The Eyre Affair (Thursday Next 1)

“What about—” I began.

“—and the milk is delivered sour from the cows’ udders!” called Haelwyn from behind a bookshelf. “And the compasses in Merthyr have all gone mad these past few days!”

“Take no heed of her,” explained Jones apologetically. “She reads a lot of books. But how can I help you? Me, an old bookseller with no connections?”

“

An old bookseller with Welsh citizenship and free access across the border doesn’t need connections to get to where he wants to go.”

“Wait a moment, Thursday, bach; you want me to take you to Merthyr?”

I nodded. Jones was the best and last chance I had, all rolled into one. But he wasn’t as happy with the plan as I thought he might be.

“And why would I want to do that?” he asked sharply. “You know the punishment for smuggling? Want to see an old man like me end my days in a cell on Skokholm? You ask too much. I’m a crazy old man—not a stupid one.”

I had thought he might say this.

“If you’ll help us,” I began, reaching into my briefcase, “I can let you have . . . this.”

I placed the single sheet of paper on the counter in front of him; Jones gave a sharp intake of breath and sat heavily on a chair. He knew what it was without close examination.

“How . . . how did you get this?” he asked me suspiciously.

“The English government rates the return of Jane Eyre very highly—high enough to wish to trade.”

He leaned forward and picked up the sheet. There, in all its glory, was an early handwritten draft of “I See the Boys of Summer,” the opening poem in the anthology that would later become 18 Poems, the first published work of Dylan Thomas; Wales had been demanding its return for some time.

“This belongs not to one man but to the Republic,” announced the bookseller slowly. “It is the heritage.”

“Agreed,” I replied. “You can do with the manuscript what you will.”

But Jones the Manuscript was not going to be swayed. I could have brought him Under Milk Wood and Richard Burton to read it and he still wouldn’t have taken us to Merthyr.

“Thursday, you ask too much!” he wailed. “The laws here are very strict! The HeddluCyfrinach have eyes and ears everywhere!—”

My heart sank.

“I understand, Jones—and thanks.”

“I’ll take you to Merthyr, Miss Next,” interrupted Haelwyn, fixing me with a half-smile.

“It is too dangerous,” muttered Jones. “I forbid it!”

“Hush!” replied Haelwyn. “Enough of that talk from you. I read adventures every day—now I can be in one. Besides—the streetlights dimmed last night; it was a sign!”

We sat in Jones’s parlor until it was dark, then spent a noisy and uncomfortable hour in the trunk of Haelwyn the Book’s Griffin-12 motorcar. We heard the murmur of Welsh voices as she took us across the border and we were pummeled mercilessly by the potholed road on the trip into Merthyr. There was a second checkpoint just outside the capital, which was unusual; it seemed that English troop movements had made the military edgy. A few minutes later the car stopped and the trunk creaked open. Haelwyn bade us jump out and we stretched painfully after the cramped journey. She pointed the way to the Penderyn Hotel and I told her that if we weren’t back by daybreak we wouldn’t be coming. She smiled and shook our hands, wished us good luck and headed off to visit her aunt.

Hades was in the Penderyn Hotel’s abandoned bar at that time, smoking a pipe and contemplating the view from the large windows. Beyond the beautifully lit Palace of Justice the full moon had risen and cast a cool glow upon the old city, which was alive with lights and movement. Beyond the buildings were the mountains, their summits hidden in cloud. Jane was on the other side of the room, sitting on the edge of her seat, angrily glaring at Hades.

“Pleasant view, wouldn’t you say, Miss Eyre?”

“It pales when compared to my window at Thornfield, Mr. Hades,” replied Jane in a restrained tone. “While not the finest view I had learned to love it as an old friend, dependable and unchanging. I demand that you return me there forthwith.”

“All in good time, dear girl, all in good time. I mean you no harm. I just want to make a lot of money, then you can return to your Edward.”

“Greed will get the better of you, I think, sir,” responded Jane evenly. “You may think it will bring you happiness, but it will not. Happiness is fed by the food of love, not by the stodgy diet of money. The love of money is the root of all evil!”

Acheron smiled.