Jane Slayre (26 page)

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music master. I was sure of it. Yet Theodore still insists on the story of hitting her head. Ho, now, you were such an inventive boy."

Tedo began to argue. I quite believed him, but would not tell him so. Besides, if they found governesses were so intolerable, it was a wonder the Ingrams kept hiring them.

"It sounds like the charges, not the governesses, may have been part of the problem," Mr. Rochester said in his inimitable way.

"Mark my words, Mr. Rochester. You're better off sending your charge to school. But enough of the topic," said Miss Ingram. "Signor Eduardo, are you in voice tonight?"

"Donna Bianca, if you command it, I will be."

"Then, signor, I lay on you my sovereign behest to furbish up your lungs and other vocal organs, as they will be wanted on my royal service."

Miss Ingram, who had now seated herself with proud grace at the piano, spread out her snowy robes in queenly amplitude. "Mr. Rochester, now sing! And I will play."

"I am all obedience," he said.

"Here then is a corsair song. Know that I dote on corsairs, and for that reason, sing it
con spirito.
"

"Commands from Miss Ingram's lips would put spirit into a mug of milk and water."

Or bile into an empty stomach. I wished he would just get on with it. I meant to slip away as soon as he started singing. If there were vampyres amongst the guests, they hadn't made themselves known to the others yet, and it was likely they wouldn't this evening. I was not needed.

But he started, and the tones arrested me. Mrs. Fairfax had said Mr. Rochester possessed a fine voice. He did: a mellow, powerful bass, into which he threw his feelings, his force, finding a way through the ear to the heart, and there waking sensation strangely. I waited until the last deep and full vibration had expired, then quitted my sheltered corner and made my exit by the side door, which was fortunately near. I would send Sophie for Adele in a short time.

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I'd made it to the hall, a narrow passage that led to the back staircase, when a voice behind me gave me pause.

I turned and stood face-to-face with Mr. Rochester.

"How do you do?" he asked.

"I am very well, sir."

"Why did you not come and speak to me in the room?"

"I did not wish to disturb you, as you seemed engaged, sir."

"What have you been doing during my absence?"

"Teaching Adele, as usual."

"And getting a good deal paler than you were--as I saw at first sight. What is the matter?"

"Nothing at all, sir."

"Did you take any cold that night you half drowned me?"

"Not the least."

"Return to the drawing room. You are deserting too early."

"I am tired, sir."

He looked at me for a minute. "And a little depressed. What about? Tell me."

"Nothing, sir. I am not depressed."

"But I affirm that you are. So much depressed that a few more words would bring tears to your eyes--indeed, they are there now, shining and swimming. If I had time and were not in mortal dread of a servant passing, I would know what all this means. Well, tonight, I excuse you. Tomorrow, and every night as long as my visitors stay, I expect you to appear in the drawing room. Now go, and send Sophie for Adele."

"Yes, sir." I could not meet his gaze. "Good night."

"Good night, my--" He stopped, bit his lip, and abruptly left me.

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CHAPTER 21

I ALLOWED MYSELF TO JOIN in the festivities, just as Mr. Rochester requested. Merry days were these at Thornfield Hall, and busy days, too. Life was everywhere, movement all day long.

And plenty of excitement for night, too. On the second night of the visit, Lady Lynn claimed she woke to find someone in her room, leaning over her with hot breath that reeked of port. I thought immediately of Grace Poole, but I couldn't rule out a vampyre. I remembered holidays with the Reeds and how they would murder and dine on guests in their beds. I would have to be on my guard. Mr. Rochester simply suggested someone stumbled into the wrong room and warned his guests to lock their doors. I flashed him a look, but he appeared not to notice.

Tonight, they spoke of playing charades. The servants were called in, the dining-room tables wheeled away, the lights otherwise disposed, the chairs placed in a semicircle opposite the arch. Old storage chests were raided to yield items that might aid in the making of costumes. Mr. Rochester summoned the ladies around him and selected certain of their number to be amongst his party.

"Miss Ingram is mine, of course," he said, then he named the two Misses Eshton, and Mrs. Dent. He looked at me. I was near him as I had been fastening the clasp of Mrs. Dent's bracelet.

"Will you play?" he asked. I shook my head. He did not insist, which I rather feared he would do. He allowed me to return quietly to my usual seat.

