Thornfield Hall (32 page)

By some magical chemistry that was beyond our comprehension Bertha continued to breastfeed James. Grace topped him up with spoonfuls and the little chap flourished like the proverbial green bay tree. The only blot on the landscape was, as usual, Martha. She did everything she could to avoid her baby; she did not hold him, talk to him or feed him. She went to work with a smile on her face, happy to put three flights of stairs between her and her duties as a mother.

I let this neglect continue. I was sure without consulting them that Bertha and Grace were keen to co-operate in the raising of this child; we had the means to provide for him handsomely. Bertha would fight like a tiger to keep him, an eventuality I was anxious to avoid. I knew from past experience that Bertha fought with tooth and claw, not to mention scissors. Every day that we cared for James gave us a tighter hold on him.

The awkward fact, however, was that Martha was the mother of this child that we all wanted to mother. Martha, whom I had
dismissed as incurably stupid, was nevertheless sharp enough to spot an advantage and would play her cards when the time was ripe. I was at a loss what to do about her. I had clear plans for the future for the rest of us but there was nothing for Martha. When I looked into her future all I saw was a blur.

On the floor beneath what was now a nursery suite Mr Rochester suffered in perfect ignorance of the new life that had arrived at Thornfield Hall. He continued to behave in a wild and uncontrolled manner. Where once we had doubted his wife's sanity, now it was his reason that was in question. His distress and despair at the loss of Jane had not diminished in the weeks that had passed. He received no callers and he made no visits. He stayed locked up in the house all day and would venture no further than the garden or the orchard at night. I think he hoped for Jane to return. The thought that she might appear when he was absent terrified him. Most disturbing of all he started to sleep in Miss Eyre's room. He slept in her bed and he would not let us change the sheets. He did not seem to find much comfort there; at night I heard him pacing the floor or groaning in his sleep.

I began to grow impatient with his grief; there were decisions to be made about the household and he would not listen to my concerns or say Yes or No to any of the questions I asked. In the end I used my best judgement and made the decisions for him. I placed the necessary bills or letters in front of him, pointed where he should write, put a pen in his hand and watched as he obediently signed his name.

My first move was to get John and Leah into their new home so they would have time to settle before their baby was born. It was easily accomplished. The last night before the eve of his planned wedding Mr Rochester had ridden over to the estate to make the final arrangements. The documents had all been
signed before Jane's sudden flight so John and Leah were able to take possession of their new farm. I was sorry to part with them. Leah had been a good and reliable friend and ally. We promised to keep in touch, though I warned Leah that I would leave Thornfield Hall when Mr Rochester had recovered the use of his wits.

Sam came one evening to say he had found a property in Harrogate. ‘That's a long way from the sea,' I teased him. He had the grace to look a little sheepish. He told me there was a lease available on a shop there. It seemed that it would be a good place for Sophie to start up as a dressmaker. She needed to live where there would be customers for high-class gowns. He would like his capital sum now, please.

I squealed at the amount he asked for. ‘It's an expensive place,' he told me.

‘I know.' I tried to picture Sam with his rough out-spoken ways in Harrogate at a high-class business for ladies and failed. It was clear that Sophie had made all the choices. I beat him down to three hundred and fifty pounds. He did not seem too unhappy. Mr Rochester signed a cheque for the three hundred pounds and I made up the difference in cash. The two of them slipped off very quietly one Sunday, without benefit of clergy, as they say. They would have to keep quiet about the informality of their living arrangements in Harrogate; the good people there are notoriously strict about such matters.

Now that John and Sam had gone I was left with two unfamiliar footmen to carry out a multitude of tasks. Even in his state of confusion, Mr Rochester found many errands he wanted running. He had placed advertisements in all the newspapers and continued to have enquiries made about the whereabouts of Miss Eyre. I never did master the footmen's names, even that of the handsome one. I continued to use the names John or
Sam for them interchangeably. They did not seem to mind – or notice.

These new servants were very disgruntled about their employment. They had come in expectation of improving their lot in life and had been bitterly disappointed. The prospect of settled employment with steady promotion in a house with a good reputation had been dangled before them, only to be whisked away one July morning. I did not think that Mr Rochester had played fair with them. Now they were all on notice from Thornfield Hall, a house whose name was anathema to many in Yorkshire. Our servants' hall was not a happy place. I did my best for them, sending notes to every housekeeper in the neighbourhood asking about openings.

I kept the grooms and stable lads on while they looked for new work, although there were very few horses in the stables. I took my courage in both hands and offered for sale the carriage that Mr Rochester had bought for his wedding journey while he was still pretending he wanted to marry Miss Ingram. I did not think he would want to be reminded of that time.

Young Lord Ingram, tasteless and reckless as ever, made an offer for the luxurious purple carriage and the two horses that many thought had been destined for his sister. Old John was keen to sell to him at a very high price. The more cash the young baron wasted the better as far as Old John was concerned. Then there would be less for the gangly peer to offer his creditors and the carriage would be sent to auction for a knock-down price. Old John had been as good as his word and had spread a panic among the new baron's creditors.

In the end the carriage and horses went to a factory owner who drove a hard bargain. Old John shrugged his shoulders. His heart wasn't in carriage horses; he liked hunters. Now that only Mesrour was left in the stables he packed his bags and left for
Ferndean Manor. Old John thought it would be good for the old horse to have a change of scene. He reckoned the animal was pining away in his stable, while his master sulked in the house and never took him out for exercise. I thought the change would be good for the grouchy old coachman too, though Ferndean had a reputation for being damp. I feared Mary's rheumatics would grow worse in the unhealthy atmosphere but she refused to be downhearted; she was looking forward to a life with less work.

