Chapter 14
I wrote to Tony; and I asked him to explain to Luke, who might take it better from Tony. I asked them both to stay.
On due consideration, and having friends to establish creditably, I also invited August Halliwell. I did not suppose for one moment that he would come, but I wrote to him as a young man whose name had been passed to me by my brother, Edward Fairfax.
Quite ten years had passed since I had met the neighbours and been declared a little doll by them, when my father was trifling with the affections of the rather unkind Blanche Ingram. Enquiries revealed that Mrs. Eshton had some hopeful progeny around my own age, left in the nursery during that really rather terrible house party. I doubted that she would have considered for one moment introducing her second son, George, to the French foundling who might or might not be Rochester’s by-blow; but to introduce him to the heiress was not something she minded. Her two youngest daughters were also ready to come out; and I invited Victoria and Amelia as well.
Fortunately, I did not have any reason to invite the Ingrams.
We had met the staff; after our tea and cakes, I asked the servants to parade in the vestibule so I could introduce myself and my friends, and learn something about the staff. I asked them to give their names, and something about themselves.
“If, for example, you have a sick mother, I am more likely to be sympathetic about extending leave if you let me know ahead of time,” I said. I smiled brightly at the parlourmaid whose face became cunning. “I will, of course, call on any of your sick relatives to assure them of this,” I said.
If looks could kill, I would be a smouldering pile of ashes on the floor.
One of the gardeners confessed to an elderly mother, who had bad arthritis.
“How are her hands?” I asked.
“She can still knit,” he said. “But her cottage roof leaks; she ain’t on your estate, lady. Your solicitor saw all was right and tight here.”
“Does she own the cottage, or rent?” I asked.
“Rents,” he said.
“Well, then, please take a day off to ask her if she would like a job arranging the flowers you grow and cut, as I have no patience with flowers; they make me sneeze,” I said. “It would not be much pay, but she would have her room and board here, so she should be able to improve, with a warm room. I do not limit the amount of coal you all have in your own rooms,” I added, “But in bedrooms, fires are not to be laid until after dinner, and must be out by midnight. This house has burned down once, and I will not have that risk made again. Spark guards will be used at all times when you are not in the room.”
Many mistresses will not permit the female servants to have fires in their rooms, but it can be so cold here in Yorkshire. A little consideration makes for better servants.
Three or four hours of a fire burning can make a lot of difference to a room to take the chill off.
I could tell that I had the support of the staff for that. There would be some who would push my good nature, of course; like that parlourmaid.
I would meet any contumely when it happened. My gardener was sobbing with joy. I nodded to the housekeeper.
“Mrs. Kemp, find Mrs. Daniels a room she can have downstairs. There’s a room for vases next to the flower room; have the men put the shelving into the flower room and put the vases in there, it’s big enough.”
“Yes, madam; that would do very well,” said Mrs. Kemp. “The door into the flower room and the door into the corridor have glass in them; shall I make curtains to cover them?”
“Yes, thank you,” I said. “There is a water closet opposite which should be helpful for an elderly woman.”
And so we had settled in, and I received a letter from Luke.
So, my suspicions were correct! I did not like to speak of them for fear of causing offence. And Tony – Tony! Was the one to speak up and win the prize. You wretch, you! I love you still like a brother, now I have stopped calling you names. I look forward to visiting and discovering what Adele looks like. Tony and I will travel together. Safety in numbers against the horde of females you have assembled, or so Tony says. I will bear the onslaught of feminine pulchritude with stoic equanimity.
Ran into Halliwell; he asked if I knew Ned’s sister – this is going to get confusing – and I said I had been invited to meet you. He wants Ned to meet his sister, which now I am in the know almost set me off into whoops.
Luke.
Fortunately, I had taken the letter, opened it, and read it before Miss Thwaite was aware of it.
“Oh! Adele!” she cried. “Is that a letter from a man? You should not have opened it, you naughty puss, I am supposed to look at any letters from men, to check they are not improper.”
I frowned.
“Not the letters from my brother, I trust?” I asked. “Or my solicitor?”
“Oh! No, there is nothing improper in that,” she said. “Is it then from your brother?”
I considered lying, but decided that it was better to get a few things clear.
“It might as well be,” I said, with a careless Gallic shrug. “I’ve been corresponding with Luke Bisset and Anthony Rawlins for years, since my brother went to university, and they were his special friends. He had brokered a marriage agreement for me with Tony, who will be proposing formally when he arrives. Luke is like another brother to me, and it is he who has written.”
She tutted.
“I cannot really like it,” she said.
“You will meet them both in a day or two,” I said. “You may see it, but to assure yourself there is nothing untoward, but you will see that he addresses me in brotherly terms. And you will not understand all he refers to, because we have been in communication for years.”
“Why was he calling you names?” asked Miss Thwaite, disapprovingly.
“I picked Tony,” I said. “And I asked my brother to be a go-between. It is the French way to do things.”
“Well, at least you will get to meet the young man,” sighed Miss Thwaite.
“Me, I prefer to be sensible about such things, and not think the world well lost for love,” I said.
“And do you have all his letters tied up in ribbon?” asked Miss Thwaite, teasingly.
“Why would I do that?” I asked. “Such things only gather dust and attract mice.”
She sighed.
“No, I do not need to worry about you being swayed by a romantic letter, do I, my dear?” she said.
