A/N And now--an eerie night in the attic!
IN THE DARK OF NIGHT
I was walking down a long, dark hallway—the only light came from the flickering candle in my trembling hand. There were pictures on the walls of people long gone from this earth. I was afraid of these portraits—some of them seemed almost alive and about to speak to me. There was one near the turning that drew my attention particularly—a man and a woman standing together—somehow I knew it for a portrayal of my long-dead parents; I paused in front of it, stretching out a hand towards it and the woman in the picture extended her hand also! I started in fright, and then realized it was a mirror and the person standing next to me was my cousin, John Reed! I drew away from him in disgust—he had never done or said a kind thing to me when we were children—I wanted nothing to do with him! He sneered at me and then started to laugh—such a hideous noise he made that it woke me up!
I realized then that the noise I had heard was not part of my dream. There was something wrong in the house. I heard sounds like fighting and cries of pain from somewhere overhead. Someone ran along the corridor outside my room and I heard them go upstairs, there were more sounds overhead, and I thought it best to get dressed—there was an emergency and I might be needed. Meanwhile, I could hear the house-guests gathering in the hallway—murmurs and exclamations testifying to their astonishment and distress
I opened my door and peeped out at the confusion in the hallway; the guests were milling about, exclaiming at the commotion upstairs, and comparing their perceptions. Col. Dent appeared at this moment—saying that he could not find Mr. Rochester in his room. A ripple of speculation ran through the gathering at this announcement—but just then he appeared—coming from the upper floor.
"Here now," he cried, "What are all these goings-on? Is it Carnival-time in Venice and I have not been told of it? I can assure you that 'tis all a pother over nothing! Ingram, such a magnificent dressing gown—I swear I am jealous of you—and Lady Lynn, such a coquettish nightcap as that is—I wonder that Lynn lets you out of his sight!" His insouciant manner was having a calming influence on his guests; but my eye met his and I raised an eyebrow in inquiry with a glance upstairs; he frowned slightly and raised a finger in admonition. I understood his message and quietly waited to see what he would do with the crowd.
He had taken some of the gentlemen aside and was spinning them a tale, "Now, you must know that two of the footmen are fond of the same young lady—it was merely a settling of accounts between them—no more than that. I have given them their warning; I can't tolerate such behavior in the house; especially when it disturbs my guests. Would you good fellows see to getting the ladies back to their beds—I really should return and supervise the end of the quarrel."
His stratagem was successful—there was a general shuffle as they dispersed to their rooms. A murmur of Good Nights and the closing of doors was heard, and within a quarter of an hour all was silent again. I knew that all was not over yet—there were no men servants sleeping in this part of the house—what I had heard was something other than a servant's altercation.
Soon there was a quiet tap on my door—I answered the summons. He stood outside in the corridor, "Good, you're dressed—bring your sponge and your smelling salts—I need your help with Mason—he's gotten himself into trouble." I fetched the things and then he took my arm and led me upstairs. "Does the sight of blood disturb you?" he asked. I shook my head, and he nodded approval, "I thought not—come, have a look at this fellow—I will need you to tend to him while I go for the Surgeon. Do you think you can do that?"
The truth was that I would have done almost anything he asked of me at that point. Without realizing it, I had fallen under the spell of his personality, and the last few weeks had brought out feelings that I had not previously known. His attentions to Miss Ingram had only served to grieve me over the possible loss of a good friend—for I knew that she would never have tolerated my presence—given her stated dislike of Governesses and her intolerance for Adele—I was certain that we would both be sent packing if he were to marry her.
The room he took me into was full of old furniture, chairs, wardrobes, tables were covered in sheeting against the dust. It gave the place a supernatural appearance in harmony with the late hour of the night and the previous alarm. There were signs of disturbance, an overturned chair, some disarrangement of the furniture covering, a few spots of blood on the floor. I hesitated a bit at the sight of the last, but Mr. Rochester drew me on—around a pile of chairs on top of a table—and then I saw that there was a light coming from a lamp by an ancient tester bed of the sort that King Henry might have used. There was a person lying on the bed and that person was Richard Mason.
How pale he was! Yes, he was covered in blood and seemed to be unconscious. Mr. Rochester shook him and then used the smelling salts to revive him. "Richard, can you hear me? I must leave you in the care of this young lady while I fetch the Surgeon. Jane, come here--see how I sponge away the blood from his shoulder—are you able to do this?" I nodded my head. "Good, that's the right way," he said as he watched me at my task.
There was a door at one side of this room—he opened it and spoke to someone in the next room—there were strange sounds coming from that place—I could hear a sort of growling, snarling noise. His message delivered, he shut and locked the door and came back to the bedside. Mr. Mason was moving feebly and complaining of his pains. "Richard, it's no more than you deserve—I told you to wait until the morning when I could be with you." There was a fretful whine from the bed's occupant.
The answer came, "You must know that I have done all I could do about this matter—surely you don't think I enjoy being in this mess. If I had known...but never mind—we've got to get you patched up and out of here before they all start waking up downstairs. Jane, I will be gone for an hour or so—just as long as it takes for me to bring Mr. Carter here. Can you manage here by yourself? Just keep sponging the blood away and try to keep him awake if possible."
