Jane Slayre (36 page)

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"Yes, but remember, Jane, you promised to wake with me the night before my wedding."

"I did, and I will keep my promise, for an hour or two at least. I have no wish to go to bed." Absolutely no wish, if only he knew.

"Are all your arrangements complete?"

"All, sir."

"And on my part likewise. I have settled everything. We shall leave Thornfield tomorrow, within half hour after our return from church. But, you hinted a while ago at something which had happened in my absence. Let me hear it. You have overheard the servants talk?"

"No." It struck twelve. I waited for the chimes to stop, then continued, "All day yesterday, I was very busy, and very happy in my ceaseless bustle. I think it a glorious thing to have the hope of living with you, because I love you. Edward, don't caress me now--let me talk undisturbed. Yesterday, I trusted well in Providence and believed that events were working together for your good and mine. It was a fine day, if you recollect. I walked a little while after tea, thinking of you. Sophie called me upstairs to look at my wedding dress, which they had just brought. And under it in the box I found your present, the veil, which, in your princely extravagance, you sent for from London. I smiled as I unfolded it and devised how I would tease you about your aristocratic tastes. I had prepared myself a simple square of unembroidered blond to use as a veil, but yours, Edward. It was extraordinary."

"Was? But what did you find in the veil besides its embroidery? Did you find poison, or a dagger, that you look so mournful now?"

I shook my head. "Besides the delicacy and richness of the fabric, I found nothing save Edward Rochester's pride, and that did not scare me because I am used to the sight of that particular demon. But, sir, as it grew dark, the wind rose. I wished you were at home. For some time after I went to bed, I could not sleep--a sense of anxious excitement distressed me."

"Your vampyre feeling? Tell me you were safe, that none came?"

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"Not vampyres. Once I finally fell asleep, I continued in dreams the idea of a dark and gusty night. I had another dream that Thorn-field Hall was but a ruin, a charred and abandoned place. On waking, a gleam dazzled my eyes. I thought, 'Oh, it is daylight!' But I was mistaken. It was only candlelight. Sophie, I supposed, had come in. There was a light on the dressing table, and the door of the closet, where, before going to bed, I had hung my wedding dress and veil, stood open. I heard a rustling there. I asked, 'Sophie, what are you doing?' No one answered. A form emerged from the closet. It took the light, held it aloft, and surveyed the wedding garments that were hanging. I had risen up in bed. I bent forward. First surprise, then bewilderment, came over me, and then my blood crept cold through my veins. Mr. Rochester, this was not Sophie, it was not Leah, it was not Mrs. Fairfax. It was not--no, I was sure of it, and am still--it was not even that strange woman, Grace Poole."

"It must have been one of them," interrupted my Edward.

"I solemnly assure you to the contrary. The shape standing before me had never crossed my eyes within the precincts of Thornfield Hall. The height, the contour, the form, were new to me."

"Describe it, Jane."

"It seemed a woman, tall and large, with thick and dark hair hanging long down her back."

"Did you see her face?"

"Not at first. But presently she took my veil from its place. She held it up, gazed at it long, and then she threw it over her own head, and turned to the mirror. At that moment I saw the reflection of the visage and features quite distinctly in the glass."

"And how were they?"

"Fearful and ghastly to me--oh, I never saw a face like it! It was a reflection, so I knew at once it was not a vampyre. Witch, ghoul, or fiend, I could not tell. She was no zombie! Zombies are listless unless in a frenzy for flesh, then still quite slow. This one was fierce! It was a discoloured face--it was a savage face. I wish I could forget

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the roll of the red eyes and the fearful blackened inflation of the lineaments!"

"Ghosts are usually pale, Jane."

"This was purple. The lips were swelled and bloody, with teeth protruding, such long, sharp teeth. The nose! It was more like a snout. She might have been lightly furred. It was dark. I could not tell."

"Ah! What did it do?"

"It removed my veil from its monstrous head, rent it in two parts with its hands, quite like paws, and flung the destroyed veil on the floor and trampled on it."

"Afterwards?"

"It drew aside the window curtain and looked out. Perhaps it saw dawn approaching, for, taking the candle, it retreated to the door. Just at my bedside, the figure stopped. The fiery eyes glared upon me. She thrust up her candle close to my face and extinguished it under my eyes."

