Jane Slayre (40 page)

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fear to offend by living with me." he stepped closer, as if to try his seduction again. I stepped back.

Still indomitable was the reply. I cared for myself. I knew what it could cost me to stay as his inferior, to live a life that would never be all that we wanted for ourselves, with his wife in the shadows between us.

I retired to the door.

"You are leaving me?"

"Yes."

"Withdraw, then. I consent. But remember, you leave me here in anguish. Go up to your own room. Think over all I have said, and, Jane, cast a glance on my sufferings--think of me."

He turned away.

I had already gained the door; but, reader, I walked back. I turned his face to me. I kissed his cheek. I smoothed his hair with my hand.

"God bless you, my dear Edward! God keep you from harm and wrong, direct you, solace you, and reward you well for your past kindness to me."

"Your love would have been my best reward. Without it, my heart is broken."

Up the blood rushed to his face, forth flashed the fire from his eyes. He held his arms out, but I evaded the embrace and at once quitted the room.

"Farewell!" was the cry of my heart as I left him. Despair added, "Farewell forever!"

That night I thought I would never sleep, but the events of the day must have taxed me more than I'd imagined, for I fell to a heavy slumber as soon as I lay down in bed. I was transported in thought to the scenes of childhood. I dreamt I lay in the red room at Gates-head, that the night was dark, and my mind impressed with strange musings. The light that had long ago struck me into syncope, recalled

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in this vision, seemed glidingly to mount the wall, and tremblingly to pause in the centre of the obscured ceiling. I lifted up my head to look. The roof resolved to clouds, high and dim. The gleam was such as the moon imparts to vapours she is about to sever. I watched her come--watched with the strangest anticipation. She broke forth as never moon yet burst from cloud. A hand first penetrated the clouds and waved them away. Then, not a moon, but a white human form shone in the azure, inclining a glorious brow earthward. It gazed and gazed on me. It spoke to my spirit. Immeasurably distant was the tone, yet so near it whispered in my heart:

"My daughter, follow your instincts. Seek the Slayres."

"Mother, I will."

So I answered after I had waked from the trancelike dream. It was yet night, but July nights are short. Soon after midnight, dawn comes. If I didn't go now, I would never go.

I rose. I dressed. I gathered some linen, a locket, a ring, six stakes, my daggers. In seeking these articles, I encountered the beads of a pearl necklace Mr. Rochester had gifted me a few days ago. I left that. It was not mine. It belonged to the visionary bride who had melted in air, like a vampyre after a staking. I pocketed my purse, containing twenty shillings, all I had. I tied on my straw bonnet, pinned my shawl, gathered my parcel and my slippers, which I would not yet put on, and stole from my room.

"Farewell, kind Mrs. Fairfax!" I whispered as I glided past her door.

"Farewell, my darling Adele!" I said as I glanced towards the nursery.

No thought could be admitted of entering to embrace her. I had to deceive a fine ear. For all I knew, it might now be listening.

I would have got past Mr. Rochester's chamber without a pause, but as my heart momentarily stopping its beat at that threshold, my foot was forced to stop also. No sleep was there. He walked restlessly from wall to wall, and again and again he sighed while I listened. A heaven--a temporary heaven--was in this room for me, if I chose.

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That kind master, who could not now sleep, was waiting with impatience for day. He would send for me in the morning. I would be gone. He would have me sought for, all efforts in vain. He would feel himself forsaken, his love rejected. He would suffer. He might grow desperate. His conduct was all under his control, not mine. Still, my hand moved towards the lock. I caught it back and glided on.

Drearily I wound my way downstairs. I knew what I had to do, and I did it mechanically. I got some water. I got some bread. All this I did without one sound. I opened the door, passed through, and shut it softly. Dim dawn glimmered in the yard. The great gates were closed and locked, but a wicket in one of them was only latched. Through that I departed. It, too, I shut. I was out of Thornfield.

A mile off, beyond the fields, was a road that stretched in the contrary direction to Millcote, a road I had never travelled, but often noticed, and wondered where it led. There I went. No reflection was to be allowed now. Not one glance was to be cast back, or forward. I simply walked, one step at a time, away from all I knew and loved. I followed my instincts, as instructed by my ghostly dream or visitor of last night.

