“We had better leave,” a frightened Richard whispered behind me.
“’Ware!” Grace cried suddenly, and Bertha lunged forward, scattering the men behind me.
I shoved Jane behind me just as Bertha seized my throat and sank her teeth into my cheek. She was a goblin; a devil as large as I and almost evenly matched—she had lost none of her strength. We grappled—she trying to throttle me while I did my best to avoid hurting her: she growled wildly the whole time, until I was able to wrestle her to the floor, when Grace slipped me the cord, and I bound her hands together with it, and with another I tied her to a chair.
Then I faced the small assemblage of onlookers. “That is my wife. Such is the sole conjugal embrace I am ever to know—such are the endearments which are to solace my leisure hours! And this”—I gently touched Jane’s shoulder, and to my lasting gratitude she did not shrink away—“this is what I wished to have: this young girl, who stands so grave and quiet at the mouth of hell, looking collectedly at the gambols of a demon. Wood and Briggs, look at the difference! Compare these clear eyes with the red balls yonder—this face with that mask—this form with that bulk; then judge me, priest of the Gospel and man of the law, and remember, with what judgment ye judge ye shall be judged! Off with you now. I must shut up my prize.”
Chapter 23
The others hurried away, while I remained in that chamber of horrors, alone but for Grace Poole and her demonic charge. This, I supposed, would be my life from here on, trapped with this “wife,” unless Jane would forgive me. “Grace,” I said, “you and Bertha will not be moving to other quarters. The whole world is now aware that my mad wife lives here; there is no point in hiding the truth anymore.”
“She will move out of this chamber now, sir?” Grace asked.
“I suppose not,” I said. “This is as safe for her as anywhere, and safer than most.”
Still, I tarried, afraid to step outside and face the destruction of all my hopes. We untied Bertha as soon as she calmed, and with Grace beside her caressing her arm, Bertha dozed off in bed a few minutes later.
Numbly, I left that ghastly place and walked down the stairs, glad not to encounter Jane or Adèle. Mrs. Fairfax was in her sitting room, and I stopped there, for I owed her an explanation. “I am sorry to have deceived you,” I said.
Her eyes rose to meet mine. “I was aware of some of it,” she said simply, and turned back to her sewing.
We both remained silent for a time, and then I asked, “Is Miss Eyre in her room?”
“I imagine she is, sir,” she said, still not looking at me.
I rose and left her there. That is how things shall be now, I thought: the averted eyes, the stares behind my back. People will conjecture all kinds of scenes of mayhem—and worse—hidden behind these walls. Thornfield-Hall would now be a place haunted by my shame and sins, its great reputation forever tarnished. And how could I continue to live at Thornfield myself? Would that I had let Rowland’s accursed son take the place off my hands!
I mounted the stairs slowly and turned toward Jane’s room. At the door, I paused: I cannot disturb her, I thought; it is not my right. I can do nothing but wait for her to enter the world again, and forgive me. Silently, I pressed my hand—and then my forehead—against the wood of the door panel. I don’t know how long I stood there, feeling a flood of remorse and exhaustion wash over me as the waters came into my soul. Eventually, I went to the nearest room and brought out a chair and quietly set it down in front of Jane’s door.
I had betrayed her, just as my father had betrayed me, and I knew, better than anyone, that a trust once broken is never again the same. I sat there for hours—replaying times we had spent together, happier times; surely they had meant as much to her as they had to me. After a time I began to worry that something could have happened to her—that the recent events had made her ill—but just then I heard soft sounds of movement, and then the bolt was withdrawn, and a pale, rumpled Jane collapsed into my arms.
I gathered her close and held her. “You come out at last!” I said. “I have been waiting for you long, and listening; yet not one movement have I heard, nor one sob: five minutes more of that deathlike hush, and I should have forced the lock like a burglar.” She moved slightly in my arms, as if trying to escape, but I held her to me, waiting for her to scream at me and pound my chest, to release the anger that meant she still cared. But she was silent while I blundered on: “Jane, I never meant to wound you thus. Will you ever forgive me?”