Page 49 of John Eyre

How to explain the events of last night and this morning? That Mrs. Rochester had in her employ a man who was capable of such mayhem? There seemed no rhyme or reason to the matter. Unless…

Good lord. Was it possible she cherished a fondness for the rough fellow? It would certainly explain why he’d been in her room last night. Why she tolerated his sinister freaks, and why, after the fire, she hadn’t dismissed him out of hand. Yet Mr. Poole wasn’t handsome by any stretch of the imagination. Nor did he seem to have any wit or intellect to recommend him. And Mrs. Rochester was a lady who appreciated lively conversation, as well as a comely countenance.

You’re really quite handsome.

John’s heart thumped hard as he recalled her words to him so many evenings ago. It had been an unexpected compliment. Especially as he knew himself to be rather plain. Not handsome at all, really. At the time, he’d thought it merely a provoking remark. A throwaway word to an inconsequential underling. But after last night…

He was no longer certain she hadn’t meant it.

How well he remembered the way she’d addressed him as they’d stood in his candlelit bedroom, her in her dressing gown and he in his shirtsleeves. The way her eyes had burned into his with such peculiar intensity. How her voice had trembled as her hand clasped his—passionate, intimate.

Where was she today? Why had he not seen her?

When the last of their meal was cleared away, Mr. Fairfax poured out their tea. “You must drink something. You ate so little dinner. I trust you aren’t becoming ill?”

“I’m quite well.” John hadn’t much of an appetite, it was true. But it wasn’t illness that caused his discomposure. “I haven’t heard Mrs. Rochester’s voice in the house today. Nor have I seen her.”

“You wouldn’t have. She left at dawn, as soon as she’d breakfasted. I pray she’ll have a safe journey.”

John jerked to attention. “Journey? To where?”

“She has first gone to London to see her solicitor, Mr. Hughes. And then, on her return, I expect she’ll stop at the Leas. The Eshtons have gathered a large party there, and have invited her to stay.”

A party? After what they’d just been through together?

John forced himself to take a drink of his tea. It did nothing to calm the tumult of emotion in his breast. “When will she be back?”

“Oh, not for another week or more, I shouldn’t think. She’s a great favorite of the Eshton boys, especially the eldest. He’ll endeavor to keep her there as long as possible.”

John’s throat closed on an unexpected swell of jealousy. It was as bitter as it was surprising. He’d seen the eldest Eshton son once from the battlements, and he was no boy. He was a tall, elegantly clad man. “Do you know him well?”

“George Eshton? I wouldn’t say that I know him. But I’ve had many occasions to observe him. He used to call on Mrs. Rochester when her parents were still living. He was often her partner at the balls and assemblies hereabouts. The pair of them went riding together as well. They share a love of fine horseflesh.”

“What is he like?”

“Handsome and wealthy, though not as wealthy as he would like to be. Indeed, as I understand it, the bulk of his fortune rests in his father’s estate. He won’t come into possession of it until the elder Mr. Eshton dies.”

A grim thought entered John’s head. “Mrs. Rochester’s visit to her solicitor… It hasn’t anything to do with him, has it?”

Mr. Fairfax’s brow creased. “It hadn’t occurred to me. But now you mention it…I suppose she could be speaking with Mr. Hughes about marriage settlements and the like. Then again, Mrs. Rochester isn’t likely to consult with him on a subject of such a personal nature.”

“Why not? Who else would she consult with but her solicitor?”

“In other circumstances, yes. But Mr. Hughes and Mrs. Rochester have long had a strained relationship. You see, he had partial control of her inheritance for the year following her parents’ death. She wished to go away to mourn—to some exotic locale. But Mr. Hughes insisted she restrict her travels to Europe. To Paris and Rome. She spent more than a year there, doing as he advised her. It conjured a great deal of animosity between them.”

“A year spent in Paris and Rome doesn’t sound like much of a hardship.”

“I don’t say that she was miserable, only that it wasn’t what she wanted. She wished for something more adventurous, away from the usual haunts of English travelers.”

John hesitated to ask. It was none of his business, and he’d already indulged his curiosity enough for the evening. Nevertheless… “Is that where she met her husband?”

“Oh no. That was later. Somewhere in Egypt. She stayed there for a time before venturing on. She always was keen on far-off places, even as a girl. And who can blame her for wanting to travel? She was shut up here at Thornfield for far too long.”

“She had a sheltered childhood?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. Her father was a bit of an eccentric. Taught her to hunt and shoot, just as he would have taught a son. She was certainly as willful as a boy might have been. Some would say she ran wild here. But one couldn’t blame her for her odd ways. She was kept at home for rather a long time, when other young ladies were having their seasons in London or attending the assemblies in York. Mrs. Rochester’s parents were set on her marrying a local fellow.”

John returned his teacup to its saucer with an unsteady clink of porcelain. “George Eshton?”