I found, suddenly, that I did not like reentering Thornfield if it meant merging the world of this dreamlike sprite into one governed by the madwoman there. How could two such different women exist under my own roof?
Soon, though, Pilot could not help but announce our arrival, and John swiftly appeared to help me inside. He sent a boy for Carter and stoked a fire in the dining room, while Mrs. Fairfax hovered over me, Adèle caressed my leg as if such ministrations would cure the sprain, and Leah scurried to the kitchen to bring tea. I learned from Mrs. Fairfax that, to my relief, there had been no unexpected visitors in my absence, so Gerald Rochester, wherever he was, had not yet come to disturb my home.
Amid the excitement I might have forgotten the governess, but I did not. Such a delicate thing out alone at nightfall—I could not explain how I could have left her, knowing who she was, out on that icy path in the gathering gloom. I had a sudden need to know she was safe.
I turned to Adèle, at my arm. “What of your new governess, Adèle?” I asked. “What is her name? She is a small person, thin and a little pale, is she not? Tell me what you think of her.”
“Oh, Monsieur! Oui! Elle est—”
“In English, please.”
“Miss Eyre, she is fine. She is an artiste!”
“An artist?” I asked. That was not a good sign; I had had enough of artist types in Paris.
“Yes, but she is! Let me show you!”
She started to run off, but I stopped her. “Tomorrow,” I said. “I will see her work tomorrow.”
Just then Carter appeared, tutting over my accident and opening his case and setting to work. When he had finished and given me a sedative to ease the pain, sturdy John helped me up to my room. As he turned to leave, I thought to ask, “I have not yet seen the governess; surely she is about somewhere?”
“She has recently returned from a walk to Hay,” he said. “She is in her room, I believe. Did you want to meet with her this evening?”
“Oh no, John,” I said carelessly. “There is plenty of time for that another day.” And I settled myself in bed, closed my eyes, and drifted to sleep forthwith.
Chapter 11
I slept late, a drugged sleep, and when I arose, Ames and some of my tenants were already waiting to see me. I meant to have a quick cup of coffee and a boiled egg and then set to business, but suddenly Adèle flew into the room with a portfolio of Miss Eyre’s drawings under her arm. I was impatient to get on with the business of the day, but it seemed her excitement could not be contained. With a sigh, I flipped through the drawings quickly, or at least I meant to, but indeed, they turned out to be much more interesting than I had expected. Still, I had tenants waiting, so I handed the portfolio back to the child and sent her off, assuring her I would look at them again in the evening when I had more time.
My meetings ended up lasting most of the day, with Mrs. Fairfax popping quickly in and out, bringing tea to the guests. Eventually I signaled to her and confided that I desired to have Miss Eyre and Adèle with me for tea, for I thought it was time for a proper introduction.
Carter returned in the afternoon, and while he felt at my ankle I winced in acute pain. He glanced up at me. “That hurts?”
“Indeed, yes,” I responded.
He muttered something to himself that I insisted he repeat. “That is not a good sign,” he said. “Is it possible that you have injured this before?”
“Years ago, when I was a boy, I twisted it.”
“And what was done for it?”
“Nothing. Rest; it was just a twisted ankle.”
His experienced fingers probed more carefully. “I think we shall bind it,” he said.
“Bind it?”
“If we keep it immobile for a week or so—”
“A week!”
“I suspect the original injury was worse than had been supposed, and now, if you don’t take care of yourself properly, you might be permanently affected,” he said.
“Oh, for pity’s sake!”
He looked at me full on. “It shall be as you wish, I’m sure,” he said.
“Get on with it, then!” I growled, angry at the prospect of being an invalid for God knew how many days. “I am sorry, Carter,” I apologized, “but this puts me in a foul mood.” He merely nodded.
When my meetings had finished, I limped into the sitting room and positioned myself on a couch there, feeling sour. Adèle bounced in just before six, all hugs and kisses and caresses, chattering to me in French despite my insistence she speak English. Finally, I dismissed the child, who ran immediately to Pilot in the corner and prattled to him in whispered French, caressing him with an affection he readily returned. I was pondering that free and open exchange of fond attachment when Mrs. Fairfax interrupted my thoughts. “Here is Miss Eyre, sir.”
“Let Miss Eyre be seated,” I said brusquely, feeling out of sorts still, and exhausted, suddenly, by the abundance of women in my house who had expectations of me. I had been interested to learn more about the strange little governess, but that was before my blasted ankle promised to keep me prisoner in my own home. Now I simply wished to be left alone.
It’s possible Miss Eyre found me rude—and indeed more so for having concealed my identity the evening before—for which I intended to apologize. Yet the calm self-possession with which Miss Eyre entered the room and took her seat made me think her less a prisoner of common social niceties than many women I’d met. That unsettling fact in itself began to rekindle my curiosity.
Not wanting to reveal my interest, I glanced at her once, briefly, while her attention was on Adèle—and indeed she was just as small and determined looking as I had ascertained on the path, yet the sight of her face made me uncomfortable. I reminded myself that she had done nothing to hurt me, and in fact had helped me a great deal, and yet I could not shake the feeling that this Miss Eyre would expect more of me than the foolish gossip of the Ingram crowd, and I could not at first think what to say. Perhaps I had lost all ability to engage in intelligent conversation with a woman.