeared to me her miraculous self-possession and most inscrutable hypocrisy, when the cook entered.

"Mrs. Poole, the servants' dinner will soon be ready. Will you come down?" Cook asked.

"No. Just put my pint of porter and bit of pudding on a tray, and I'll carry it upstairs."

"You'll have some meat?"

"Just a morsel, and a taste of cheese, that's all."

Ha! No doubt she had her fill of meat last night.

The cook here turned to me, saying that Mrs. Fairfax was waiting for me. I departed.

I hardly heard Mrs. Fairfax's account of the cow massacre or the curtain conflagration during dinner, so much was I occupied in

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puzzling my brains over the enigmatical character of Grace Poole, and still more in pondering the problem of her position at Thorn-field and questioning why she had not been given into custody that morning, or, at the very least, dismissed last night. What mysterious cause withheld Mr. Rochester from accusing her? Why had he enjoined me, too, to secrecy? It was strange. A bold, vindictive, and haughty gentleman seemed somehow in the power of one of the meanest of his dependents. So much in her power that even when she lifted her hand against his life, he dared not openly charge her with the attempt, much less punish her for it.

Perhaps Grace Poole was some sort of witch or enchantress? Were the cows some sort of sacrifice to a dark master? I was on my guard, even if Mr. Rochester had let down his.

I gave up my conjectures to join Adele in the schoolroom, where she sat calmly drawing, shading figures as I had shown her.