Page 41 of John Eyre

He opened his mouth to reply, but she forestalled him.

“I don’t attend church because the essence of my belief has nothing to do with an inanimate building or with the people who populate it. My faith is solely concerned with matters of good and evil. And you must believe, sir, that I stand firmly and relentlessly on the side of good. The side of God. You would do well to determine where it is that you stand.”

Her speech was so passionate, so unflinchingly earnest, that he felt the impulse to answer in kind—albeit with a trifle less heat. “At the moment,” he said. “I stand next to you. It seems a worthy place to be.”

A spasm of emotion crossed over her face, as fleeting as it was unreadable. “Would that I could be certain—” She broke off.

“Certain of what?”

Her reply, when it came, was equally quiet. “That you would remain at my side, irrespective of what comes.”

“I have no plans to leave Thornfield.” He cleared his throat. “So long as you’re pleased with my service, and the boys—”

“Ah, yes. The boys. You wish them to continue improving. To speak, eventually.”

“Don’t you?”

“As to that… It’s complicated.” Her shoulders stiffened. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

“I do understand.”

She gave him an uncertain glance.

“You’re protective of them,” he said.

Her bosom rose and fell on a deep breath. “I have tried to be.”

“And yet…” He warned himself not to say it. The words tumbled out nonetheless. “You left them for months on end while you resumed your travels.”

“Not because I didn’t care for them. Indeed, I cared too much. If you only knew…” She stopped on the path, turning back to face the house. Its silhouette was barely discernable in the mist, only the battlements standing out strong and clear against the winter sky. “This wretched place. How often I have abhorred the very thought of it. No sooner do I arrive here than I want to leave again.”

“Understandably so. It can be dreary at times, especially with the Millcote mists.”

“Is that the name they’ve given to this effluvium?”

“It’s how it’s been described to me. As a phenomenon particular to this part of the country.” He paused, adding, “You said it contributed to your parents’ death.”

“After a fashion. The dampness of it, and the chill. There’s always been fog in the valley, as long as I can remember. But this…the Millcote mists, as you call them…” A frown worked its way between her brows. “This is something new.”

“Whatever it is, surely it’s no reason to shun the place. Not when Stephen and Peter are in residence.”

“You’re very decided in your opinions for a paid subordinate.” There was no humor in her voice this time. No hint of amusement in her eyes.

“I want only what’s best for my pupils.”

“They’ve found in you a passionate advocate, I see.”

John might have saved himself the sting of additional rebuke, but he felt himself duty bound to continue. “Were things different—were they talking and acting as carefree boys are wont to do—I wouldn’t dream of pressing the subject. But despite the progress I’ve made with the pair of them, they still require a great deal of help. A great deal of care. As their tutor, I can only do so much. Your presence here would—”

“Do you think any of this has been easy? That I’ve been blessed with a surfeit of choices—for the boys, or for myself? By God, sir, you don’t know what it is to navigate such a treacherous sea as I have done.” She looked at Thornfield, casting such a glare over the place as John had never seen. “My instincts have served me well thus far. Had I not heeded them, I wouldn’t be standing as I am now.”

He tried to understand her, not entirely certain that he did. “You aren’t very happy here, are you?”

“There was a time I was, though I didn’t know it then.”

“Was it so long ago?”

“A lifetime. I was just a girl—as green as you are now. I played here, and learned here, and grew into a lady with all of my stubbornness and resolve. At that age, I’d have given anything to travel to a far-off land. To walk along the banks of the Seine. To see the pyramids at sunset. What had I to be afraid of? And when my parents died, I set out, still in mourning clothes, just as I’m wearing now. First, a year and a half in Europe. And then…” Her brow contracted, as if at a painful memory. “Do you know, as much as I wanted to be gone from this place, in my darkest hour I’d have sold my soul to see it again.” She laughed suddenly—a startlingly bitter sound. “I rather believe I did sell it.”