“Me, I am not romantic,” I said.
oOoOo
The Eshtons came to call in time for afternoon tea before we had been there a week, sending in cards most properly. Of course, I asked to have them shown in.
“Mrs. Eshton!” I said. “I remember you from my childhood. And your two older daughters.”
“These are my youngest children,” she told me. “George is a few years older than you; Victoria is twenty, and Amelia is eighteen.”
“Oh, Amelia is the same age as Ruth, a sister of a schoolfriend of mine, Frances, and most of the rest of our set, Mary, and Nelly. Ellen for best, of course!” I added. “Miss Thwaite has kindly agreed to chaperone me.” This implied a favour from someone outside the peculiar limbo which is the class of the governess or the tutor, about which Miss Ingram and her mother had animadverted against so poisonously.
I still resented it on Jane’s behalf. In truth, dear reader, I still loved Jane fiercely, and hoped one day for a reconciliation with her, and with my half-siblings.
“It was a nine-days wonder when you vanished,” said Mrs. Eshton.
Of course, she would not ask outright what happened; but she was asking nonetheless.
I sighed.
“You must be aware how painful it is to me to have a father of such depraved proclivities,” I said, sorrowfully, “And yet, to my delight, his predilections gave me a brother a year or two older than myself, whom I met quite by chance; though his mother is dead, he was being raised by a grandmother. She adopted me, and sent me to school, where I had a most superior education.”
I had been sewing when they arrived, and her eyes flicked to the exquisitely tiny stitches of my needlework. I am French, me, and so, of course, I sew as readily as I breathe. I do not even recall my mother putting needlework into my hand, though I remember her teaching me my numbers and letters. It was the sort of thing such people think of as ‘a superior education,’ whereas I considered my knowledge of mathematics, natural science, and languages to be more useful.
I could, of course, play upon the pianoforte with facility. The acquisition of this skill had not been without some level of rebellion and mischief on my part, as I did not like the use of a thimble to bang me on the head when I went wrong on the part of the visiting teacher, and she had been the recipient of some of my education in natural sciences, when the pegs struck those notes of a certain chord I knew I should have to play, which had been treated with gunpowder. I had also filled her reticule with dear little mice whom I had liberated from the kitchen; but when Mrs. Bridges took over my musical education, I felt constrained to obey her, and perform to her direction.
As to painting, well, I have no more than an average attainment and the ability to produce insipid little watercolours save when painting flowers, which was a skill taught in Natural Sciences under Botany, and was to be achieved with scientific precision.
“Are the flower paintings yours?” asked Victoria.
“Yes; they are some of my better attempts, for I am indifferent at art,” I said. “I am quite able in Italian, of course.”
“We have not learned that,” said Amelia.
“Oh, well, different people learn different things,” I said. “You are probably more musically accomplished than I.”
They smiled hopeful smiles. Jane had described their older sisters as ‘minais chiffonné’ which, though literally translated as ‘crumpled face’ is an idiom referring to those whose beauty is in a sweetness of look rather than classical beauty. It suited the younger sisters too.
“George has learned different things, because he is a boy,” said Victoria.
“Ah, indeed,” I said.
“We did touch on Mathematics on top of Arithmetic at school,” said Mary. “But only Adele wanted to learn Greek as well as Latin.”
“I am good at languages,” I said.
“By Jove, a true bluestocking,” said George. “I struggled with the classics. It was all Greek to me,” he added, laughing loudly at his own witticism.
We laughed, obligingly.
“How did you come to own this property, indeed, to rebuild it? I understood it had burned down,” said Amelia.
“It did,” I said. “It is believed that my father’s insane wife set the fire; I do not know. It is an explanation for how it was lit in her quarters. He managed to get the servants out, and was blinded, but the hall burned. I, however, was left a substantial legacy by my adoptive grandmother, who split it between my brother and me. I have never asked how she amassed such a sum, and if I suspect that it had to do with gaming, well, the Georgians were robust gamblers. But I have inherited a large sum, which I do not feel guilty about, since, although no blood relative to her, I nursed her through her final three years, to enable my brother to go to university. We were very close as a family.”
I permitted my lower lip to shake a little, and a single crystal tear to gather in the corner of one eye.
And then I heard the thudding of hoofs on the driveway. Oh, he had timed that perfectly, if that was who I expected it to be.
The doorbell pealed, and then the expostulations of my poor butler as he was thrust aside could be heard, and the door into the salon crashed open.
He stood there, on the threshold, his dark visage creased into a frown. So, no different to the way he usually looked at me.
“Adele Varens!” he cried. “You! The last person I would have thought to be the mysterious purchaser of Thornfield Hall! You always were a wanton brat, I suppose that you whored your way into enough money to buy it, to be a torment to me!”
“Well, you have made some filthy accusations in front of witnesses,” I said. “You will be hearing from my solicitors; I look forward to taking you to law for defamation of my character in public, as well as breaking and entering my house like a common felon. I will sue you for every penny you have, sir.”
He stared, then sneered.
“You don’t frighten me,” he said. “I know you could never have come by the money honestly, so you must have earned it on your back like your wretched mother!”
“Please, carry on convicting yourself,” I said. “Oh, Porkins, Mr. Rochester was just leaving; ah, good, you called Daniels and Haversedge.”
My gardeners manhandled my father roughly out of the house and threw him down the steps.
I had used Emmie to spread the tale of my ‘grandmother’s’ wealth so the servants knew who they believed.
