A long chapter… but I did promise you St John! on Christmas Day. Hope you are all enjoying the season!
Chapter 12 – St John
During the following week, my scholars were needed for harvesting crops on their farms, and so the village-school was silent. Summer had extended her warmth into autumn, and to-day the sun sparkled like a polished jewel set aloft in that fine blue sky, now crowning the eastern hilltops. I looked out of the schoolroom window to see John ascending on the track in his one-horse cart. Seated beside him was a man I recognised; someone I had not seen for several weeks.
In a fine suit, cloak, hat, with cane in one hand, a leather-bound portfolio in his lap; I had not seen the man since the ill-fated bridal day. I went out to meet them.
'Good morning, John. – Good morning, Mr Briggs, if I am not mistaken?'
John returned my greeting while the lawyer removed his hat.
'I am obliged to you, Miss Eyre,' said he solemnly, 'for recalling my face so cordially, since when last we met the circumstances were not of a gentle nature.'
Reader, I confess to feeling a pang of apprehension, for though Mr Briggs had believed me innocent of conspiracy to commit bigamy, I now feared that his mind was changed.
'You are here to see me, sir?'
'Indeed, I am. I would have written to announce the visit, but the subject is one of delicacy and requires some explanation, amongst other things. I must ask to intrude on your time for at least one hour?'
'By all means, do come in. – John, I am sorry for the trouble–'
'No trouble, miss.' He shook his head. 'For I were coming besides to invite you to dine with Mrs Fairfax to-day. Master said he had something particular to relate to you.'
'Do you know what it is?'
'Oh, he would not say, miss, declaring that if you got the news out of me, he might not see your face for another week. He says nowt but that 'tis sure to make you smile. Mr Briggs happened to call for you just as I was leaving, and so being that I was heading in this direction, I took it upon myself to bring him. Should I wait for you to return wi' me?'
'Thank you, John; I am sorry to have been the cause of so much bother. Please tell Mr Rochester that if I am able to come, I shall, but that I will make my own way. Will you tell him that?'
'Shall do, miss. Good evening, sir.' He raised his hat to Mr Briggs who thanked him for the conveyance.
In my little parlour then, while I made some tea, Mr Briggs sat to tell me his business, which was, he said, 'A matter of some import.'
He waited for me to pass his cup and take my seat before continuing: 'I am sorry to inform you, Miss Eyre, that your uncle, John Eyre, lies dead in Funchal, Madeira.' He took out a letter and handed it to me; I recognised the hand: it was my own. My unopened correspondence, which I had so recently dispatched. 'Since your name and "care of" Mr Rochester were inscribed on the back, I comprehended that you were still resident at the main house.'
'Thank you, sir,' said I dejectedly, placing the letter on the table before me.
'Your uncle left a will, of course, which names yourself as the sole beneficiary; all his property goes to you.'
'All? – Is it a great sum?'
'A substantial estate of twenty thousand pounds vested in the English funds.'
While the solicitor casually took out some paperwork from his case, I sat mute and frozen before him.
'There are documents to read and sign, of course,' he continued, placing some of these items before me, 'and I shall need some proof in writing confirming your identity, which should not be difficult.' (Mechanically, I nodded my head) 'Well, you are quite an heiress!'
'Do you not think there must be some mistake?'
'You are Jane Eyre? Your father's brother, your uncle, was John Eyre of Funchal, Madeira?'
'Yes–'
'There is no mistake: you are rich.'
'But twenty thousand pounds–!'
'Yes, it is a great sum. My congratulations, and if you will accept, may I offer some advice?'
'I'm sure I would appreciate it, Mr Briggs.'
'Take care with such a sudden windfall. Having money can be as detrimental to some, as having none at all. With money comes more responsibility, attention – wanted or unwanted, applications for aid, too. You must take heed, Miss Eyre, you must take heed.'
The scene, I could not digest. What a thing to hear, and then what a thing to realise: I, rich! Impossible! All the while Mr Briggs sorted through various documents before me, I thought of my poor uncle. The only family I had who would have owned me; he had wanted to adopt me, and in his care I might have been loved. Now he lay dead and I had never even seen him.