The hardest parting of all was from Adele. With no sign of Jane Eyre and Sophie gone there was no escape for the poor child; she had to go to school. I followed up the enquiries Jane had made but none of the schools seemed really suitable. English schools thought reading and writing and bible study more important than hairdressing, clothes, charm and deportment. Jane had told me a little about her old school, Lowood, and it had not filled me with confidence. In the end I chose the most expensive school I could find, on the principle that you get what you pay for. I hoped that one day Mr Rochester would begin to take real care of the girl we all thought was his daughter rather than paying other people to do so. The large bills each term would serve to remind him regularly of the child's existence.

We cried a lot in the days before she left. On the day of her departure Adele behaved gallantly and strode off with her little chin in the air. She wore a new outfit that Bertha, in intervals between breastfeeding, had made especially for her. Solemnly Adele showed me the grey dress with its white collar. Her hair was tied back severely with a black ribbon. ‘Do I not look the part?' she asked as slowly she turned to show me the back view. ‘Even Miss Eyre would approve.'

I promised to write as I handed her over to the servant the school had sent to accompany her. Although she looked a sensible sort of woman with a kind face, at that moment I
wished Jane Eyre was still governess at Thornfield Hall, that Mr Rochester had never fallen in love with her and that Adele was in the nursery upstairs, playing with her dolls and fussing with her hair. Then I watched as Adele pointed at her luggage and the school servant obediently followed instructions. I had underestimated the child. By Christmas Adele would have won many hearts among her fellow pupils. The chances were she would be spending the holiday with one of them, the daughter of someone with a fine house and most probably a title.

All this time letters were passing backwards and forwards between us, the lawyer in Grimsby and Grace's son He had taken the lease on a house for us, a good substantial merchant's house in a quiet market town. There was a fine drawing room, we were told, with bay windows, four good bedrooms and ample accommodation for servants. It was exciting to think that I would employ servants on my own account and I vowed I would be a firm but fair mistress to them. Behind the house was a large garden with apple and pear trees and even a coach house. We had decided we would have our own coach. No more begging a grumpy coachman if he could spare a horse for a trip out of an afternoon!

There was a sad irony in the fact that I would live the life of a woman with a comfortable income and her own carriage. Mr Rochester, in the meantime, would be left to the mercy of disgruntled servants who did not know his preferences or lacked the skills to provide them. His stables were empty and through neglect and extravagance his bank balance would soon be in the same condition. He was spending money like water on his search for Miss Eyre. Every wayside beggar who claimed to have caught a glimpse of her was handsomely rewarded and promised more gold for keeping his eyes open. The footmen were sent hither and thither, hiring horses to chase false trails. I had no doubt
that most of the so-called sightings of Miss Eyre would be at inns where the landlord would have to be interrogated at length.

When Mr Rochester's agent came to bring him reports or ask for decisions he was sent brusquely away. I took him to my room and there we consulted earnestly. The agent shrugged his shoulders and held up his hands in horror at my tales of Mr Rochester's reckless distribution of money on the search for Miss Eyre and the complete lack of supervision of how it was spent. He could not help me. In his opinion, although I might have some control over the household expenditure, Mr Rochester was entitled to spend his money as he wished. If he wished to spend it on fools and rogues that was up to him. His verdict was no surprise to me. I nodded miserably.

The agent had his own problems. Collecting the rents was proving more troublesome than it had been for years. ‘They're full of excuses. The cow died, the corn failed. The usual sort of thing. Truth is, they know summat is badly wrong with master and they're taking advantage.' He stared thoughtfully into the fire before he picked up his hat. ‘Ah! Well. We mun just soldier on.'

Another gentleman came to call on me at Thornfield Hall. This time it was a much more cheerful occasion than my meeting with the agent had proved. One of the new maids brought a well-dressed man to my room. She could not announce him as she had neglected to enquire his name and ran off before I had a chance to scold her.

‘Don't you recognize me, Mrs Fairfax?' The man stepped forward so I could see him in the light. He was a well-built
man of fifty or sixty with very little hair and a broad smiling countenance. He wore the clothes of a prosperous country man and carried his cap in his hand. Even after this inspection I was none the wiser. ‘I'm Merryman. I used to be butler here. For old Mr Rochester.'

I was disbelieving. This could not be the solemn butler who had introduced me to the formalities I had to follow in the realm of the servants. Some great change had come over him. ‘Your pug face! You've lost your pug face!'

He beamed at me. ‘I don't need it now. I am my own master. I can smile as much as I like. In fact it's almost obligatory. I'm a landlord now. At the Rochester Arms. Just two miles across the fields from here. It is longer by road.'

‘Sit down, sit down and tell me all that has happened.' Few people can resist that particular invitation so I rang the bell to order tea. No one came. I rang again.

‘I take it Leah has gone. I can just about remember her. A good girl. You would not have to ring twice for her.'

Briefly I explained that Leah was now a farmer's wife and was soon to give birth to her first child. Then I went to the kitchen to snap at the maid. I used my absence from the room to work through in my mind how much I could tell Merryman. The mad wife and the interrupted wedding were public knowledge. Martha's baby and Bertha's trust fund were not.

Once we were settled with our tea Mr Merryman told me about the rich wool merchant he had worked for in Bradford. Life had been very comfortable there and Merryman's knowledge of the ways of the landed classes had been much appreciated. So successful had he been in teaching refinement and table manners that the daughter of the house was now married to an impoverished nobleman. Mr Merryman had been generously rewarded for his part in bringing this about. ‘A good
employer,' he concluded about his Bradford wool merchant, ‘but not a gentleman.'