Adele Varens 18

Chapter 18

 

I celebrated my twenty-first birthday quietly at home, with my friends, and with Tony and his parents. And Luke, of course, whose quiet nature attracted Frances sufficiently that she overcame shyness to talk to him. She was asking him, as a lawyer, if there was anything that could be done in law in a hypothetical case, which just happened to be her own.

In my opinion, it would come down to the unsupported word of a girl against a man of affairs, and that he would manage to suggest that she was packed off to school because she was ‘disturbed’ as the saying goes; which can mean anything from decidedly wanting to a spoilt brat who tells lies to get attention. Of course, if a good lawyer could get the servants to talk about semen stains on the sheets of a young girl, or even about anything they might have seen, then Frances might have a case. But servants are notoriously close-mouthed when their jobs are likely to be at stake, and their jobs would have been at stake. And few would employ them once they had ratted out their employer. No matter what sort of dirty rat he was.

I was not expecting a letter on my birthday, but I recognised the handwriting immediately. It was Jane’s.

“My dear Adele,

I cannot hide that I am surprised to hear from you after these long years; I have counted it up, and it must be eleven years since last I heard from you, which is to say, almost half your young life.  I have worried about you, many times, whilst knowing in my heart that you were not dead; but you must credit my imagination for picturing you in all kinds of peril. I suppose I cannot censure you for not letting me know that you were safe, in case Mr. Rochester should have you sought out by the place where the stamp was cancelled.  My cousins and I have started a school for little boys and girls, and for older girls; it is a successful venture, and we are thriving, though Ned is now at school himself, being a great boy of almost thirteen. I have asked him what he remembers of his father, and to my great distress, he asked if that was the dark man who hit him. Adele! If I had imagined for one moment that he was hitting Ned, I must surely have left Mr. Rochester, and taken you with me as well as the children. I remember the time he beat you, more viciously than I thought the impudent question warranted, and it worried me. You could not be expected to realise, child that you were, how a dead baby is still a child carried under a mother’s heart, and has a reality which does not fade readily. I thought he was harsh because you had caused me distress. I do not know what to think about him, dear Adele, I really do not. I thought my heart would break when I left him, but the heart is, fortunately, a most resilient organ, and continues beating despite pain. I can hardly believe it is so long.  There should have been another little girl as a sibling to Ned and Jenny, but I lost the child when Mr. Rochester shook me so hard for having allowed you to escape.

Oh, Adele, I hope I did the right thing, I wrote to your solicitor giving you leave to have any money, and I made it easy for you to take the term’s fees. I felt a wretch for betraying my husband in such a way, but if it has allowed you to live, I am glad; but my heart runs cold, letting you go off so blithely as I did, knowing that Jenny is now almost the same age you were, and I could not picture my little Jenny-wren taking a train to London on her own, even if she was meeting Ned.

I would love to visit in the future, and show Ned and Jenny the lovely countryside, though I must steel myself for a very great difference to the house.

I have become resigned to the lot of a single lady, since, of course, I can never remarry whilst Edward is alive.

Please keep in touch now that the ice is broken.

Your loving former governess and stepmother,

Jane.”

 

Still the same old Jane; and, I fancied, contented in her school, perhaps taking comfort in her pupils the way Mrs. Bridges did, having been widowed young, and suddenly. And Jane had a son and daughter, solace Mrs. Bridges did not have.

 

And then we had to rise very early to take the Rawlins’ carriage into the nearest town, which now had a branch line running into York. With the horses and carriage left in a livery stable, we took the train to York, and took a hackney to the courts.

Reader, I was frightened; with all my legal training, still the law is a very serious business, and its full majesty is there to impress upon the public that tangling with the law is not to be taken lightly.

This was a civil matter, but still there were the court baliffs, the judges in their heavy, full-bottomed wigs, scarlet robes, and gavels to keep order, the barristers to put the cases for their clients; the solicitors to advise them.  I wondered if I should ever practice as a barrister; having no facial hair would not cause any question to be raised, as barristers are required to be clean shaven in any case, so that nothing impedes their faces.

Our barrister was a man named Davis, who was hoping to take silk soon, so though a junior barrister, at the top of those juniors. I had the impression that defending my reputation was to be a trophy case for him, to wave as a step further towards becoming a Queen’s Counsel. However, he had all the requisite documents of the case, and seemed knowledgeable about the points of it, so I could but leave it in his hands.

Rochester had not bothered to provide himself with counsel; and my friends at court were always wont to repeat the old adage that the man who represents himself has a fool for a client. I suspected that he would lose the case faster than I could win it.  I was winsomely dressed in a white muslin gown, with pin-tucks all down the front, and three flounces to the skirt, and a charming confection of lace as a cap, which concealed how very short my hair still was, since I wore it over a rat, or hair-cushion, made of my own combings. My front locks were teased into ringlets, and I knew I looked a charming vision of innocence and sweetness. My face was free of any makeup save a touch of powder to my nose, and there was a murmur from those who attend court for the entertainment.

I smiled tremulously up at them.

“Oh! How kind people are to come and support me!” I said, with a little wave.

There were calls and whistles; but they were kindly. It truly warmed me, even though I had tried to manipulate them.

And then, I was called as a witness, to state my case.

My barrister asked me about the rude entrance of Rochester the first time.

“Oh! Yes, he pushed his way past my butler, who had to go to the doctor with a nasty knock to his elbow, he had to have arnica for it. Is that admissible or do you have to ask him?” I asked with my best limpid look.

“It is hearsay. Did you see anything of what happened?”