He and his aides now withdrew behind the curtain. The other party, which was headed by Colonel Dent, sat down on the crescent of chairs. Ere long a bell tinkled, and the curtain drew up. Sir

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George Lynn was seen enveloped in a white sheet on a table. Mr. Rochester dug in a patch of ground that appeared to be a graveyard and returned with some odd parts. I wondered if he meant to act the role of bokor? The curtains closed.

I guessed it as the novel
Frankenstein, or the Modern Prometheus,
which had caused such a stir amongst the girls at Lowood until Miss Scatcherd caught it going around and threw it in the fire. I'd always found it too eerily reminiscent of what we'd endured under Mr. Bokorhurst's rule at Lowood. Colonel Dent's crew gathered around in deliberation, but could not come to agreement without a second scene.

A considerable interval elapsed before the curtain again rose. Greenery from the conservatory was scattered around to resemble a woodland scene. Miss Ingram as Elizabeth, in her lovely costume, skipped through the makeshift trees until Sir George, made up to look gruesome, jumped out and murdered her. Sir George ran as Mr. Rochester emerged to bend, and grieve, over his ladylove.

"Frankenstein!"
Colonel Dent finally guessed.

"Sir George, you make a fitting monster," Lord Ingram drawled.

A sufficient interval having elapsed for the performers to resume their ordinary costume, they reentered the dining room. Mr. Rochester led in Miss Ingram.

"Now, Dent," continued Mr. Rochester to the party, "it is your turn."

As the other party withdrew, he and his band took the vacated seats. Miss Ingram placed herself at her leader's right hand. The other diviners filled the chairs on either side of him and her. I tried to watch the actors to determine who amongst them could be a vampyre, but it was no use. The spectators absorbed my full attention. I watched Mr. Rochester turn to Miss Ingram, and Miss Ingram to him. I noticed how she inclined her head towards him, until her dark curls almost touched his shoulder and waved against his cheek. I heard their whisperings.

I have told you, reader, that I had learned to love Mr. Rochester.

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I could not stop loving him now merely because I found that he had ceased to notice me in favour of a great lady who scorned to touch me with the hem of her robes as she passed. I could not stop even though I felt sure he would soon marry this very lady.

Nothing in these circumstances would cool or banish love, though much would create despair. I was not jealous, or rarely. Miss Ingram was a mark beneath jealousy, was too inferior to excite the feeling, despite her seeming superiority in class. She was showy, but not genuine. She had a fine person, many brilliant attainments, but her mind was poor, her heart barren. She was not good, not original. I most objected to the way she treated little Adele, pushing her away if she approached her, sometimes ordering her from the room, and always treating her with coldness and acrimony.

Other eyes besides mine watched these manifestations of character, watched them closely, keenly, shrewdly. Yes, the future bridegroom, Mr. Rochester himself. I couldn't imagine he approved her entirely, yet he showed her marked preference. Together, they had become the life and soul of the party. If he was absent from the room an hour, a perceptible dullness seemed to steal over the spirits of his guests; and his reentry was sure to give a fresh impulse to the vivacity of conversation.

The want of his animating influence appeared to be peculiarly felt one day when he had been summoned to Millcote on business and was not likely to return until late. The afternoon was wet. I'd stopped worrying that he would run into trouble on the road once I'd become more certain that he would know how to handle himself in a crisis. He'd been handling something here at home for years, apparently.

As for the rest of his party, I had no concern. Let the vampyres get them all. They had proposed to take a walk to see a Gypsy camp, lately pitched on a common beyond Hay, but the outing was deferred on account of the weather. Some of the gentlemen were gone

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to the stables. The younger ones, together with the younger ladies, were playing billiards in the billiard room. The Dowagers Ingram and Lynn sought solace in a quiet game at cards. Blanche Ingram refused all efforts of the others to engage her. She fetched a novel from the library and flung herself in haughty listlessness on a sofa. The room and the house were silent save for the occasional burst of merriment of the billiard players echoing from above.

It verged on dusk and the clock had already given warning of the hour to dress for dinner when little Adele, who knelt by me in the drawing-room window seat, suddenly exclaimed that she thought she heard Mr. Rochester's return.