Presently, after completing some of the formalities he required of me, Mr Briggs took his leave and walked back down to Hay Lane to meet his carriage. I stood at the window, trying to get used to the idea. I had not meanwhile forgotten Mr Rochester's invitation, and I wanted to impart to him my incredible news, to feel a pleasure in telling him I would remunerate his kindness in full – this was a satisfying thought! Surely, though, he would scarcely believe it if I could hardly believe it myself. I resolved, therefore, that I could not see him and say nothing of the inheritance; 'I shall go to see him to-morrow,' thought I, 'if by then I feel it is no dream.'
I left my cottage early the next morning and walked contentedly under the sun's rays as they drank the dew, down to Thornfield Hall. I had plans, reader, great plans!
Mr Rochester sat in the library with a cup of tea in one hand and a cigar in the other, perusing a newspaper spread over his lap. Reader, I stayed my foot at the threshold while taking a moment to survey him; a flash of fiery heat and light ran through the core of my body when capturing him in my vision just then; it was becoming more regular a thing after when I had not seen him for days.
'Hollo!' said he, breaking my trance, 'so this is Jane Eyre. What took you so long, lingerer? I am sure I sent John yesterday, but that is just like you to take your time and come when you please!'
He folded the newspaper to one side, rose, and in three strides reached me.
'I have tidings that will gladden your heart; make you smile from ear to ear. Come sit here by me, Jane. – Don't sit so far off; I wish to show you an article in the newspaper.'
'Very well, sir.'
A smile filled his jaws, all eager and excitable. 'Now, Jane, what say you to this!'
He spread the paper over both our laps and pointed out an article as he puffed away. It read: 'Bedlam All Over Again!' and it told how one Mr Frederick Wilson had been exposed for the cruelty inflicted on his patients at Grimsby Retreat, after having gambled away the asylum and its patients; or at least it told that he had sold the institution as standing to some Quaker body, in order to pay the debt, whom by chance knew of a possible sale.
'Apparently,' said Mr Rochester, folding back the newspaper, and giving me one of his queer looks, 'Wilson received a good tip from some newly acquainted drinking partner about a lucrative gamester who had lost his touch – owing to a stroke – and Wilson, if he had the pluck, could take him for everything he had. Wilson jumped at the chance, Jane, and after a few successful hands seemed to be on to a winning streak. Once hooked, with the informant encouraging Wilson, the stakes were upped until he eventually bet way over his head. When he lost, the sum was such that he had no way out and his debtor demanded prompt payment, so that he had to sell up the retreat. It just so happened, Jane, that an interested party, a most suitable buyer, was waiting to purchase it; a Quaker, whom had been informed of a possible opportunity. – You smile and scowl at once again, Jane, what have I done now?'
'You know too much about it. The newspaper said very little. You engineered bringing all this about, did you not, sir?'
'What do you take me for?' He blew a puff of smoke above my head. 'Of course I did. As of last week Grimsby was shut up, and all its surviving inmates moved to an altogether better place which I declare I shall, in two months' time, call upon tout à coup to ease my mind. If all be well, as promised by the Quakers, then I shall consider installing Bertha to their care.'
I stared at him while he exulted in his achievement, which I bore as best I could. I then stuck out my hand.
'What's this?'
'It is congratulations, sir; shake my hand, will you? I am so very proud of you in this moment!' He gave me his hand and I held it fast between both of mine. 'Thank you, Mr Rochester, for liberating those poor women of that tyrant.'
Some further boastful triumph I got from him in return for this assertion, but I did not complain, my heart swelled with love for him. Some moments then passed where no words were exchanged.
'Well, sir,' said I, springing up from the sofa, 'what a week for news! Now for mine–'
'What news, Jane?'
'Well, to begin: my uncle is dead.'
'There she is again with that firm Janian response! Good angels hear my cry! another of her mysterious relation's crosses the great divide.'
'Sir, he left me twenty thousand pounds!' – His features moved strangely to form something in the way of confusion. – 'Did you hear me, sir? Twenty thousand! I shall be an independent woman now. You, Mr Rochester, will not pay one more shilling to me, nor shall you pay for any of the school equipment; in fact, I shall pay you the lease for use of the building–'
He got up and began to walk; he stopped and turned, cast upon me a mixture of looks, and then recommenced pacing.
'Oh, now why so glum, sir?'
'For you, Jane, I am happy! I am glum for myself.'
'Why? It does not please me to spend your money. I value my independence greatly; and I value your company more than I can say: I am not going anywhere. You and I will be neighbours.'
