Midsummer at Eyre Hall: Book Three Eyre Hall Trilogy
Read Midsummer at Eyre Hall: Book Three Eyre Hall Trilogy Online
Authors: Luccia Gray
Midsummer at Eyre Hall
By Luccia Gray
Text copyright ©
2016 Lucia Garcia Magaldi
All Rights Reserved
ISBN: 978-84-608-7173-6
This novel is a work of fiction based mainly on
imaginary and some real people, places and events, which have been modified for
literary purposes.
For Sofia, who prefers happy endings.
Midsummer
at Eyre Hall
is the third and final volume of
The Eyre Hall Trilogy,
which
chronicles the lives of the residents of Eyre Hall from the beginning to the
height of the Victorian era.
Following
the death of her second husband, Richard Mason, Jane is finally engaged to the
man she loves. However, her oldest son, John Rochester, will do everything in his
power to stop the wedding and take over Eyre Hall and the Rochester Estate,
with devastating consequences for Jane.
Romance,
mystery and excitement will unfold, based on the lives of the original
characters, and bringing to life new and intriguing ones, spinning a unique and
absorbing narrative, which will move the action from the Yorkshire countryside
to Victorian London, and magical Cornwall.
Midsummer
at Eyre Hall
is part of a series, and although it can be read as a standalone
novel, readers will have a more enhanced reading experience if they read
The
Eyre Hall Trilogy
in the
following sequence:
All
Hallows at Eyre Hall (Book I)
Twelfth
Night at Eyre Hall (Book II)
Midsummer
at Eyre Hall (Book III)
After
Edward Rochester’s death in All Hallows at Eyre Hall,
Jane
was
blackmailed into marrying Richard Mason, who died in Twelfth Night at Eyre Hall.
Michael Kirkpatrick
was a servant at Eyre Hall, who later joined the
navy. He proposed to Jane, and in Midsummer at Eyre Hall, Jane and Michael are
about to be married.
John
is Jane and Edward Rochester’s son. He
left England and moved to Boston after his mother’s engagement to Michael.
Annette
Mason
was born
in Thornfield Hall while her mother, Bertha Mason, was married to Edward
Rochester and locked in his attic. Although Rochester claimed he was not her
biological father, Annette has remained at Eyre Hall as Jane’s ward.
Helen
is Jane and Edward Rochester’s daughter,
who was kidnapped at birth. Michael discovered her true identity and Helen was
reunited with her mother in Twelfth Night at Eyre Hall.
Archbishop
Templar
was a
close friend of Mr. Rochester’s and had been John’s mentor since his childhood.
He is a frequent guest at Eyre Hall.
Adele
Varens
was Mr.
Rochester’s ward. Jane Eyre was first employed at Thornfield Hall as her
governess. Adele is married to the widowed poet,
Mr. Greenwood
. They
live in Camberwell, London.
Susan
Kirkpatrick
is
Michael’s sister. She is married to the painter
, Dante Greenwood
, Mr.
Greenwood’s son. They live in Camberwell, London. Susan has a baby, William,
and is pregnant with her second child.
Mr.
Smythe
is Jane’s
solicitor.
Dr.
Carter (Harry)
took over his father’s practice in the area when his father died.
Diana
and
Mary Rivers
are Jane’s
cousins. Diana married
Admiral Fitzjames
(he was captain in Jane Eyre),
and they live at Thorpe Hall in Morton. Mary married
Mr. Wharton
, a
vicar, and they live at Thrush Cottage in Kilpeck.
Blains
is a friend of Michael’s. They met in the
navy. He lives in St. Ives, Cornwall.
Shirley Blains
is his sister.
Mr.
Maximilian (Max) de Winter
, is the owner of Manderley, a large mansion in an
estate in St. Ives. He lives with his son, also called
Max
. (In the
future, young Max will have a son, who will be the main character in another
novel,
Rebecca
by Daphne du Maurier).
Mr.
Poole
is the
superintendent at Grimsby Retreat. His mother was Grace Poole, the servant who
looked after Bertha Mason in the attic in Jane Eyre.
Mrs.
Leah
is the
housekeeper at Eyre Hall. She worked as a maid at Thornfield Hall in Jane Eyre.
Simon,
Beth, Daisy, Christy, Fred, Cook
and
Joseph
are servants at Eyre Hall.
Isaac
das Junot
is a Sin-Eater.
He is a sinister character who appears when there is a death at Eyre Hall.
***
Rediscover the world
of Jane Eyre...
