Page 106 of John Eyre

He stared back at her, his heart beating heavily.

“Would it work?” she asked finally.

“You tell me.” His bedchamber was shadowed, lit only by a single taper candle and the dim evening light filtering in through his window curtains. It cast half of Bertha’s face in darkness.

“I don’t know,” she said.

“But you’ve given him laudanum before. It helped you overpower him.”

“That was naught but a single small phial.. And it didn’t exactly put him to sleep.”

“What effect did it have?”

She wandered across the room, her brows knitting in thought. “It seemed to affect his senses. He was less reasoned, and a bit uncoordinated. A bit…less human.”

John leaned back against the chest. “But weaker?”

“Yes, but I don’t know how much of that was because of the laudanum and how much was because of the sunlight. When I captured him, I used every tool I had, all at once. It’s difficult to tell which was the most powerful. Indeed, it’s all so much chance.”

“You said the laudanum repulsed him,” John reminded her. “He must fear it for a reason.”

“I daresay it’s because it pollutes the blood of his victims.”

John suppressed a grimace. “If he drank it, would it render him insensible?”

“I suppose it might. But put him to sleep forever? I don’t know if it’s possible.” She stopped her pacing to stand beside his box bed. “How would we even manage it?”

He considered a moment. “Have you a needle and syringe?”

“Heavens no. Only Mr. Carter possesses such things. And he isn’t likely to lend them to us. Even if he did—can you imagine what he’d think if my lunatic husband was suddenly to die of an overdose injection of laudanum? He’s a good man, Carter, but I wouldn’t wager on his condoning murder.”

John recoiled at the word. “It wouldn’t be murder. Not if Rochester is what you say he is.”

“It doesn’t matter what I say. All that matters is what people believe. And no one is going to believe he’s an unnatural creature, least of all the local magistrate. Philosophical arguments about the nature of humanity are beyond his purview.” The glimmer of hopefulness in her eyes flickered out. “No. I don’t believe we can use laudanum, any more than we can employ a stake through the heart.”

“What, then?”

“Nothing. There’s nothing that can be done. Our only hope is to leave this place with the children.” She remained where she was, back propped against the wall of the box bed. “Will you reconsider? I know we can’t marry now, but there’s no reason you couldn’t accompany—”

“There is reason. It would be the end of you.”

“My reputation, you mean.” Bitterness sounded in her voice. “What care I for that anymore?”

John ran a hand through his hair. Outside the sun was setting. How long ago it seemed he was in this very room, rising at dawn to dress for his wedding. “I want to do what’s best for you, and for the boys. But…I need to think on it.”

Her shoulders slumped. “Yes, of course.” She stood up. “Will you stay here tonight, at least?”

“I believe I must. It grows late already.”

It seemed there was nothing more to say. Head bent, she moved briskly to the door.

He caught her hand as she walked past. She stopped, frozen where she stood as he brought it to his lips and pressed a lingering kiss to her wrist.

Her throat worked on a swallow. “I’m sorry, John.”

“I am, too,” he said.

Sliding her hand from his, she exited his room in a flurry of black crepe skirts, shutting the door behind her.