Page 107 of John Eyre

John was left alone in the shifting shadows. He took a ragged breath. And then, standing from the chest, he went to the basin and splashed cold water on his face. It did little to revive his spirits, but it was sufficient to awaken him to his duty. He’d promised the boys he’d stop in to check on them. And he always kept his promises.

Minutes later he entered the nursery to find Stephen hunched in the window seat. Peter was crouched on the floor below, huddled near the foot of the chair where Sophie sat, sewing by lanternlight. She looked up at John.

“Mr. Eyre!” She lowered her needlework, speaking in heavily accented French. “There, you see? Did I not tell you he would come?”

Stephen rocked back and forth in the window. He was emitting a soft sound—a continuous low moan. It was so faint that John hadn’t heard it upon entering. But he heard it now. It sent a jolt of alarm through his system.

Crossing the room in three strides, John came to sit beside him in the window. “What’s wrong?” He laid a hand upon Stephen’s shoulder. “Are you hurt?”

“That man,” Sophie said.

John’s gaze jerked to hers. “What man?”

“The man up there.” She pointed to the ceiling. “The bad man. Stephen hears him speak.”

Bloody hell.

Was it true? Had Stephen heard Mr. Rochester’s voice? Had he recognized it?

John leaned over Stephen’s small frame, his posture protective. “Is that so? Did you hear him?” He rubbed his back in gentle circles. “No matter. He won’t harm you. I promise you that. He’ll never harm you again.”

Below, Peter rose from his place on the floor to lean against John’s leg. He clutched John’s trousers in one small fist.

John ruffled his hair. “You’re all right, Peter. You’re both safe and well.”

“That woman,” Sophie remarked. “The brunette lady who comes today. They know her, too.”

“She’s gone now,” John said. “Everything is back as it should be.”

Sophie snorted as she resumed her sewing.

John ignored her. Holding the boys close, he offered soothing words and caresses. All the while, the anger built within him. That such a monster should reside on the third floor! In the very house with those he’d previously made his victims. It was a cruelty to Stephen and Peter.

A cruelty to Bertha, too.

John wanted to go to her. He wanted to tell her that he’d made up his mind. That he’d leave with her straightaway, along with the boys. What other choice was there?

But his emotions were such that he couldn’t trust any decisions made in the moment. Better to confront the matter in the morning, with a clear head.

“It is past time for dinner.” Laying aside her needlework, Sophie stood from her chair. “Will you dine here, sir?”

“I believe I will.” John urged the boys up. “Go with Nurse and wash for dinner. We’ll all feel better after we’ve eaten.”

A short while later, dinner was delivered to the nursery by Alfred and Mr. Fairfax himself. The elderly butler cast John a sidelong glance as he deposited a tray on the small nursery table.

“That will be all, Alfred,” he said. When the footman had withdrawn, Mr. Fairfax turned to John, addressing him in a low voice. “My dear Mr. Eyre. I swear to you, I had no knowledge of the true identity of our unfortunate tenant. I thought him a distant relation of Mrs. Rochester’s late husband. It never occurred to me that he was Mr. Rochester himself. We kept it from you, it’s true, but only for the boys’ sake. What tutor would take employment in a house with a lunatic in residence? I hope you can forgive—”

“You’re forgiven,” John said. “Pray, speak of it no more.”

Mr. Fairfax appeared relieved. “Very good, sir. Will you be sleeping in the nursery again tonight?”

John’s gaze flicked to the boys. The pair of them were pale and drawn, all of the progress he’d made with them vanished in the space of a single day. He was sure they’d rally tomorrow, but for now… “I will. The boys are a little distressed this evening.”

“Indeed.” Mr. Fairfax inclined his head. “I shall be in my parlor if you require anything else.”

When Sophie and Mr. Fairfax had withdrawn, John attempted to engage the boys’ attention. Retrieving the tinderbox, he prompted them to light a fire in the hearth. They did so, albeit with a trifle less enthusiasm than usual. Afterward, the three of them sat down to dinner. None had much of an appetite.

John was glad when the time came for bed. Sleep would be a welcome reprieve from the horrors of the day. Not just for the boys, but for all of them. After making his pallet on the floor, he reached to turn off the oil lamp.