4
Meet the Cast of
‘Midsummer at Eyre Hall’
5
Part One: Season of
Darkness
10
Chapter I – Abodes
of Horror
11
Chapter II - The
Best of Times
19
Chapter IV – Winter
of Despair
38
Chapter V – The
Worst of Times
43
Chapter VII –
Nothing Before Us
56
Chapter VIII – Hell
is Empty
65
Chapter IX – The Age
of Foolishness
76
Chapter XI – Locked
out of Heaven
95
Chapter XII–
Everything before Us
101
Chapter XIII – Epoch
of Incredulity
105
Chapter XIV –
Stairway to Heaven
114
Chapter XV Pride,
Greed, and Lust.
128
Chapter XVI – The
Agony and the Ecstasy
134
Chapter XVIII – In
Search of Helen
156
Chapter XIX The Road
to Hell
163
Part Three: Season
of Light
183
Chapter XXII –
Seashells and Puppies
191
Chapter XXIII –
Present Blessings
200
Chapter XXIV – Mr.
de Winter’s Request
207
Chapter XXV –
Thunder Moon at Eyre Hall
216
Chapter XXVI –
Susan’s Inferno
225
Chapter XXVII –
James Eyre Kirkpatrick
230
Chapter XXVIII – Max
and Helen
235
Chapter XXIX – The
Light and the Darkness
239
Chapter XXX – Return
to Eyre Hall
243
Epilogue– Midsummer
at Eyre Hall
251
Hell
is empty
And
all the devils are here.
The
Tempest
by
William Shakespeare.
Abodes
of horror have frequently been described, and castles, filled with spectres and
chimeras, conjured up by the magic spell of genius to harrow the soul, and
absorb the wondering mind. But, formed of such stuff as dreams are made of,
what were they to the mansion of despair, in one corner of which Maria sat,
endeavouring to recall her scattered thoughts!
Maria
or The Wrongs of Woman
by Mary Wollstonecraft
Abodes
of Horror
Grimsby
Retreat, 16
th
December 1866.
Please, Lord, do not let me lose my
mind in this dreadful place. Help me preserve my sanity. I must return to
Michael and Helen at Eyre Hall. I have been removed to this terrifying house in
a most fraudulent manner, deprived of my freedom, and caged in an infernal
cave, like an animal.
I was dragged to this disturbing place
and ensnared in a cage twelve nights ago by a group of armed men who barged
into Eyre Hall while I was alone. I resisted, but they forced me into a
carriage and brought me here in the dead of night. I have no idea where I am,
except that it is over four hours’ drive from home.
I was maliciously confined, and even if
I had managed to escape, I did not know in which direction I should flee. There
are thick woods to the north, east and west, and I have no idea what lies to
the south, as I have not yet seen that part of the house or grounds. I realise
I have only been here for a short time; my captivity is already proving unbearable.
My first days were distressing. I wasn’t
allowed to wash or wear clean clothes. They said they were waiting for my
trunk, but I told them I didn’t want a trunk, because I wanted to go home, and
they brought me a grey flannel dress, which was so long that the skirt dragged
along the floor and so coarse that it scraped my skin like sandpaper.
When I asked Mrs. Mills, the person who
seemed to be in charge of us, if I could wash, she laughed and said the showers
were only for those who caused trouble. I was given a basin and some cold
water, no soap or ointments. My face was dry and my lips were parched, so I
asked for the toiletries I was accustomed to using, and that was when I
discovered where I was. Mrs. Mills laughed again and told me it was not a guesthouse,
but an asylum for the mentally insane.
I was shocked when I heard the sinister
nature of my abode of horror. Why had I been removed to this mansion of
despair? Could it be a nightmare conjured up by my wondering mind? How could I
suddenly find myself in this sea of misery and madness?
My first visitor had been a tall, angular
man with a sallow face and weary eyes, who said his name was Dr. Stevens. When
I told him I already had a doctor, he told me he was a special doctor for
people who were ill, such as myself. I assured him that I was not unwell,
although I was missing my family and my home. He asked me whom I missed most,
and I told him it was Michael, my betrothed, and Helen, my daughter. He shook
his head and said that I was a widow and could not remarry without my son’s
approval. He said that I only had one child, a son called John Rochester, and
that Helen was not my daughter, but a servant at Eyre Hall, as Michael had been.
“You cannot leave here until you admit
that it has all been a fabrication of your feeble mind, Mrs. Mason. Michael was
a servant you once had, but he is no longer at Eyre Hall. You have fashioned an
infatuation with him, but he abandoned your service some time ago. Helen is
another servant’s daughter. You have imagined that this poor girl is the
stillborn daughter you lost ten years ago.”
