“Thank you,” I said. Then I added, “Have you had dealings with Mr. Carter?”
“Oh no, sir. He is for the gentry. The apothecary is good enough for me. But I have heard good things of him.”
“Mrs. Greenway,” I said, “the white woman—”
She waited, expectantly.
I had thought to say, The white woman is my wife. But what came out of my mouth was: “The white woman is the daughter of a friend of my father’s. He has passed on, and I have the care of her. She is English, but she has never been here. Neither she nor the other two know much of our way of life. They are used to different foods, different weather, different customs to some extent, even somewhat different clothing. The two negroes are not used to shoes, for example.”
She was nodding at all I was saying, though I had no idea if she did so as my employee or if she really understood the half of it.
“There is a great deal for them to get used to,” I added. “You could be of immense help in that respect.”
“Yes, sir. And they will understand me when I talk to them? The child never says anything.”
“Did you not hear me speak to the child, in English?”
“But—but she seems to have so little facility in it herself.”
“They speak in patois—a dialect. You will get used to it. They understand what you say. And the child is shy.”
She took a breath as if to speak, but then did not.
“As for…the woman,” I said, “she cannot help the fact that she is mad. She can be difficult. But Molly and Tiso are used to her; they will deal with her. If you will just be kind enough to help them learn their way.”
She straightened: a soldier receiving orders. “Yes, sir.” And then she added, “Are they…are they…?”
“In Jamaica they were slaves. They know that here they are not. To be honest, I do not know what will happen with them. For that reason”—I leaned closer to her over the table—“it is important to me that they feel at home here. That they find a decent life here.”
“Are they mother and daughter?” she asked. I nodded. “And where is the father?”
“In Jamaica, things are different, as I said. There is not always a husband.”
“Oh.”
“You will not disdain Molly for that,” I said, rather more sternly than I meant. “They are used to being slaves. It is a harsh word, but it is the truth. They do not understand exactly what their roles are. To them, disobedience has always meant the whip. Therefore, if they are unhappy, or fearful, they may run away.” I gave her a meaningful look. “We would not like it if that were to happen,” I added.
“Oh no, sir.”
“Then I think we understand each other.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Rochester.”
“It may actually be, Mrs. Greenway, that little Tiso could be of help to you in your work.”
She nodded solemnly, and I left, with that seed in her mind. Tiso was old enough to need occupation and young enough to adjust to new ways. I hoped it would work.
*
Mr. Carter arrived at Ferndean that afternoon. He was impeccably dressed, with a warm and pleasant way about him that made me feel immediately at ease as we greeted each other. I led him into the library as if it were my own home, though it was almost as unfamiliar to me as it was to him.
“It is a pleasure to meet you at last,” I said, motioning him to a chair.
“You have just arrived, I understand,” he said.
“Three days ago. But as you know from my letter, I have immediate concerns regarding my wife.”
“Your wife?” he said, and I remembered too late that I had referred only to “a relative.”
“Yes, indeed. My wife.” I cleared my throat. “She is, unfortunately, the victim of some familial disorder. You may recall that I asked you to look into the Grimsby Retreat.”
“Yes, and I did. You are not, by any chance, a Quaker, are you? It’s a Quaker institution, designed primarily for members of their own persuasion.”
“For Quakers only?”
“Not exclusively, but nearly. I believe that funding is sometimes difficult; perhaps if a person were to offer a generous gift, they might consider…”
I settled back in my chair. “Tell me about the place.”
“It has a fine reputation; they exercise what they call the ‘moral treatment’ of their patients, believing that if a mad person is treated as if he were a rational being, whatever spark of rationality remains will be nourished.”
“And they have cures?”
“Yes, of course. But you must realize that not everyone is curable. May I see her?”
If the Grimsby Retreat could offer a cure, I thought, it might be worth taking her there, despite my promises. Surely both Jonas and Bertha herself would have wanted me to follow that path. But first I must deal with the immediate issue.
“Actually,” I told him, “I have a more pressing need of help with her.” I explained about the laudanum, and that she needed treatment for her addiction to it. And I went on to tell him of her habit of sleeping in the day and roaming at night, her need for secure surroundings, even her rages and her occasional violence. It was not necessary to tell him so much, I am sure, but once I began to unburden myself I could barely stop, and he listened, calmly, quietly, without judgment.
When I had told him everything, including my intention to keep our marital connection a secret, at least for the time being, I led him upstairs to her room and he saw her lying there, not even slightly restless. He asked me when she had had her last dose. I told him, and he nodded again and opened his valise and measured out something into a bottle and gave me instructions. He would be back every day, he said, to monitor how she was doing, and he urged me to send for him if there was a crisis and warned me never to give more of the medication than he advised. She would, he said, be quit of her addiction in a month or six weeks, if I obeyed his instructions.
But those six weeks were among the worst I could have imagined.
Chapter 3