I forced a laugh. “But don’t pull me down or strangle me.” My head spinning, I settled on poor Grace again as my scapegoat, since the company had seen me arrive from the third floor.
“All’s right!—all’s right!” I shouted so that everyone could hear. “A servant has had a nightmare; that is all.” I explained her away as an excitable, nervous person, troubled by a nightmare and an overactive imagination. I did my best to coax the group back to their beds, bargaining that Miss Ingram’s pride would override her affection for drama, and prevent further excitement. She cast me a knowing look, plainly suspicious of my feeble explanation; I suppose I could not fault her for that, since only hours earlier the old Gypsy had given her plenty of reason to doubt the word of her dashing Mr. Rochester. But I had neither time nor inclination to play her games tonight, and I was grateful that she said nothing as the others, even Jane, returned once more to their rooms.
As soon as they had all dispersed, I returned to Richard, who was sprawled in the chair where I had left him. He seemed in a stupor of some sort, but whether it was a faint from loss of blood or an overabundance of fear I did not know. I tore his shirt away to take stock of his wounds, shuddering at the horror of the bites, but I cannot say I was surprised, for I had seen Bertha in acts of savagery and destruction before, and I could no longer put anything past her.
I tried using shreds of Richard’s own shirt to stanch the bleeding, but it would not be stopped, and then I dipped the cloth into a basin of water and tried washing the blood away, but he had begun to bleed so rapidly that I could not keep up with it. Thanks to my time at Black Hill, I was quickly able to fashion a tourniquet and stop most of the bleeding, but I also knew it was dangerous to keep the device in place too long. It was becoming clearer that he needed more help than I could give.
I took off my shoes and, before leaving, bent close to the half-conscious Richard. “I will return with help,” I said.
I intended to send Sam for Mr. Carter, but as I began to cross the second-floor hall toward the stairs up to the servants’ quarters on the opposite end, I saw in the darkened far end Blanche Ingram at the door of her room, candlestick in hand, as if waiting for me to return. No—I could not risk getting caught by her, of all people. But where to turn now? Richard’s condition would become serious if he lost much more blood.
Hidden in the shadows, I looked desperately about: the schoolroom was across from me, and the room where Adèle slept beside her nurse—Sophie might help, but I could not risk waking the child; beyond that was the room the Eshton girls shared. And next to me: Jane’s room.
Jane: the last person I could risk learning my secret. Besides, as I knew from her first meeting with Mesrour, she had no facility with horses—I could not send her on a dark ride alone to Carter’s house. No, Jane was out of the question.
But as I hovered in the hall, wracking my brain for an answer, another low, desperate moan erupted from the wounded man upstairs. I had to act swiftly, or I might have a dead man on my hands. Even in my panic, I understood that Jane was exactly the sort of steadfast, coolheaded person I needed beside me in this emergency; I knew she, more than anyone, could be trusted to do what I asked of her.
Well, she had said, had she not, that she would risk danger for me, as a friend? I would have to test that now. I would have to leave her with Richard and make the ride to fetch Carter myself. Without giving my doubts time to surface, I stepped closer to her door and tapped softly.
“Am I wanted?” I heard from inside. She was awake. My heart warmed at her voice, though a part of me had hoped I could still have spared her, and myself, the dreadful task ahead.
“Are you up?” I asked softly.
“Yes, sir.”
“And dressed?”
“Yes.”
“Come out, then, quietly, without a light, please.” The door opened slowly. “I want you,” I whispered. “Come this way: take your time, and make no noise.” I took her hand and led her to the hidden door, but as we reached the third floor, I had a thought. “Have you a sponge in your room?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you any salts—volatile salts?”
“Yes.”
“Go back and fetch both,” I whispered, and I handed her a candle and she hurried back the way we had come. Even if Blanche were still holding vigil, I figured, she would think nothing of seeing the governess alone at the far end of the hall.
Meanwhile, I stepped into the room and confronted a whimpering Richard. “Someone is coming to sit with you,” I said. “It is no one of import—just the governess. But on pain of death, you will say nothing to her, nothing about your wounds, nothing about your sister, nothing at all. If you want to live, you will obey me on that, no matter what.”
Frightened by my words, he nodded silently. I hoped he would obey. I hoped I could keep Jane from learning about Bertha, keep her suspicions on Grace Poole. I hoped I wasn’t making a terrible mistake.
I hurried down the steps to wait for Jane. It was only moments until she returned, and she followed me wordlessly to the door of Bertha’s apartment, where I tried to prepare her for what she would see inside. “You don’t turn sick at the sight of blood?”
“I think I shall not,” she responded. “I have never been tried yet.”
“Just give me your hand,” I said. “It will not do to risk a fainting fit.”
She placed her small hand in mine. It was warm and steady, like Jane herself. Though I dreaded the consequences of what I was about to do, at the same time I felt some peace, for, standing there beside her, I could not at that moment have wanted a better companion.
As we entered the outer chamber, I saw Jane’s eyes wandering over it. The door to Bertha’s chamber was open slightly, and from behind it came an animalistic snarling. Leaving Jane, I walked quickly into the room, where Grace was attempting to soothe Bertha as she lay bound on the bed. Bertha gave a loud, wild laugh at my entrance. With as fierce a gaze as I could muster I made it clear to Grace that she must keep Bertha contained—and quiet—at all costs, and administered a dose of sedative to ensure it. Under no circumstances was Bertha to be allowed anywhere near Jane. I locked the door behind me when I left.
“Here, Jane!” I said, moving to the chair where Richard had collapsed. I held the candle over him so that she could see who he was and that he had been wounded. What remained of his shirt was soaked in blood. True to her word, she remained calm and clearheaded.