'I don't want a neighbour, Jane! – I want a wife!'
'You have a wife, sir.' I could not remain silent to remind him.
'Oh, Jane, this is bitter! – this is–!' He cut off and went over to look out of the window, there sighing heavily. 'I need some fresh air under all this.'
Moving towards the door, he stopped there and turned slightly. 'Will you walk with me, Jane?'
I answered him by following his stride, out of the house, and along the pavement thence. His path soon bent towards the orchard: its trees baring green leaves yet, had weeks since lost their flowers, those faded blooms having fallen, leaving evidence of their existence only by the odd decaying petal lying just under a bush or by the wayside.
We walked on until at last he broke the silence.
'Jane – Jane, you now have the means to do as you please, and so you should. I was wrong to ask you to stay; I was selfish. You are young and now more– more eligible; you will want to marry someday.'
'Will I, sir?'
'Of course you will!'
'I cannot say that I should. I think I would rather pass through my life as like one who never knew love at all, than marry because it is expected of a young woman with a dowry.'
'You say that now, Jane, but a man will, by and by, come along whom you might like, and–'
'And, sir?'
He stayed his foot and then, with his arms behind his back and his eyes bent on the lawn, proceeded to dig the toe of his shoe into the firm ground, before turning to face me with dewy eyes. 'And you shall look at me in disgust, Jane, and say inwardly, "why! I believe I once loved that ugly old man with the mad wife: is she still living?" and you will have a young, handsome, honourable man on your arm, Jane, and his child in your belly, and a smile upon your face – and I wish I could wish it were so for you, Jane, if not for–'
'For what, sir?'
'Self-pity!'
'Self-pity, indeed! So much that I believe you have forgotten my character entirely!' – I gave him my sternest stare. – 'I shall not marry anyone, nor do I intend on leaving my village-school. It was always my dream, and I shall build it up as I like, and continue there happy enough. Perhaps,' I said, forcing a smile – more to lift him from this sudden sulk, – 'I shall hire someone to help me instruct, and there I can use my accomplishments to teach some French, for instance, to make something in return. – Oh, sir! please never fear that you might lose me, especially to some figment of a jealous imagination – a person you have never met! And most likely does not exist.'
'So you will stay, Janet?'
'Truly, I shall. Only, there is something else that came into my head, just as we were leaving the house.'
'What is it, Jane?'
'Do you suppose that Grace's son, Raymond Poole, is now unemployed?'
'Quakers normally employ Quakers, and so, sadly, I believe it very likely.'
'Would then, sir, since I shall not take another shilling from you, and I shall pay you for the school, would it not be possible to hire him as help for escorting Mrs Rochester–' I paused, having caused my master to shudder in the most violent manner; the tension in his face at his wife's true title. 'Sir, I don't wish to distress you.'
He cast a disturbed look down the laurel walk and then a long stare up to the third-story. After a few moments he said, 'You have the sweetest heart, Jane, and an honest look on life. You do not distress me. Reminders of my own choices and actions, my own mistakes, distress me. These lead to reminders that I cannot make you mine, Jane, and that is what distresses me.' He paused and met my eye with a wistful glare. 'Would it make you happy, Jane, if I strived to give Bertha some freedom of that accursed house? I make no promises; it sounds dangerous.'
'It would, sir, if we could but try.'
'Though it may prove necessary to restrain her if she cannot behave?'
'I hope she may come to appreciate your trust quickly.'
He nodded slowly and led us back towards the house.
A month elapsed, and now we had seen and felt the evidence of autumn set in fast. The cold, loud, and sometimes bloodcurdling winds shook the trees violently near my cottage, shedding them of their leaves, often dusting my abode with thousands of crisp, brown vegetation.
Happy days were these at Hay! The village-school was now my village-school; I relished my living quarters, the schoolroom and its occupants more than before. And though I was growing used to loving Mr Rochester at a distance – and love him too well, I continued to do – I still felt the greatest happiness when in his company; never was I so alive than when on the receiving end of his attention. I sometimes looked down upon Thornfield Hall in spontaneous thought of him, only to feel something amiss, something new and strange stirring on the air; something yet to play out. Perhaps it had to do with Raymond Poole having accepted the post of assisting his mother, to accompany poor Mrs Rochester outside for daily walks, exercise and air. She went free of her bonds, though her attendants carried a rope to restrain her should an emergency arise. I soon heard Grace remark to Mr Rochester, in response to his questions, that her charge was never so good, never so compliant as when she was promised a walk in the garden.
