Chapter 11

Grace emerged from the room after what seemed like several agonizing hours. She carried a tightly wrapped bundle in her hands.

"It's over, Sir," she said. "What do you want to do with the body?"

For a brief moment, I wanted to unwrap the bundle and see my child. Considering it had come prematurely, there was now no doubt that it was mine. One of my drunken visits to the attic in recent months had produced this unfortunate child. Then I became disgusted with myself. I hated my weakness of the flesh that had brought me to Bertha's chamber. This child was better off in a grave than on this earth with its lunatic mother. I had no desire to care for it knowing it was the spawn of my own hateful conduct any more than I had wanted it when I had thought it wasn't mine.

"The sun isn't up yet," I told Grace. "I'll go to the gardener's shed, find some tools, and bury it myself. No one must know of this."

Grace gave me one of her disapproving looks. "As you wish, Sir," was all she said. She placed the bundle on a small table and made her retreat to the inner room. A pang of remorse hit me yet again.

"Grace," I called to her.

She turned around wearily, "What is it, Sir?"

"How is Bertha? Is she well? Will she survive this?"

Grace seemed pleased that I had asked. "I think she will be all right. I gave her something to help her sleep. I'm afraid of what the grief will do to her in the future though. She has suffered much." Grace's look continued to be angry and disapproving.

I followed Grace into Bertha's room. Bertha lay on her bed. She looked tired, but was not asleep yet. I tried my best to be kind to her. I sat down next to her and stroked her hair. "Are you well, Bertha? I'm sorry that the child did not survive."

For a moment she snapped out of her stupor. She violently shoved my hand away and I quickly backed away from her, knowing that she could be dangerous during her fits. She was looking directly at me.

I had never seen such pure hatred in her eyes.

I bolted from the room before she could attack me. Then I took the unfortunate bundle and ran outside. I was not observed by any servant as far as I could tell. I found a spade in the gardener's shed and buried the child in a field a good distance from the mansion. I moved like a madman myself, huurying to bury the body unobserved before the sun had fully risen. Once the task was completed, I ran back to my own chamber and tried to sleep, but I was not surprised that sleep did not come to me.

As the weeks passed, I tried to put the incident behind me. I continued to make arrangements to leave Thornfield for the Continent. One day Grace came to me in the library again.

"Mr. Rochester," she asked. "Would it be possible to take your wife on an outing?"

I gave her a puzzled look. "How can she possibly go on an outing? What do you have in mind?"

"She is flying into more fits lately. I think the confinement is making her worse. Let her go outside and get some fresh air. She might stop believing she is in Hell and believe she is actually in England."

Grace's tone was accusatory as usual, but what if anyone saw her? "How can you remove Bertha from Thornfield?" I asked her. "I know you think I'm a cruel man, but I'm just being practical."

Grace explained how she could leave the house with Bertha and bypass the servants and would only take her for a walk down some of the back roads. No one would know who they were and Bertha was likely to stay quiet if I wasn't nearby or my name was not mentioned. I was concerned about her clothing as confinement and pregnancy had rendered her figure too large to wear the clothes she had brought from Jamaica, but Grace said she had been making a dress for her. With all obstacles removed, there seemed to be no reason not to let them go. I was tired of the whole business. I gave Grace leave to take Bertha out. I hoped no mischief would come of it.