I was perplexed and asked him who had
informed him of these details.
“Archbishop Templar has always taken an
interest in Grimsby Retreat, where you are now staying. He is your son’s mentor
and now that his father, your husband, has died, and you have lost your mind,
the archbishop is obliged to make sure Eyre Hall and the Rochester Estate are
preserved, until your son returns from his visit to America.”
Was it possible that the archbishop had
fabricated these lies and convinced these people that I was a madwoman? What
was his purpose in making me prisoner? I could not yet fathom the answers to
these questions.
“Where is John? When can I see him?”
“In due time, when you are recovered. We
will take good care of you, Mrs. Mason. Your confusion is understandable. You
have lost two husbands in a year, your only son left home, your miscarriages
and stillborn child have added to your sorrow.” He patted my hand and smiled. “But
worry not, you will recover. We will take good care of you.”
I raised my hands to my hair and felt
for my hairpins. I knew Michael was as real as the little silver butterflies
with crystal pendants I was wearing. They were his favourite. I stroked the long
pin and made sure it was firmly fixed on my hair. I imagined that as long as I
could feel it, Michael would find me. I smiled demurely at the foolish doctor
and thanked him kindly. What else could I do while I prayed Michael would find
me and take me away?
The following days were long and drawn
out. The house grew colder and gloomier every minute. In the mornings we had
breakfast in a large hall where there was a small fire covered by a huge grate,
insufficient to heat the chill room. Porridge, gritty brown bread and tea were
passed around the long table. I drank the tea, but hardly touched the food.
Dinner was tasteless and tough, stewed meat and soggy boiled vegetables, which
did little to encourage my waning appetite.
I was required to spend the mornings in
the icy room with the other residents on my floor. There was nothing in the behaviour
of these women to suggest that they were any more unstable than I was. They
were all well-dressed and reasonably groomed. My brief conversations with them
revealed to me that they had all been admitted as a result of disagreements
with their husbands, fathers, or sons, due to matters related to finance or
love. Mrs. Pengilly and Miss Short sat by the fire reading one of the tattered
books on the neglected bookshelves, while Miss Fowler and Mrs. Black knitted by
the window. There was an out of tune piano in the corner, which Miss Craft played
occasionally. A young girl called Katy, who refused to eat or speak, drew pencil
sketches of angels and demons. I had never seen anyone else, but I knew there
were more prisoners on the other floors, because I heard their cries at night
and fits of demoniac laughter echoing from below during the day.
As one monotonous day rolled into
another, I was beginning to sink into despair. I felt as if I had been buried
alive, unable to eat or sleep, until I realised that these first days had been
a holiday in comparison to the events about to take place. Chaos was about to
send Satan on his way to ruin me. I prayed my flaming warrior and his sword
would save me from despondency.
One morning, when I heard Katy crying, I
approached her and asked if she would like to talk to me about what ailed her,
but she shook her head fiercely. “Be quiet. Don’t tell anyone,” she chanted.
That evening, I heard muffled cries coming
from her room, which was across the hall from mine. I jumped out of bed and
listened behind the door, not daring to open it. I heard her feet dragging
along the floor and a man’s voice said, “You know the rules.” I rushed to the
window and even in the dead of night, I imagined I saw her wild-looking,
terrified eyes and shackled hands as he pulled her across the garden into a
shed.
The following morning, when Katy was
not sitting at the breakfast table, I asked Mrs. Mills if she was unwell.
“Unwell? Not at all. She has been
discharged. Her parents took her back home yesterday.”
Miss Craft raised her hands and moved
her fingers in the air, playing an imaginary piano. “That’s good news,” she
said and dropped her hands back to her lap.
“I’ll miss her,” said Miss Pengilly, and
Miss Short nodded.
Miss Fowler’s terrified eyes glanced at
Mrs. Black who shot up, knocking her chair to the floor. “She didn’t say
goodbye. She should have said goodbye. I knitted her a scarf. She was my
friend. Friends say goodbye when they leave!”
Mrs. Mills made eye contact with each
one of us before speaking. “Silence or I shall call Dr. Stewart. He will not be
pleased.” She paused, stabbing me with her eyes. “I hadn’t realised you were
such a trouble maker, Mrs. Mason. You will stay in your room until further
notice.”
The following days were short and gloomy,
merging into one long night. I watched the motion of the moon glide under the
clouds, and I even imagined I saw a shadow in the grounds. I whispered Michael’s
name and cried bitterly; little did I know that the real inferno was about to
begin.
