She had been eyeing my jeans again.
“Women wear breeches where you come from?”
“Often, Mrs. Fairfax.”
“And where is it that you come from? London?”
“Farther than that.”
“Ah!” said Mrs. Fairfax with a knowing smile. “Osaka!”
She bustled out, leaving me alone with Pilot, having made me promise that I would not feed him from the table. She returned ten minutes later with a tray of tea things, then left me for another half hour to make up a room. She led me up to a second-story chamber with a fine view out of the front of the house. I had insisted that Pilot stay with me, and he slept against the locked door, somehow sensing the possible danger that his new mistress might be in. I slept fitfully and dreamed of Hades laughing at me.
As I slept, Victor and the others back at the Swindon Litera Tec office had been celebrating the return of the narrative to the novel. Apart from a brief mention of Mrs. Fairfax making noises on the night of the bedroom fire, it was all pretty much as anyone remembered it. A member of the Brontë Federation had been called in to examine the text as it wrote itself across the last two hundred pages, which up until this moment had been blank. The Brontë scholar knew the book by heart and his pleased expression gave them no cause for complaint.
I woke to the sound of Pilot scratching on the door to be let out. I quietly unlocked it and peeped out. I could see Jane bustling down the corridor and quickly shut the door and looked at my watch. It was barely 6 A.M. and only a few of the domestic staff were awake. I waited a couple of minutes, let Pilot out and then followed, cautious lest I bumped into Jane. The morning was spent with almost everyone in the house setting Rochester’s room to rights, so after breakfast I was about to make my way out of the house when Mrs. Fairfax stopped me.
“Miss Next,” announced the housekeeper, “Mr. Rochester has explained to me about the events of the past week and I wanted to add my thanks to his.”
She said it without emotion but I was in no doubt that she meant it. She added:
“He has instructed me to have the house guarded against agents who would wish Miss Eyre harm.”
I looked out of the window; from where we stood I could see an estate worker standing on sentry duty with a large pickax handle. As we watched he glanced into the house and scurried out of sight. A few moments later Jane herself walked out of the door, looked about her, took a deep breath in the crisp morning air, and then went back inside. After a few moments the estate worker reappeared and took up his post once more.
“Miss Eyre must never know we are watching and guarding her,” said Mrs. Fairfax severely.
“I understand.”
Mrs. Fairfax nodded and looked at me critically.
“Do women go about with their heads uncovered where you come from?”
“Frequently.”
“It isn’t the accepted thing here,” she said reproachfully. “Come with me and I shall make you presentable.”
Mrs. Fairfax took me to her own room and gave me a bonnet to wear along with a thick black cloak that covered me to my feet. I thanked her and Mrs. Fairfax bobbed courteously.
“Is Mr. Rochester at home today?” I asked.
“He has gone to make arrangements. I understand he went to Mr. Eshton’s place; there is quite a party going on. Colonel Dent will be there as well as Lord Ingram. I don’t expect him back for a week.”
“With all that is going on here, do you think it is wise?”
Mrs. Fairfax looked at me as though I were an infant.
“You don’t understand, do you? After the fire Mr. Rochester goes away for a week. That’s how it happens.”
I wanted to ask more but the housekeeper excused herself and I was left alone. I collected my thoughts, smoothed the cloak and went outside to walk around the house, checking that everything was secure. All the estate workers nodded to me respectfully as I passed, each of them armed with a weapon of some sort. Hoping that none of them would have to face him, I walked across the lawn in the direction that Hades had taken the previous night. I was just passing the large beeches near the ha-ha when a familiar voice made me turn.
“Do we stand a chance against him?”
It was Rochester. He was standing behind one of the large tree trunks, looking at me with grave concern etched upon his face.
“Every chance, sir,” I responded. “Without me he is trapped here; if he wants to return he has to negotiate.”
“And where is he?”