Page 29 of John Eyre

“Stephen and Peter will expect me in the library shortly.”

“Stephen and Peter can wait. You may have ten minutes to change into something more appropriate. Meet me in the hall.” With that, she turned on her heel and exited the room.

John remained, still standing awkwardly at his place at the table. What was left of his sausage and eggs grew cold on his plate. “She’s very changeable.”

“I expect she may appear so to a stranger,” Mr. Fairfax said. “I myself never notice it.”

“Don’t you? I would think it plain.”

Mr. Fairfax resumed his seat. “One must make allowances.”

John’s gaze cut to his. “Why so?”

“The mistress has many painful thoughts to harass her.”

“About what?”

“She has no family, for one,” Mr. Fairfax said. “They’ve all died within the last five years.”

“Five years is a tolerable time.”

“You forget, sir,” Mr. Fairfax said. “She’s also lost her husband. A more recent tragedy.”

“Yes, of course.” John paused, adding, “Her manner is such that one forgets.”

Mr. Fairfax’s mouth tightened almost imperceptibly. “I trust her mourning clothes serve as a reminder.”

John inclined his head in silent acknowledgment. Mourning dress, indeed. She was garbed to the teeth in it, but it had no effect on her bearing. And it certainly didn’t inhibit her from enjoying herself. A morning gallop? A grieving widow would refrain from such activities, surely.

Excusing himself, John retreated to his bedroom to change. He hadn’t any smart riding clothes. The best he could manage was an ancient pair of Bedford-cord breeches and a coat of worn woolen broadcloth. Humble raiment for a humble schoolmaster. The last time he’d worn the ensemble was to accompany Helen into the village to call on a sick child.

Helen had supplied him with a gelding for the journey. “I’d as soon we’d taken the gig,” he’d said.

Helen’s face had been radiant in the summer sunlight. “No chance of that. William would have insisted I bring a maid. And I want you all to myself today.”

At the time, John had been growing weary with her infatuation. But now…

The memory made his heart ache—and worse. Guilt accompanied every recollection of Helen. A heavy stone in his stomach, reminding him of all of the things he might have done differently if only he’d been bolder. Braver. Willing to sacrifice himself for her happiness.

Meeting Mrs. Rochester in the hall, his face must have shown his preoccupation. She gave him a narrow look. “We’ve established that you can only ride a little. It isn’t because you’re afraid of horses, is it?”

“No, ma’am. It’s merely lack of practice.”

“That’s easily remedied.” She pointed toward the door with her crop. “Shall we?”

He accompanied her outside, walking next to her as they made their way down the drive. The mist was thick as smoke. John had never seen it so heavy this early. “Is a storm coming, I wonder? Mr. Fairfax is forever threatening one.”

“Have you seen many storms since you arrived here?”

“There’s been rain and wind on occasion. And this infernal mist. It never fully dissipates. I can’t fathom why.”

“Thornfield is settled in a valley,” Mrs. Rochester said. “It’s a cradle of fog, and fog-bred pestilence. Both of my parents died in this place.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Don’t be. Their death freed me. It also left me a great deal of money.” Her tone betrayed no excess of emotion. It was matter-of-fact. Almost offhand.

John looked straight ahead as he walked, uncertain how to respond. Plain speaking was always appreciated, but to be so frank about the death of one’s parents? It didn’t seem right.