I turned, and Miss Ingram darted forward from her sofa. But it was not Mr. Rochester returning on Mesrour with Pilot at his side. It was a carriage bearing a visitor. Miss Ingram berated Adele as "a tiresome monkey!" as the stranger rang the bell. He was soon led in to sit with the party and await Mr. Rochester's return. He bowed to Lady Ingram, as deeming her the eldest lady present.

"It appears I come at an inopportune time, madam," said he, "when my friend Mr. Rochester is from home, but I arrive from a very long journey. May I wait on him?"

His manner was polite. His accent struck me as somewhat unusual, not precisely foreign, but still not altogether English. His age might be about Mr. Rochester's. His complexion was singularly sallow. Otherwise he was a fine-looking man, at first sight especially. On closer examination, I detected something in his face that displeased, or rather that failed to please. His features were regular, but too relaxed. His eyes were large and well cut, but the life looking out of them was a tame, vacant life, at least so I thought.

I had more chance to study him after dinner, as the party returned to the drawing room and I kept my usual seat. I observed and learned more of him from listening to his talk with some of the gentlemen. Called Mr. Mason, he was but just arrived in England from some hot country, which explained why his face was so sallow, and why he sat so near the hearth and wore a coat in the

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house. Presently the words Jamaica, Kingston, Spanish Town, indicated the West Indies as his residence, and I gathered that he had met Mr. Rochester there. Curious, indeed. He spoke of his friend's dislike of the burning heats, the hurricanes, and the rainy seasons of that region. I knew Mr. Rochester had been a traveller, but I did not know he had spent time in the West Indies. I thought of Helen Burns's maid, the one who had told her of zombie curses and voodoo bokors. I wondered about Mr. Mason. What did he know of zombies?

I was pondering this when an incident, somewhat unexpected, broke the thread of my musings. Mr. Mason needed more coal on the fire. The footman who brought the coal, in going out, stopped near Mr. Eshton's chair and said something to him in a low voice, of which I heard only the words "old woman" and "quite troublesome."

"Tell her she shall be put in the stocks if she does not take herself off," replied the magistrate.

"No--stop!" interrupted Colonel Dent. "Don't send her away, Eshton. We'd better consult the ladies." Speaking aloud, he continued, "Ladies, you talked of going to Hay Common to visit the Gypsy camp. Sam here says that one of the old Mother Bunches is in the servants' hall at this moment and insists upon being brought in before 'the quality' to tell them their fortunes. Would you like to see her?"

I sat up straighter, suspicious now. That this strange Gypsy woman should come on the same night as a strange West Indies visitor? I'd learned to question coincidences and strangers. I remained on alert.

"What is she like?" inquired the Misses Eshton in a breath.

"A shockingly ugly old creature, miss."

"Why, she's a real sorceress!" cried Frederick Lynn. "Let us have her in, of course."

A sorceress? Aha, she could be one of Grace Poole's people.

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Things had been quiet with regard to Grace Poole for some time, but I remained wary of her, too.

"I have a curiosity to hear my fortune told. Sam, order the beldam forward," spoke Blanche haughtily as she turned around on the piano stool, where until now she had sat silent, apparently examining sundry sheets of music.

Excitement instantly seized the whole party, a running fire of raillery and jests.

When Sam returned, he said, "She won't come now. She says it's not her mission to appear before the 'vulgar herd.' I must show her into a room by herself, and then those who wish to consult her must go to her one by one."

"Show her into the library, of course," Blanche said. "It is not my mission to listen to her before the vulgar herd either. I mean to have her all to myself."

"She's ready now," said the footman as he reappeared. "She wishes to know who will be her first visitor."

"I go first." Miss Ingram rose solemnly.

I thought I should perhaps stop her, in case evil awaited. But I had no desire to save Blanche Ingram from an evil fate, and I simply watched her go. The minutes passed slowly. Fifteen were counted before the library door again opened. Miss Ingram returned to us through the arch.

Would she laugh? Would she take it as a joke? All eyes met her with a glance of eager curiosity, and she met all eyes with one of rebuff and coldness. She looked neither flurried nor merry. She walked stiffly to her seat and took it in silence.

"Well, Blanche?" said Lord Ingram.

"What did she say, Sister?" asked Mary.

"Now, now, good people," returned Miss Ingram. "Don't press upon me. I have seen a Gypsy vagabond. She has practised in hackneyed fashion the science of palmistry and told me what such people usually tell. My whim is gratified, and now I think Mr.