"And she left you then? Dear God, Jane, she didn't try to hurt you?"

"Then she left me," I said, leaving off the rest of the narrative for the time.

"Thank God" he exclaimed, "that if anything malignant did come near you last night, it was only the veil that was harmed! Oh, to think what might have happened!"

He pulled me up onto his lap and hugged me to him, and I accepted the comfort for now, leaning into his strong arms, breathing in his soothing scent of spice and cigars. He was home, and I was glad.

To think what might have happened, indeed!

While she was on me, dear reader, I gripped my daggers under the sheet, and I thought about how best to strike. I knew it would give me a fight, and I debated how prepared I was to take on such a foe. I was alone, no Mr. Rochester down the hall to come running

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to my assistance. I had seen what she had done to Mr. Mason. I was prepared to defend myself should the need arise, but I was not prepared to attack without provocation, not knowing quite what I was up against. Great was my relief when it simply blew out the candle and started back for the third-story door.

I gave it a minute to get well enough ahead of me, then I grabbed my shawl, daggers, and stakes and followed carefully. The gallery was dark. I peeked out my door, my heart racing, and heard the third-story door creak open and footfalls on the stairs. Even then, I was not satisfied. I waited a minute, went back into my room, and lit a candle, which I then carried with me to the door and up the stairs. At the top of the stairs, I heard voices.

The tapestry was askew, but I could see that the door behind it was shut and, I suspected, locked again. I could not make out a conversation directly, but one voice seemed to cluck and admonish while the other made that deep, low laugh. Curious, that! I could only conclude that Grace Poole had been the blameless victim of my suspicions. She was most definitely not the creature I'd seen in my room. Most likely she was its keeper, an occasionally lax keeper at that. That she had it all locked up again did not make me any lighter of heart.

The question remained, what was it? And why did Edward keep it in his home? I hoped he would volunteer some answers to my questions. On the eve of my wedding, I was willing to accept what he would offer without wanting to press him for more. It was enough to know that I was safe, that whatever it was might have murderous intentions on Mr. Rochester and anyone who came near to challenge it in its lair, but it seemed to be mostly under lock, and in control, and not out to generally injure or attack the other members of the household. Still, when I was married, I would demand my answers, and it would have to go.

"Afterwards, did you sleep?" he asked at length, once he had held me long enough to perhaps regain command of his senses.

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"Sleep was out of the question. I rose, bathed my head and face in water, and determined that to none but you would I impart this vision. Now, sir, tell me who and what that woman was?"

"The creature of an overstimulated brain, that is certain."

"Depend on it, my nerves were not in fault. The thing was real. The transaction actually took place, and I have proof. My beautiful wedding veil, the precious gift from you, is destroyed. I found it on my floor, irreparable."

He considered my words carefully.

Again he drew me into his embrace. He strained me so close to him, I could scarcely breathe. At last he released me.

"Now, Janet, you suspect there is more to the employment of Grace Poole than you've been told. You are right, indeed. You are too clever to doubt the evidence when it is standing right in front of you ripping your veil. I see you would ask why I keep such a creature in my house. When we have been married a year and a day, I will tell you; but not now. Are you satisfied, Jane? Do you accept my solution of the mystery?"

I knew him. I trusted him. I had faith that he would keep his word, and that he held the information back, for now, for reasons of his own. I was not entirely satisfied, but I was accepting.

"I do," I answered him with a contented smile.

"Does not Sophie sleep with Adele in the nursery?" he asked as I got up to light a candle.

"Yes."

"And there is room enough in Adele's little bed for you. You must share it with her tonight, Jane." he got up, too, and stood behind me. He cupped my shoulders and spoke low, his warm breath brushing my ear. "I am not surprised that the incident you have related should make you nervous, and I would rather you did not sleep alone. Promise me to go to the nursery."

"I shall be very glad to do so." I turned to face him, again with a reassuring smile.

"And fasten the door securely on the inside. Wake Sophie when

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you go upstairs to request her to rouse you in good time tomorrow. You must be dressed and have finished breakfast before eight. And now, no more sombre thoughts. Chase dull care away, Jane. Don't you hear to what soft whispers the wind has fallen? And there is no more beating of rain against the window. Look here." He strolled to the window and lifted up the curtain. "It is a lovely night!"