He had turned away and taken a few steps toward the doorway when he stopped and came back to the bedside. "Richard—you are not to speak to this young lady—there will be no conversations between you—is that understood?" A faint moan was his answer. "Very well, see that you don't—you know what happened the last time you went against my advice." There was a shudder from the occupant of the bed. "Good, I see we understand each other. Jane, you are not to speak to him either outside of your duties here, I know I can depend on you. Are you warm enough? Do you have enough water? Very well, I will be back as soon as possible." With that he left me alone with my ghastly-looking patient.
I examined Mr. Mason's injury—there seemed to be several shallow cuts in the vicinity of his shoulder and some other type of damage with the appearance of bites or claw marks. I could not make any sense of it, and of course, I was forbidden to ask my patient about the cause of his wounds. There was a continual trickle of blood which kept me busy, and now and then there was the necessity of reviving him with the smelling salts.
The time was passing more slowly than I cared for—I prayed that Mr. Rochester would return soon. This eerie room with the wraith-like appearance given by the sheeted furniture was beginning to wear on my nerves. Those covers would move every time a draft came through the old windows—it was rather unsettling, to say the least. Then the lamp would flicker now and then—I checked the reservoir—it was as I feared—the oil was low—I turned the wick down so that the lamp would burn more slowly. This made the room dimmer and the shadows darker and every time a draft came through the window frames and moved the sheeting, the shadows moved too.
Every now and then I could hear sounds from the other room—someone in there was moving around—I could hear an uneven, dragging step from time to time. Sometimes there was a sort of murmur, a cackle of laughter, a groan—I hoped the door was secured. I seemed to recall that Mr. Rochester had locked it before he left, but I didn't dare to leave Mr. Mason long enough to ascertain this. All this time, Mr. Mason had laid quietly in the bed, obediently silent except for an occasional moan of pain—he was very pale and looked almost as frightened as I felt. It was a great relief when we heard Mr. Rochester's return—some steps in the hallway, a few words of conversation and he came in with another lamp and Mr. Carter, the Surgeon.
"Well, Richard, I see you are still with us—Miss Eyre took good care of you, did she? I knew she would. Here is the Surgeon ready to patch you up—be a good fellow and cooperate with him." Here he turned to me, "Mason's room is the one next to mine—would you be so good as to pack up his things and get him a clean shirt—if you can't lay hands on one of his, then get one of mine out of the wardrobe in my dressing room. Then hurry back as soon as you can."
It developed that Mr. Mason had never unpacked his bag, so that was one thing less to do. His bag was locked and there was no key to hand—so I had to get one of Mr. Rochester's shirts. I was soon returned to the upper story. There was another errand waiting my return—Mr. Mason would need his fur-lined cloak and since he felt faint; there was a need for a remedy which Mr. Rochester said could be found in a drawer of his own dressing table. I fetched the requested items and waited while the cordial was administered. Mr. Mason was then able to rise from the bed with some help; and, with Mr. Rochester's and Mr. Carter's support, was able to walk. I was sent on ahead to make certain that no one was yet stirring and that the hired chaise was in place and ready to leave.'
-xxx-
The chaise had just rattled out of the yard with the Surgeon and his patient—I was about to return to the house and my interrupted sleep when Mr. Rochester called me to come walk with him in the garden. I hesitated—truly I was very weary and sleepy; but the morning was dawning and the dew was sparkling in the sun's first rays, and the birds were starting to sing. The cool morning air refreshed me, I came forward to accept his invitation.
"You look tired," he said, "I will not keep you long. I have been wanting a word with you and there never seems to be time. How are you feeling—you look very pale?"
I replied that I was merely a little tired from my long night, but that it was nothing to merit concern. He nodded and we continued our stroll—the flowers were beginning to open under the Sun's warm touch—their fragrance adding to the beauty of the dawning day. He paused a moment at a rose bush where the first bud was just coming into bloom, he picked the rose and presented it to me. "This comes with my thanks for your help last night—there are not many people I could rely on for the aid you gave me. I know you will not speak of what happened—you do not care for gossip."
"No sir, I will not mention it to anyone. But I am concerned for Mr. Mason—will he be all right? Mr. Carter said he had lost a great deal of blood..."
"He will do—Carter will take good care of him—I'll go over in a day or so to see how he goes on—but there should be no great problem with his recovery. He's a bit of a hypochondriac and needs firm handling and a minimum of coddling—Carter will see to it. I'll send him back to Jamaica as soon as he can travel and that will be the end of the episode." I nodded my understanding and we continued our walk. "Look here, Jane, there's something I've been wanting to discuss with you for some time and somehow we never have the time or the opportunity..."
At that moment a commotion in the stableyard drew our attention—an old-fashioned coach had just pulled into the yard and the groom came running out to tend to the team, still in the act of buttoning his vest. The coachman leaned down from his seat to ask something and then passed him a letter of some kind. Mr. Rochester frowned, "I was not expecting anybody—who could this be? Come, Jane, we had better go in—our talk will have to wait for a better time."
I had just set my foot on the staircase to go up and hopefully repair the damages of my sleepless night, when John came up to me with the news that a message had come for me.
Have you noticed that I'm "cliffing" you? He wants to tell her something and never gets the chance--heehee! Next chapter will be Gateshead--wait until you take a second look at those people!
