Thornfield Hall (25 page)

If Adele left there would be no occupation for Jane; she had already considered putting another advertisement in the newspaper but Mr Rochester had persuaded her in the fiercest terms against it. He had made her promise not to advertise, insisting that he would find her another place when the time came. So Jane lived in a kind of limbo, waiting for the axe to fall and powerless to choose her own future. Adele and I were glad of her presence. She kept Mr Rochester occupied of an evening and diverted his attention from the failings of the servants and the less-than-perfect household arrangements.

Thornfield Hall was not a smooth-running well-oiled machine anymore. We had been hard put to find suitable staff. ‘Scrapings from the bottom of the barrel,' Old John called our new recruits. The factories were paying higher wages for those adventurous souls prepared to move to town and we were left with a rag-bag of untrained beginners. Some of them had scarcely managed to wash themselves since they were summoned from herding sheep and milking cows. This made much work for my loyal staff, who had to teach the newcomers how to lay a fire or make a bed or explain what a saucer was for. We were divided into two camps – the knowledgeable and the ignorant. On the one hand there were those who had taken the oath, who were privy to the fact that Bertha was indeed Mrs Rochester. On the other hand there were those in a state of complete ignorance of service in general and of Thornfield Hall in particular. They were not likely to show much curiosity about Bertha just yet. And there was Martha, who fitted into neither of these categories. It was a house jangling with nerves, secrets and subterfuges.

John was upset by the arrival of the new footmen; he feared he was to be replaced. I found him with his head in his hands and all the troubles of the world on his shoulders: Leah, the wedding, the baby and most of all money. ‘I know it's wicked,'
he confessed, ‘but I do envy my brother. He will have the farm. His own house, his own fields and his own animals! It must be wonderful. I don't think Leah and I will ever have so much as a cottage to call our own. What if the new missus takes against me and gives me my notice? I'm that bothered with all this I'm all fingers and thumbs and keep dropping things and forgetting what errand master's sent me on.'

I patted his shoulder and made reassuring noises. My diagnosis was a bad case of bridegroom's nerves for both him and Mr Rochester. ‘Don't forget, John,' I told him, ‘that you have been trusted with Mr Rochester's secret and a key to the third floor. The new footmen have not.'

When Mary banished her from the kitchen, Martha had to work in the laundry. I was not happy about this as it is heavy work for someone in her condition. I consoled myself by remembering how clever Martha was at avoiding work. She would contrive to wash nothing more substantial than a collar and cuffs or a chemise. Although it was June the weather was wet and Martha had to take what little washing she had done to dry on the racks in the attic. This brought her dangerously close to Grace and Bertha.

As my plan matured in my mind and began to take definite shape I scented the clear air of freedom from all these oaths and secrets and I grew less careful. I made Martha swear on her soon-to-be-born baby's head not to breathe a word of the existence of the strange lady on the third floor. Naturally I kept the lady's real identity concealed from her. I told her some cock and bull story about a distant connection of old Mr Rochester, the widow of one of his clerks who used to work in the West Indies. The shock of her husband's recent death had overcome her and the master had asked us to look after her for a short time. ‘Much as we are looking after you,' I told her,
putting heavy stress on each word to remind her she owed us a debt of gratitude.

I explained away the fact that the door to the stairs was locked by staying as close to the truth as possible; I blamed the temporarily distraught aunt for starting a fire. Martha asked for a key but I refused it. Grace or John or Leah or myself would unlock the door for her when she needed to hang up the washing and would let her out when she had finished. Grace and I had many important matters to discuss; we did not want Martha free to come at will and loiter about the third storey, eavesdropping.

Grace was much more comfortable with Martha than I was; my guilt made me prickly and short-tempered with her. By the time she had climbed the stairs with a basket of washing the girl gave a good impression of being exhausted. Grace would invite her in to rest on the big four-poster bed while Bertha sewed. They tried getting her to read aloud but it was not a success. They tried her with sewing but Bertha soon took the needle from her hand. In spite of the clumsiness Bertha took a fancy to Martha and would sit close and quiet by her as if the strange feeling of contentment that comes from carrying a child had spread into her. She abandoned doll's clothes and started making baby clothes. Between them the madwoman and the reluctant mother-to-be created an oasis of peace in a house of swirling secrets and bitter passions.

Throughout all these changes and adjustments Grace and I stayed doggedly with our plan. Some might call it a plot. Although Bertha and her welfare were the intended goal, we proceeded in our arrangements without her knowledge or agreement. We justified our high-handed treatment by telling ourselves she could not keep a topic in her head for long and that decisions upset her. ‘Nearer the time,' Grace would say. ‘We'll tell her nearer the
time.' We were waiting for an important document and that final necessary ingredient for any enterprise – luck. Then we would be ready to strike.

Grace's son brought us the vital document, delivering it himself to ensure it came safely into our hands. He told us that he had a new position near Reading and he had found a suitable property nearby. Did he have our permission to rent it? Grace and I dithered. We decided to delay; our hand would be so much stronger once Mr Rochester had announced publicly that he was to marry Miss Ingram.

Martha had been our sole source of information about what was happening at Ingram Park and she was neither reliable nor up to date. According to Martha, Miss Ingram herself counted the wedding as a certainty. ‘Has she begun buying wedding clothes?' I asked her, although I had no confidence in the silly baggage's opinion on anything. Martha claimed that new underclothes had been ordered. I was not convinced. I thought the new young baron would be reluctant to spend money on anything that he could not put on show to the whole world. I needed more proof than a few new chemises.