I joined him to look out. It was. Half heaven was pure and stainless. The clouds, now trooping before the wind, which had shifted to the west, were filing off eastward in long, silvered columns. The moon shone peacefully.

"Well," said Mr. Rochester, gazing inquiringly into my eyes, "how is my Janet now?"

"The night is serene, Edward, and so am I."

"And you will not dream of separation and sorrow tonight, but of happy love and blissful union."

This prediction was but half-fulfilled. I did not indeed dream of sorrow, but as little did I dream of joy. I never slept at all. With little Adele in my arms, I watched the slumber of childhood--so tranquil, so passionless, so innocent--and waited for the coming day. All my life was awake and astir in my frame. As soon as the sun rose, I rose, too.

It was my wedding day.

CHAPTER 29

BEFORE SOPHIE CAME AT seven to help dress me, I'd had my bath and arranged my hair and felt I was nearly ready to dress and go. Sophie had other ideas. My hair, in my usual bun, was not right. She asked, in indignant French, if I thought it was just like any

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other day. Then, how she fussed over me! She took down my hair and brushed it again. I thought she would be brushing for hours. Then she twisted it into an elegant, soft chignon with stray curls framing my face. She smoothed my brow and plucked at stray hairs and pinched my cheeks to a soft glow. She was just adjusting my veil, the plain square of blond after all, to my hair with a brooch when Mr. Rochester, apparently impatient for my appearance, sent word up the stairs to hurry me along. Eager to join him, I almost flew out from Sophie's hands as she still worked. She steadied me.

"Stop!" she cried in French. "Look at yourself in the mirror. You have not taken one peep."

I hardly recognised the image staring back. I looked like a fantasy of myself, like the little fairy or angel that Mr. Rochester was always accusing me of being. I thanked her and hurried down to meet my groom.

He received me at the foot of the stairs.

"Lingerer!" he said before even looking up. "My brain is on fire with impatience, and you tarry so long!" He surveyed me keenly, then pronounced, "My dearest, you have taken my breath clean away. You are as fair as a lily, nay, fairer. The pride of my life, and desire of my eyes."

I laughed at him. I could not imagine Mr. Rochester losing his breath over anything, much less my appearance, but I thanked him for the compliments and returned them in the only way he would expect.

"You look tolerably handsome yourself." I smiled.

In truth, to my eyes, he looked like a prince stepped out of a novel. He was clean-shaven, and his hair, though recently trimmed, still had a touch of wildness about it, the way I liked it. He wore a dark suit, but he might as well have been clad in medieval armor, for he was my shining protector. My heart surged with pride.

He told me he would give me but ten minutes to eat some breakfast. He rang the bell. One of his lately hired servants, a footman, answered it.

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"Is the luggage brought down?"

"They are bringing it down, sir."

"And the carriage?"

"The horses are harnessing."

"We shall not want it to go to church, but it must be ready the moment we return, all the boxes and luggage arranged and strapped on, and the coachman in his seat."

"Yes, sir."

"Jane, are you ready?"

I rose. There were no groomsmen, no bridesmaids, no relatives, to wait for or marshal, none but Mr. Rochester and I. Mrs. Fairfax stood in the hall as we passed. I would have spoken to her, but I was hurried along by a stride I could hardly follow.

At the churchyard wicket, he stopped. He discovered I was quite out of breath.

"Am I cruel in my love?" he said. "Delay an instant. Lean on me, Jane."

Now I can recall the picture of the grey old house of God rising calm before me, of a rook wheeling round the steeple, of a ruddy morning sky beyond. I have not forgotten, either, two figures of strangers straying amongst the low hillocks and reading the mementos graven on the few mossy headstones. I noticed them because, as they saw us, they passed round to the back of the church, and I suspected they were going to enter by the side door to witness the ceremony. I did not mind. I would gladly share my happiness with all.

We entered the quiet and humble temple. The priest waited in his white surplice at the altar, the clerk beside him. All was still. Two shadows only moved in a remote corner. As I thought, the strangers had slipped in before us, and they now stood by the vault of the Rochesters, their backs towards us, viewing through the rails the old, time-stained marble tomb, where a kneeling angel guarded the remains of Damer de Rochester, slain at Marston Moor in the time of the civil wars, and of Elizabeth, his wife.