My conscience warned me not to turn, that I could not give in. Even as I prepared to marry him, I was too aware of my inferiority of position. Would he not begin to resent me? Mr. Rochester was social by nature. How would he get on cut off from all his friends? Bad enough that he would marry his governess, but to simply take her as a mistress? I did not care what other people might say as much as I thought of me. Could I live as less than I should be? A mistress, instead of a wife. A dependent, instead of an equal. A merciful keeper, instead of a mercy killer.

Instinct told me I was not yet the woman I should be. I had much to accomplish, much to learn. I would follow my instinct to my destiny.

I walked on, through cramps and fatigue, until I reached the

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road. When I got there, I needed to sit and rest under a tree. I heard wheels and saw a coach coming. I stood up and lifted my hand. It stopped. I asked the driver where it was going, and he named a place a long way off, somewhere I was sure Mr. Rochester had never mentioned and probably had no connections. I negotiated a price. He asked for thirty shillings. I had twenty. He said he would try to make do. He further gave me leave to get in, as the vehicle was empty. I entered, was shut in, and it rolled on its way.

Gentle reader, may you never feel what I then felt! May your eyes never shed such stormy, scalding, heart-wrung tears as poured from mine. May you never have to be the instrument of evil to what you wholly love.

CHAPTER 31

TWO DAYS LATER, THE coachman set me down at a place called Whitcross. He could take me no farther for the sum I had given, and I was not possessed of another shilling in the world. I was alone, the coach long gone, before I realised that I'd left my parcel behind on the seat. It was too late to retrieve it. I was absolutely destitute.

My instincts had led me here. Perhaps my instincts were a little off and not to be trusted.

Whitcross, I quickly discovered, was not a town, nor even a hamlet. It was a stone pillar, whitewashed with four arms pointing in four directions, set up at the meeting of four roads. According to my trusty guidepost, the nearest town to which these pointed was ten miles off, the farthest, a distance of twenty miles. From the well-known names of these towns, I learned in what county I had lighted, a north-midland shire, dusk with moorland, ridged with

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mountain. Great moors were behind and on each hand of me, and waves of mountains far beyond that deep valley at my feet. I guessed the population to be thin, and I saw no signs of passersby to help direct me or to offer a weary traveller assistance. Or a bit of bread and cheese. Hunger gnawed at me. Even Lowood's porridge would seem appetizing now, so long had it been since I'd eaten. But it seemed it would be longer.

Not a tie held me to human society. Not a charm or hope called me where my fellow creatures were. None that saw me would have a kind thought or a good wish for me, surely, as I was dusty from the road and worn in appearance. I had no relative but the universal mother, Nature. I sought her breast and asked repose.

I struck straight into the heath. I wandered until I found a moss-blackened granite crag at a hidden angle, and I sat down under it. High banks of moor were about me. The crag protected my head. The sky was over that.

Some time passed before I felt tranquil even here. I imagined wild cattle or deer roaming nearby, and that brought to mind the creatures that might hunt such beasts. I had a stake up my sleeve in case of vampyres. If a werewolf came at a charge, I had no idea what to do. Soon, the weather became more a concern than even the wildest creature. The wind whistled, growing sharp. Could rain be far behind?

The next time a ghostly spirit opted to pop in for a visitation, I would tell it to please go prey on a less worthy subject. I could be at home in bed in Thornfield. In Mr. Rochester's bed, warm at his side as his pretend wife. What was I to do now? Where to go? Mr. Rochester was no doubt at home, worried and equally unable to sleep but much better fed.

Regrets would do me no good. I touched the heath. It was dry, yet warm with the heat of the summer day. I looked at the sky. It was pure, no rain in sight. A kindly star twinkled just above the chasm ridge. Nature seemed to me benign and good. Suddenly, I noticed ripe bilberries in a patch off to one side. I gathered a handful

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and ate them, my hunger somewhat appeased. I said my evening prayers, then made my couch in the heath. I folded my shawl double and spread it over me for a coverlet. A low, mossy swell was my pillow. Thus lodged, I was not too cold.

The next day I felt refreshed and renewed. Everywhere sunshine. Life was yet in my possession, with all its requirements, and pains, and responsibilities. I got up, looked around me, and set out.

Whitcross regained, I followed a road that led from the sun, now fervent and high. I walked a long time, and when I thought I had nearly done enough and might conscientiously yield to the fatigue that almost overpowered me and, sitting down on a stone I saw near, submit to the apathy that clogged heart and limb--I heard a church bell.