“I saw Porkins clutching his elbow with a look of pain on his face, whilst still trying to eject Rochester, who burst in on me and my chaperone and friends, with a quite fiendish  look upon his face,” I said. “I assure you, I was quite terrified; I had been afraid of his temper when I was a child, but I feared for my life. And… and then he called me that terrible word and said it was the only way I could have gained money to have bought the land.”

“He called you a whore?”

“Yes, and he looked so… I cannot describe it; triumphant as well as angry.”

“For the record, where did you get the money to pay for the land and the rebuilding of the house?”

“It was a legacy,” I said.

“That’s a lie!” shouted Rochester. “Her mother never earned that sort of money when she was working on her back.”

I burst into tears.

“Mr. Rochester! Do not make such intemperate outbursts again!” declared the judge. “Your counsel will have the chance to cross-examine.”

“I would like, at this point, your honour,” said Davis, “To enter into the case certain documents; a certificate of adoption, a will in which the sum left is specified, and a bank statement from Child’s Bank to the effect of the funds left and transferred.”

The judge looked over the documents.

“This all seems very clear; why has this come before the bench?”

“Because Mr. Rochester has failed to comply with a solicitor’s letter assuring him of these proofs requesting and requiring him to present a written apology and retraction to his foul imputations,” said Davis, with aplomb.

“I see,” said the judge. “Mr. Rochester, your counsel has the witness… oh, no, you are representing yourself.”

Rochester walked right up to me, and leaned over me.

“Don’t let him hit me, your honour!” I shrieked.

“He will not hit you, Miss Varens,” said the judge. “A pace back, if you please, Mr. Rochester.”

He scowled, but did so.

“So, you say you were adopted,” he said. “An amicable arrangement?”

“Yes, eminently,” I said.

“And did this adoption arrangement lead to you sharing a bed with your adopter?” he asked, smirking at the gallery.

“Why, yes, at times,” I said. “There was one bedroom, and when my adopted brother was there, he had the sofa. Otherwise, I had the sofa.”

“I hardly need to ask any more questions, do I?” he smirked again. “If you were busy sleeping with the fellow who adopted you.”

“I don’t understand,” I said.

“Of course you do, you filthy little whore,” he said. “He called it adoption but it meant you whoring for him.”

“Objection,” said Davis.

“Sustained,” said the judge. “Mr. Rochester, are you also accusing the young lady of a Sapphic relationship?”

“What?” said Rochester, thrown.

“Well, if it is whoring for female relatives to share beds, and indeed it is a practice common in many schools, then half the young ladies in England are, by your definition, whores, including my six- and eight-year-old daughters,” said the judge.

“Permission to redirect, your honour?” asked Davis.

“Granted,” said the judge.

“What is the name of the person who adopted you?” he asked.

“Mrs. Sara Deleven,” I said.

“And from what cause did she die?”

“Old age; she was a eighty-seven,” I said. “I nursed her for her last three years.”

“No further questions on this incident,” said Davis.

“There are other incidents?” asked the judge.

“Two, your honour, another of which involves forced entry, and a claim that the house belongs to Mr. Rochester.”

“It does!” cried Rochester. “I would never have sold it to the little whore if I had known it was she who was buying it, she had it under false pretences, and as her father, all that is hers is mine!”

“Not according to law, Mr. Rochester, and you have to stop making these outbursts,” said the judge.  “Also, I am given to understand that Miss Varens was adopted because you repudiated her as your daughter. And therefore, legally, her parent was Mrs. Deleven, not yourself.

“It’s my house! It ought to be my house! She’s just a bastard brat who lived there on sufferance and she doesn’t deserve it! She must give it back to me and get back to Covent Garden or she might find another house can burn down!”

There was a gasp from the gallery, and the judge banged his gavel.

“Mister Rochester!” he cried. “Making threats will not get you out of trouble!”

“I move to request an injunction to keep him off my client’s lands,” said Davis.

“Request accepted,” said the judge. “Any further questions?”

“Not at this time, your honour,” said Davis.

“Yes!” cried Rochester. “I know you are doing this to hound me! You made my wife leave me, and my son! You have never been anything but trouble!”

“Is that a question?” I asked the judge.

“No,” he said.

“Your honour,” said a voice from the gallery – Jane’s voice. “I am Mrs. Rochester. May I make a statement?”

“This is most irregular, but approach the bench,” said the judge.

Jane did so, and I smiled at her.

“Courage, ma bravette,” she said.

“You are French?” asked the judge.

“No, sir; but Adele spoke no English when I became her governess,” said Jane. “It was a matter known, but never formally acknowledged that Adele was Mr. Rochester’s daughter. He became increasingly harsh towards her as she grew older, and when she was twelve, she ran away from school, and there was a misunderstanding, such that it was a whole term before we discovered she was not where we thought she was. My husband became violent, leading to me miscarrying a child, at which point, I fled to relations with our other two children. Adele had nothing to do with me leaving him, and taking our son, other than indirectly. It was his violence towards me which made me leave him, in a need to protect the children. I found out recently he had already been hitting our son about the head before I left.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Rochester,” said the judge.

“You bring my son back to me, or you will regret it,!” cried Rochester.

“I used to think you merely brooding, and suffering,” said Jane. “But you don’t brood, you just sulk like a small boy denied macaroons for tea. And your fits of the sullens along with your sudden rages are unacceptable in a grown man. You will never see Ned again if I can help it.”

She walked away with her head held high.

Marianne moved over to intercept her, and guide her back to safety as it looked for a moment as if Rochester was about to pursue her. He looked suddenly haggard, and I realised that, perhaps, in his own way, he had loved her; but that he could not control that part of his nature which cannot but disgust.