Page 28 of John Eyre

And suddenly, he felt quite tempted to laugh—or possibly, to weep. Was it madness, what was happening to him? His sanity slowly slipping away in the wake of Helen’s death? The laudanum had brought her ghost. A grim occurrence. But the lack of laudanum had brought something darker—a cold, seeping fear that made him imagine all manner of sinister things

As he slipped into a fitful sleep, he couldn’t decide which was worse.

John woke in the morning, sitting up in his bed and stretching as he always did. His eyes bleary from sleep, he reached reflexively to open the wood panel of his box bed. It slid back easily on its track.

All at once, the events of the previous night came back to him.

His pulse quickened. Climbing out of bed, he tested the panel again, sliding it back and forth several times. It never once became stuck. And certainly not in the way he remembered it being stuck last night—fixed so fast into the frame that no degree of force could move it.

It was a puzzle, and one he didn’t care to keep to himself. At breakfast, he shared the whole of his disturbing experience with Mr. Fairfax.

“The wood swelled, no doubt,” the butler said as he buttered a slice of toast. “Not surprising in this weather.”

The two of them were seated in the dining room at one end of the long mahogany table. Cook had provided them with a breakfast of hardboiled eggs, sausages, kippers, porridge, and toast. A swirl of steam rose from the spout of the teapot, drifting up toward the coffered ceiling.

“I’m sure you’re right.” John sipped his tea. “But it was disconcerting.”

“If you’ll forgive my saying so, it sounds much like a nightmare.”

John lowered his cup. “I didn’t dream it.” He couldn’t have done. The events had been too real. His fear too vivid.

“No, indeed. But I know from experience the tricks an old house can play on one’s senses. Many a night I’ve heard footsteps, or a phantom hand brushing the wall.” Mr. Fairfax took a bite of his toast, chewing it slowly. “It’s the wind, most of it. The odd sounds. That and creaking floorboards. Houses settle, you know. I won’t claim one becomes used to it. There are times that even I find myself shuddering when a cold draft passes my door. One can almost envision it being a person. A sentient shadow.”

“You begin to sound like my old nurse.”

Mr. Fairfax’s rheumy eyes met John’s. “A superstitious woman?”

“What I remember of her. She enjoyed telling me bedtime stories populated with black dogs and vengeful witches. I can’t say it was very soothing for a boy of five.”

“We’ve a black dog myth ourselves in this part of Yorkshire. The Barghest, it’s called. A frightening creature with outsized fangs and claws. We still get sightings on occasion.” Mr. Fairfax freshened his tea from the pot. “A farmer in Hay claimed to have seen it only last summer.”

“Did he? And lived to tell about it?”

“Oh, the Barghest isn’t dangerous in and of itself. It’s simply an omen.”

“Of what?”

“The coming of death.”

The hairs lifted on the back of John’s neck. His mind conjured an image of the great black beast he’d seen on the road to Hay. “I hesitate to ask… Did anyone die after the sighting?”

Mr. Fairfax’s expression sobered. “There are always deaths hereabouts. Fevers. Sickness. Accidents. One can’t attribute them all to a sighting of the Barghest.”

“What’s this about the Barghest?” Mrs. Rochester entered the room. She was in riding dress, a crop held in one gloved hand.

Disposing of his napkin, John at once rose from his chair. “Mrs. Rochester.”

“Mr. Eyre.” She inclined her head. “Mr. Fairfax, you’re not frightening our new tutor, I trust.”

Mr. Fairfax’s chair scraped on the floor as he stood. “I hope I’m not, ma’am.”

“You aren’t,” John said. “Old folk tales from the nursery don’t scare me. Far from it.”

“No? And here I thought you a sensible fellow.” She swung her crop. “Do you ride, sir?”

“I… Er, a little.” He faltered. “That is, not very well.”

She had a wide mouth, soft and full and disconcertingly sensual. It tugged down into a frown. “Never mind. You can accompany me to the stables. We’ll see if I’ve anything to suit you. If not, we shall walk instead.”