Page 21 of John Eyre

He took the seat on the settee lately vacated by Mr. Fairfax.

“You’ve made quite a lot of changes to the rules I set out for my wards,” she said. “I’d be well within my rights to dismiss you.”

The very prospect of losing his employment was enough to make John’s palms grow damp. He was grateful his voice didn’t betray his apprehension. “Yes, I daresay you would.”

“Perhaps I will do.” She took a sip of her tea. “You’ve been resident in my house three months?”

“Yes, ma’am.” John noticed, for the first time, that she was absent a wedding band. A minor thing, to be sure. And yet it seemed an odd lapse for a widow who was, otherwise, sporting such a heavy display of mourning. She was all but veiled.

Her questions continued at a brusque clip, a hint of impatience in her voice. “And you came from—?”

“I was lately employed in Surrey.”

“That much I know. But where is it that you come from, sir? Where were you born? Surely you didn’t spring to life fully formed. Or perhaps you did. Perhaps you’re some otherworldly creature brought here to lurk in the middle of fog-bound lanes.”

“No indeed, ma’am,” he said gravely. “I was born in Hertfordshire.” He anticipated her next question. “In a village called Letchmore Green.”

“And your parents? Do they still reside thereabouts?”

“My parents are no longer living. They died when I was a child.”

“I see.” She lowered her cup. “How, may I ask?”

“An influenza epidemic. It took them swiftly, along with many others in our village.” John had little memory of the events, except that his nurse had bundled him up in a blanket and taken him away. She’d passed him on to another family, who were fleeing to the neighboring town, before taking ill herself.

“What became of you?” Mrs. Rochester asked. “Had you any relations to take you in? Any uncles or aunts, or kindly grandparents?”

“Not a one, kindly or otherwise. I was sent to a charitable school on the outskirts of the county.”

“Ah.” She studied his face. “What age were you?”

“Five.”

“And how long were you there?”

“Until I was twenty.”

“Fifteen years! You must be tenacious of life.” She paused. “Why did you not leave when you came of age?”

“I was offered a position as teacher there. It seemed wise to take it. I had little experience of the world yet, and nothing much to recommend me.”

She tapped one fingertip on her teacup. “Where did you go after you left the charitable school?”

“To a boy’s school in London. I taught there for many years. Nearly four altogether. When the school closed down, I was obliged to move on.”

Her brows lifted slightly.

“The school’s benefactor was killed in a carriage accident,” he explained. “Without funding, it could no longer afford to operate.”

“Is that when you removed to Surrey?”

“No, ma’am. I was employed at another school for a brief while. It was after that—some two years later—that I went to Surrey.”

“And there you taught at a village school? In Lowton?”

“I was the village schoolmaster. Until last year.” John’s mouth went dry. He glanced at the tea tray. “May I?”

“By all means.”