I turned in the direction of the sound, and there, amongst the romantic hills, whose changes and aspect I had ceased to note an hour ago, I saw a hamlet and a spire. The valley at my right hand was full of pastures and cornfields, and wood, with a glittering stream running through the varied shades of green. Recalled by the rumbling of wheels to the road before me, I saw a heavily laden wagon labouring up the hill, and not far beyond were two cows and their drover. Human life and human labour were near.

By the early afternoon, I entered the village. At the bottom of its one street, there was a little shop with some cakes of bread in the window. Without bread, I wasn't sure how I would proceed. Had I nothing about me I could offer in exchange for a roll? I considered. I had a small silk handkerchief tied around my throat. I had my gloves. I could hardly tell how men and women in extremities of destitution proceeded. I did not know whether either of these articles would be accepted.

I entered the shop. A woman was there. Seeing a respectably dressed person, a lady as she supposed, she came forward with civility. How could she serve me? I was seized with shame. My tongue would not utter the request I had prepared. I only begged permission to sit down a moment, as I was tired. Disappointed in the

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expectation of a customer, she coolly acceded to my request. She pointed to a seat. I sank into it. Soon I asked, "Is there any dressmaker or plain-work woman in the village?"

"Yes, two or three." Quite as many as there was employment for.

"Do you know of any place in the neighbourhood where a servant is wanted?"

"Nay. I couldn't say."

"What is the chief trade in this place? What do most of the people do?"

"Some are farm labourers. A good deal work at Mr. Oliver's needle factory, and at the foundry."

"Does Mr. Oliver employ women?"

"Nay." She smiled as if it were an idiot's question. "It is men's work."

"And what do the women do?"

"I knawn't. Some do one thing, and some another. Poor folk get on as they can. We don't like strangers much in this town, miss.

We've had trouble."

"What sort of trouble?"

She wouldn't offer more. She seemed to be tired of my questions. Indeed, what claim had I to importune her? A few neighbours came in. My chair was evidently wanted. I took leave.

I passed up the street, looking as I went at all the houses to the right hand and to the left. I left them and came back again, and again I wandered away, always repelled by the consciousness of having no claim to ask--no right to expect interest in my isolated lot. In crossing a field, I saw the church spire before me. I hastened towards it.

Near the churchyard, and in the middle of a garden, stood a well-built though small house, which I had no doubt was the parsonage. I remembered that strangers who arrive at a place where they have no friends, and who want employment, sometimes apply to the clergyman for introduction and aid. Renewing then my courage, and gathering my feeble remains of strength, I pushed on. I reached the

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house and knocked at the kitchen door. An old woman opened. I asked was this the parsonage, and if so, was the clergyman in?

"He was called away by the sudden death of his father. He's at Marsh End now, some three miles off, and he will very likely stay there a fortnight longer."

She was housekeeper, I discovered, and of her, reader, I could not bear to ask the relief for want of which I was sinking. I could not yet beg. I went away.

A little before dark I passed a farmhouse, at the open door of which the farmer was sitting, eating his supper of bread and cheese.

"Will you give me a piece of bread?" I asked. "For I am very hungry."

He cast on me a glance of surprise. Without answering, he cut a thick slice from his loaf and gave it to me. I imagine he did not think I was a beggar, but only an eccentric sort of lady who had taken a fancy to his brown loaf. As soon as I was out of sight of his house, I sat down and ate it.

I could not hope to get a lodging under a roof and sought it in the wood. But my night was wretched, my rest broken. The ground was damp, the air cold. Besides, a group of intruders passed near me, and I had to huddle into the bushes to avoid their notice. There were three of them, two men and a woman, and I couldn't help overhearing them.

"I've got to eat something," one of the men said. "I haven't had a taste since Tuesday, and my stomach's like to cave in on itself."

"Rest easy, love. There's a farmhouse at the edge of town, looked to be some livestock milling about i'the yard."

"Farm? I don't want another pig, hyacinth."

"Listen, Jack, will you? Where there's farms, there's people, eh? A whole row of houses down the line. We should ha' no trouble picking 'em off one at a time. Georgy's there setting 'em all up for us."

Vampyres! My stomach tensed. My instinct warned. I was grateful for the damp chill and wind for helping to hide my scent. I made every effort to control my movements, not even daring to breathe.