Page 105 of John Eyre

John rested his elbows on his knees, his fingers pushing through his hair. She’d been reading a letter from Argeș the day he’d found her weeping on the battlements. The day she’d first broached the subject of marriage. How happy he’d been then. How hopeful for their future together.

And now, here he was. All these months of building a life here, only to be faced with the same dilemma that had driven him from Lowton. An entanglement with a married lady.

But no. This wasn’t the same at all.

Bertha Rochester didn’t need him in the way that Helen Burns had needed him. She didn’t want a savior. She needed an ally. Someone to stand by her side. To support her. To believe her.

Yes, she’d lied to him. She’d hidden the truth. By God, she’d have committed bigamy! But under what provocation? Her husband was no husband at all. He might not even be human. The existence of such a creature defied belief. And yet…

John had witnessed the strange happenings around Thornfield. The manifestations. Mist and wolves and ghoulish images in the looking glass.

She’d been facing it all alone, with no one to confide in. No one to trust. And he wanted to be that person for her. Not because he was particularly brave or heroic, but because he loved her. Admired her—even more so after reading her journal.

He couldn’t leave her as he’d left Helen. And he couldn’t abandon her to that creature lurking within the tapestried room. He wouldn’t.

“You haven’t tried everything,” he said.

“Not everything.” She sighed heavily. “Doubtless I could spend a lifetime on testing out various ancient concoctions.”

“No.” He sat up. “I meant…you haven’t tried everything. The usual methods.”

“I shot him through the heart, John. If he can survive that—”

“And you’re certain you hit him? The pistol didn’t misfire or—”

“My aim was true. The bullet struck him. It knocked him down. I saw it with my own eyes.”

“But you haven’t tried anything else?”

“What else is there aside from driving a stake through his heart, or cutting off his head and filling his mouth with garlic?” Her mouth tightened with distaste. “Good God, can you imagine? I want to defeat him, but I could never explain such conduct to anyone. Even Mr. Poole isn’t likely to turn a blind eye to butchery.”

“Is that what you were advised must be done?”

“It’s part of the old legends in that region of the world. Heaven knows if it works. Nothing else has. I’ve exposed him to the sunlight. Bound him with silver. Deprived him of blood. And still he lives. Granted, he can no longer tell night from day, but he’s more than capable of doing mischief. I’d convinced myself that he could be left here in Mr. Poole’s care, while you and I—” She broke off. Her mouth tugged downward. “But now, it’s you who are leaving.”

John was silent. He was struck by an idea as unsettling as any he’d heard thus far. Under normal circumstances it wouldn’t bear thinking of.

But these circumstances were far from normal.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “Not yet.”

She regarded him warily. “I don’t understand.”

“I have an idea of something that might work,” he said. “A way you might be alleviated of your burden, without any gruesome aftermath.”

Deep in her gaze, a spark of hopefulness flickered. “Go on.”

Rising to his feet, he offered her his hand. “Perhaps it’s better if I show you.”

The small, rigid leather case stood open on a chest in John’s bedchamber, revealing the more than two dozen glass phials of laudanum within. Bertha withdrew one of them, examining it with a frown. “Where did you get all of these?”

“A village doctor in Lowton. He prescribed it for my headaches. I thought I’d explained.”

“I knew you were taking laudanum when you arrived, but this…” She returned the phial to the case. It settled into its compartment with a delicate clink. “This is a great deal of opium, John.”

“Enough to kill a man, I suspect.”

Her eyes met his.