Mr Rochester would meanwhile visit me at my school, tethering his horse before knocking on the open door, and ask boldly how the bairns were taking to education.
The girls – soon used to his gruff remarks – welcomed him with a chorus of, 'Good morning, Mr Rochester!' to which I always caught him blush in the moment.
He made these excursions, I believe, or rather, I noticed, whenever his wife was out of the house. He feared, I can only imagine, that she might discover me a few miles off, though how, I could not guess. I often saw her great white-clad figure free and on the grounds while Grace and her son walked with her round the gardens for an hour each day – it was tiring work, no doubt, for she frequently ran about or climbed trees.
One such day, I had spotted Grace, her son, and their charge in one of the gardens, though they were small as ants to me, I could see her white gown and the long shaggy black mane. Raymond was very distinctive too, very tall and slender with his awkward walk. I was watching from my window; I had one or two open since it had become a strangely warm day for autumn. The children were off home for their tea and I had thought to walk down to Thornfield to see how its master did. About to put on my bonnet, I saw a horseman advancing – a rather striking man in looks; young – perhaps just approaching thirty – tall and slender; his golden hair crowned a Greek face, like those classic models of beauty; large blue eyes (even at a distance, I perceived them very clear), with a high forehead, colourless as ivory. Dismounting the horse, he tethered it to a nearby tree and headed for my door, where I inquired into his business.
He doffed his hat and half-bowed, during which I caught how his eyes ran over my person, my inadequate lineaments in particular, with an interested air. There was something about his nostril, his mouth, his brow, which indicated restless or hard elements within. He looked over my face for something; there was a marked expression in his eyes as he searched mine. What surprised me more was that he seemed to have found whatever he sought there.
'Good afternoon,' he spoke in a rather solemn and well-educated tone. 'My name is Mr St John Rivers. I'm the incumbent of a country parish at Morton, some way off; I am looking for Miss Jane Eyre.' He smiled slightly as he said this, almost triumphantly, in a way to say, 'yes, I know you are she.'
I confirmed it: 'I am Jane Eyre.'
He offered me his visiting card and a letter of recommendation, which I took and perused in his presence. The card bore his name: Mr St John E. Rivers, and nothing more; the letter of introduction was from Mr Briggs simply stating that the bearer of this note is known to him and can be recommended as a man whom I could trust.
'Do come in, Mr Rivers.'
Thanking me, he stepped inside the school-room, his eyes immediately examining its contents; its desks and supplies, my paintings and the children's drawings adorning the walls. 'You are the school-mistress here?'
'Yes.' I left the door open a fraction.
'I have heard that it is a promising charity school for local girls?'
'It is.' – What an odd visit! What a mysterious man! – 'May I ask the nature of your business, Mr Rivers?'
'It is a rather delicate matter, Miss Eyre.' He turned to face me full on with his back to the window; the breeze blew the golden curls about his temples. 'Please allow me to introduce myself again and enlighten you on all my prenomens: I was christened St John Eyre Rivers. – Now you do surprise me! I had thought the mention of my mother's name "Eyre" might stir more surprise in your features than it has; something like curiosity? But you remain only a little disturbed, or perhaps, perplexed.'
Indeed, I was both. My mind was yet active on Mr Briggs's advice to take heed, as if perhaps he knew that such a visit might come about.
This St John, whose name and face seemed rather familiar – though more so his voice! – sighed and shook his head.
'You are thinking that I am here to extort money from you in some way. It is not the case at all. You ask yourself, quite prudently, why I have not sought you out before now? – You need not surmise the answer. I knew of your existence, Miss Eyre, of course, but little about your true circumstances before my uncle bequeathed you his fortune. I admit I was curious to know what you would do with such a sum, but I am not here to ask any of it; more intrigued was I to know that a cousin of like-mindedness existed for me and my sisters.'
'Did you say we are cousins?' I asked, 'and you have sisters? How many?'
'Two: Diana and Mary. Our mother had two brothers; one was your father, the other was John Eyre of Madeira.'
'I never knew for sure I had more family!'