It started with a knock on my door one
stormy afternoon, some days after Katy’s mysterious disappearance. I had found
a worn copy of
David Copperfield
, and took pleasure in stroking its
weathered pages, for I had trouble focusing on the words. Bitter tears spilled
from my eyes, smearing the ink, as I remembered my conversations with Mr.
Dickens at Eyre Hall and in his London home.
“May I intrude, Jane Eyre?”
I jumped out of my chair and turned
abruptly, surprised to hear my maiden name in a voice I did not recall. Neither
did I recognise the large overfed body or bulging blue eyes, which stared back
at me.
“Good afternoon, sir. Are we
acquainted?”
“You do not remember me?”
I would not have forgotten his reptilian
eyes, which didn’t seem to blink. “I’m afraid not, but please sit down. It is
not often I have company, sir.”
I waved towards a rickety chair by the
writing desk and sat down again myself. My visitor nodded and obliged. His
corpulent presence filled the tiny room and there was a sour, repugnant odour.
“I hope you are comfortable here, Jane
Eyre, for that is your name, is it not?”
“I am Mrs. Mason, at present.” I wanted
to tell him that soon I would be Mrs. Kirkpatrick, but I remembered the
doctor’s words. “My husband died almost a year ago.”
“You were once called Mrs. Rochester, I
believe?”
“Yes, Mr. Rochester died over two years
ago. Did you know my husband, Mr…?”
“Yes, I met both your husbands, madam.
Mr. Rochester and Mr. Mason both employed my mother’s services at Thornfield
Hall. Do you not remember me? My name is Poole, Mr. Daniel Poole.”
I looked at him more carefully. His veined
cheeks, bushy grey eyebrows and fuzzy beard suggested he was Richard’s age. I
tried to imagine what he might have looked like twenty years earlier, but no
one came to mind.
“I’m afraid I cannot recall having seen
you at Thornfield Hall, Mr. Poole.”
“I visited my mother on one occasion.
You were the governess at that time.”
“Poole?” Could Grace Poole, Bertha’s
drunken keeper, be this man’s mother? I was reminded of a grim, unfriendly
woman with a prim cap perched on her large head, and a coarse, gloomy face,
wearing a brown stuff dress and white apron. Mrs. Poole had spent most of her
time in a low-ceilinged, oaken chamber of the second storey at Thornfield Hall,
where she sat and sewed, and drank port, gin, or whatever spirits were
available.
I jumped out of my chair at once. “You
are Grace Poole’s son?”
“The very same. I was but a lad then. I
was already employed at Grimsby Retreat, but of course, you wouldn’t remember
the likes of me. You were too busy enticing the master of the house, weren’t
you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Funny isn’t it, how the wheels of
fortune turn unexpectedly? You were a quaint little thing. An ethereal waif,
tantalising all the men in sight.”
I trembled in the realisation that he
had not come as a friend.
“You wouldn’t have noticed me then,
would you? I wasn’t good enough for you, was I? Answer me.” His eyes bulged even
more as he moved towards me.
“I’m afraid I have no recollection of
your visit to Thornfield Hall, Mr. Poole.”
“Well, it so happens I’m the superintendent
at Grimsby Retreat, where you are at present in residence. Your stay here is in
my hands. I’ll have you know I’m not a rancorous man at all. I’ll forget how
you ignored me and demeaned my mother with your haughty airs, and I am prepared
to make your stay here much more pleasant.”
He held out his hand, but I recoiled.
“Come, Mrs. Mason, don’t be shy. I mean you no harm. Let us take a walk. I want
to show you the rest of the Retreat.”
I had no choice. I was trapped between a
thick wall and a grated window behind me, and a massive man with a repulsive
grin before me. He crushed my hand in his fat, sweaty palm.
“Your hand is cold, Jane. Come.” He
pulled my hand towards the door. “You don’t mind if I call you Jane now, do
you? I’ll show you to your new rooms. You’ll be much more comfortable there.”
I had to run to keep up with his long
strides as he dragged me across the main hall and up a winding staircase to
another floor.
“These are the best rooms, reserved for
our special guests. I also live here with my wife. Fortunately, Mrs. Poole is
unwell.” He smiled, revealing uneven grey teeth. “She won’t bother us.”
In spite of the blazing flames and
well-furnished room, I thought of hairy spiders crawling up my sleeves. I shivered
and rubbed my arms.
“You’re cold. Don’t stand in the doorway,
Jane. Come inside. This will be your room from now on. I want you to write a
list of the food you like to eat, and the clothes and other personal items you’d
like to have.”