As the month progressed the weather changed and we enjoyed day after day of fine warm weather. The hay, always a tricky crop that makes farmers chew their nails with indecision, was safely brought in. Grace and I were anxious to find the right moment to bring our own harvest in. On Midsummer Eve we met in my room late at night and debated how much longer to wait for Mr Rochester to announce his wedding.

Grace favoured immediate action. ‘It is a good plan. Bertha living away from here. Whether he wants to marry or not. We are not trying to blackmail him, by threatening to expose him as a bigamist.'

‘It feels as if we are.'

‘Stuff and nonsense! We are simply putting forward a fair and reasonable solution to what is for him a difficult problem – his wife. She is his problem, not ours. He should be grateful for our help.' Grace gave a smug smile; she thought her logic unimpeachable.

I was not so sure. Our solution was a costly one – for Mr Rochester. Old Mr Rochester would spin in his grave at the thought of parting with a penny of the Rochester fortune. My own motive for wanting more certainty was a selfish one. If the plan went wrong there would be no escape route for me. I would be shown the door and would face a chilling future. I would be neither gentry nor servant. I would be a miserable wretch without family or friends.

‘You'd have me. I'd still be your friend.'

‘Thank you, Grace.'

At this moment lightning flashed and we heard a great roll of thunder nearby. The rain rattled down and the air cooled and freshened. The sudden alteration in the weather felt like a sign. I made my mind up to accept this herald of change. I would cease delaying. It was time to put our plan into action. I was about to tell Grace my decision when, in spite of the uproar produced by the elements, some sixth sense alerted me to an unseen presence nearby in the corridor or the hall; the great door to the outside was not yet locked. I put my finger to my lips to warn Grace to keep silent, opened the door to my room and ventured cautiously into the corridor.

The clock was striking twelve as I left my room. On the threshold was Mr Rochester. He was removing Miss Eyre's wet shawl and tenderly shaking it out. I stood transfixed as he went on to kiss her several times and murmur sweet nothings in her ear. They parted with reluctance. As Jane turned away she saw me. A smile of immense and tranquil joy illuminated her face.
Without a word she glided up the stairs. Mr Rochester went back to bolt the great door and I slipped back into my room.

The scales fell from my eyes. It was Miss Eyre that Mr Rochester wanted. The fragile little governess was his choice, not the haughty Miss Ingram. The passion I had felt pulsing in the drawing room was mutual. My mistake had been in thinking that it was Jane alone who loved and that the gap between her and Mr Rochester was too wide and deep to be bridged. I had earnestly urged her to strangle her love at birth; instead she had hidden her love, sent it underground. Mr Rochester had used the facade of the house party to disguise his real desire. The lavish attention to Miss Ingram, the coach and the new servants were all a charade. He had been playing the oldest game in the book: making the object of his affections jealous!

When I told her, Grace found it hard to believe me. She lacked the evidence of the embrace that I had seen with my own eyes. Once she was convinced she exploded with anger.

‘I knew we should have tackled him earlier. This blows our plan apart.' She pounded her fists on the back of a chair.

‘Why? What difference does it make?'

‘Because it no longer matters that he already has a wife. He will just make her his mistress. Who cares about the reputation of some measly governess? Now the Ingrams are a different matter. They have standing in society. The lofty Blanche has to have the vicar say the words in church and have the ring put on her finger.' Grace waved her left hand in my face to show me the wedding ring she wore. I knew it was completely bogus; she had already let slip that she had not been married to her son's father.

‘You think he will just make Jane his mistress?'

Grace gave me a look of pity mixed with a large dollop of contempt. ‘You said it yourself. Gentlemen don't marry governesses. Why not just bed her?'

‘Because she won't let him. He must have proposed. Jane Eyre would never have let him put his arm round her and kiss her so many times unless he had proposed. The gentry have rules about these things. A lady who allows a man such liberties is committed to him. The conventions are very strict. And Jane is ferociously virtuous. Besides, that's not what he wants. He wants a wife who will be mistress of Thornfield Hall and who will give him an heir. A legitimate one.'

‘Let us hope so. Or we have wasted our time and spent our money on lawyers to no avail. We need to think about this.' I was pleased that this time it was Grace who wanted to delay. I too needed time to examine our plan from this new angle.

The storm raged that night, but I cannot blame the weather for my disturbed sleep. I had much to think about. The lowly governess was the chosen one. If Miss Eyre consented to be Mr Rochester's mistress our plan would be in serious jeopardy. Jane was virtuous but also strong-minded. I had seen that in the way she teased and vexed Mr Rochester and disagreed with his opinions on occasion. Would her independence of spirit enable her to defy convention and to live with him? Or would she refuse to accept the thankless role of mistress, the position that Adele's mother must have briefly filled? Or had he really defied the conventions of society and the law of the church by proposing marriage to her? Did he intend to lead her to the altar in defiance of God and the courts?

As I pondered these questions I heard over the turbulence of the weather a gentle tap at the door of the bedroom next door. Mr Rochester had come to enquire after his beloved during the thunderstorm. I heard her reassure him, but nothing else.
There was no sound of the door being opened, no scampering of feet, no creak of the bedstead or moans of passion. Three times he came and three times the door remained closed and he went away. These were hopeful signs from my point of view.

In the morning I had breakfast with Miss Eyre as usual and my little hopes were dashed. A girl who is newly engaged does not usually keep the news to herself. Jane was radiantly happy, but she said nothing of the events of the previous night, although she knew I had seen Mr Rochester kiss her. I was quiet and cool with her as I waited and hoped for her to announce a formal betrothal rather than an illicit liaison.