'My sisters are extremely excited to meet you, Miss Eyre; I would have preferred to bring them with me, but they are far away, at Bath, employed in situations not unlike yours.'
'They are teachers?'
'Governesses. – Having learnt a little more about you, they are eager to make your acquaintance, though in reality that might not be for some time.'
'I think I should like to meet them, sir. – Do tell me where are you staying, Mr Rivers?'
'The Rochester Arms, from whence I hired the horse. – Miss Eyre, you look shaken by my unannounced arrival and this sudden news; I apologise. I think it best to leave it there for to-day.'
'I would rather you did not go just yet. May I be surprised a little longer in your presence?'
'Truly. I simply came to introduce myself so that I might tell you of the admiration I have for you and the work you have done here.'
'Admiration?'
'For running this school, for teaching children who would otherwise have no chance to learn that ignorance is a waste, by taking their blind eyes and showing them the light, to read the words of God in the Book of Common Prayer. What you have done here is marvellous. Our uncle's money could not have gone to anyone better.' He bowed his head and looked to one side. 'That is not to say I wouldn't have strived to do great things, like yourself, Miss Eyre, but I no longer deserve the honour.'
'Why?' I asked him, since he seemed much moved by this reverie. 'Would you not have set up a school? You seem so interested in the subject.'
'Oh, I am! I would have and have done! only– it is no use avoiding the truth. I am no better than I should be, Miss Eyre. An instance recently proved it so, and I have no scruples telling you how unworthy a Christian I am. The Lord chose to test me, not long since, when – I do not colour to own it – when a young woman, not much unlike yourself; small, plain and young, begged at my door for shelter on a most miserable night! Under regular circumstances, Miss Eyre, I would not have cast a stray dog outside on that evening. I knew better, but acted wrongly. I cast her away in a moment of ill-humour; I grieve to remember it truly. My father had just died,' he said, though somewhat unemotionally, 'and I struggled with the business of his passing so that I became selfish in a heartbeat! I cast that poor young creature to the wild and never saw her more. Each day I pray for her, that she would have died tranquil. But I dream, Miss Eyre, terrible visions that she is still lost on the moor; she still starves, and is yet half-dead– '
'Please, Mr Rivers! Stop! – she is not dead!'
'How can you know?'
'Because I am she. It was I who sought aid at your door; I recall you now perfectly, your voice especially, as much as I recall Hannah. It was I you turned away to the moor, but–'
There was a noise from outside the school window – a fierce growl followed by metallic clatter. A horse's neigh and a clambering to dismount: it was Mr Rochester.
'Jane!' cried he, entering the school like a fierce warrior off the battlefield. 'Excuse my overhearing, it could not be helped! Did I perceive those words correctly? – did this man here turn you away the night I found you, soaked in mire and swimming in puddles, starved and wretched, with Death himself grasping at your vitals?'
'Sir–' said Mr Rivers, gesticulating a defence.
'Go to the Devil! I do not speak to you. – Jane?'
'Mr Rochester, we have this moment discovered that it is true, but– no, sir!' I ran forth as Mr Rochester grasped my cousin's collar and drew back his fist.
I got between them.
'I was grieving, sir!' struggled Mr Rivers. 'It was an error!'
'And you shall be answerable for it!' growled Mr Rochester, attempting to lift me out of the way. The blood was forsaking his cheek and lips, they were growing livid.
'We are cousins, Mr Rochester; Mr Rivers is my own blood! I beg you will compose yourself! for my sake, sir!' I put my hand – half the size of his – over his knuckles.
My master's fiery eye left my cousins in an instant and rested upon my own. His face softening, his fist unravelling, before he lowered his arm.
'For your sake, Jane.' He released St John's collar.
My cousin swallowed down his wounded pride audibly, and Mr Rochester with difficulty took a step back.
'Jane,' said he, breathing hard, 'do you wish me to leave?'
'I do, sir. I should like a private interview with my cousin concerning the death of our uncle.'
'Very well. Will you see me out?'
'I will.'
Mr Rivers stood at the farthest window in the schoolroom and looked down upon Thornfield Hall while I accompanied Mr Rochester to his horse. He looked wildly put out, yet acted remorsefully. Pilot had run alongside him, ready to bound away.
'Sir, you must not upset yourself; you are still recovering from illness.'
'It cannot be helped, Jane; to think that he–!'
'Hush now, sir, please!'
'I don't like the look of him, Jane.'
His flushed face worried me.
'Mr Rochester, you don't look well.'
'I shall do.'
'You were coming to see me; tell me, what is it, does something ail you?'
'A snakebite!' he returned, 'cunning as the Devil himself; she bit me just here under my left ribs, the moment I saw that Rivers fellow in your company. Damn him! I should have bent his nose to give myself a better comparison!'
'Sir, please!' I said, just as he mounted Mesrour, 'I don't like the violence in your tone and actions sometimes. Though I do know, and I am grateful, that it was in defence of me.' My smile outgrew the mental restraint I had placed on it. 'But you should not have come here alone; what have I said about that?'
'I came only to give you this, my Jane.' He handed me down a parcel. 'Now you may say that you have had some experience with presents.'
'You should not be giving me presents,' I whispered.
'When you open it you will understand. You will note too how it is as you like such things to be: no fuss.'
'Thank you, sir.' – involuntarily, I grasped his warm hand as he adjusted the bridle, and while something tugged hard on that invisible cord attached to my heart, I tugged likewise on his fingers, before letting go and turning slightly away.
He paused in astonishment. 'When may I see you, Jane?'
'In a day or two, sir.'
I looked at him. He touched his hat; his eyes moved towards the window in which stood my cousin, and then he roared 'H'yah!' sprinting away with Pilot running close by.
I returned inside to find St John watching Mr Rochester with an icy gaze, as he galloped down the hill.
'A vile demonstration,' he muttered, almost perhaps too quietly for my hearing. 'Is that man the master of Thornfield, Miss Eyre?'
'Yes, Mr Rivers, he is.'
'And you were a governess at that great house?'
'How did you come by the knowledge?'
'A truly deplorable tabloid that exists without pen or ink: gossip! Miss Eyre. I never recommend giving it credence–'
'Then I am surprised to hear you mention it.'
'It is not difficult to work out what is what, Miss Eyre, when you are clearly an educated young woman – who could be that governess – and who clearly maintains a well-formed attachment to that bigamist.'
'You don't know him,' I said with warmth. 'I will not hear Mr Rochester spoken of in that way; and certainly not under his roof!'
'His roof!' He turned his ivory column of a figure my way now, still with his arms behind his back. 'He houses you? Are you his– I colour to say the word!'
'I am not his mistress, if that is what you imply! Nor ever shall I be. I pay rent for the building as my school and home, though it is situated on his land. He did try to marry me and having found out his reasons for the attempt, I have forgiven him, and that is all done with.'
'Done with, cousin? Did my eyes just deceive me when I noticed him giving you gifts – it is yet in your arms. You, I saw, caressed his wedded hand lovingly with your own.'
I could not deny it, no matter how unintentional it was: the indiscretion was all mine.
'Mr Rivers–' I paused and filled my lungs twice anew before continuing. 'Mr Rivers, we have both given a false impression of ourselves to each other. You confessed to having turned me away when you would not have done so to a stray dog, and I immediately forgave you.'
'This is true.'
'Will you sit in the parlour with me and let me explain the situation in which you find me? I believe you will understand a very different character to the one you are now sketching in your head.'
He consented and there we sat for one hour. I told him of my escape from Thornfield after the bridal day fiasco; I gave some details to explain Mr Rochester's story. Soon I moved on to my time on the moor, and the details of my hardship I softened considerably so as not to grieve him, although Mr Rivers guessed that my experiences were worse than I had related. Then I revealed Mr Rochester's prayer to God to let him find me, and since then he has done right by me; the school he has helped to set up for the local children and it is only now, I told him, that I am able to take full financial responsibility so that I am completely independent of Mr Rochester.
'I feel I understand you better, Miss Eyre. I am sorry to have presumed the worse.'
'Thank you, Mr Rivers.'
'I feel I have intruded too long on your time to-day. Will you excuse me now and permit me another visit to-morrow?'
I granted him another interview and he left just before the weather turned and the rain flew down from a suddenly overcast sky.
I closed my windows, and with a mind fraught on all that had passed, I busied myself with clearing away the tea-things, before allowing myself five minutes to unwrap the parcel Mr Rochester had given me. I found it to be a plain black shawl, similar to the one I had given to the old woman at Grimsby Retreat.
Thanks for reading! Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! :)
