R.Q. Bell

 Ξ  From the Journal of Edward F. Rochester ~ 1825  Ξ 

~ “But why should I not have made such an attempt, Edward? For besides the child and her nurse, there is now a governess for her.” ~

“Ah, Mrs. Fairfax has been successful, then?”

He nodded. “I did mention that in my letter.”

“Some hardened, upright spinster to correct every French defect, I suppose?”

“No, not a spinster, but a young woman. She arrived in October, I believe.”

“You have met her, then?”

“No, but when I had tea with Mrs. Fairfax in November, she mentioned the new governess: a pleasant young woman possessed of fine tutorial gifts. Seems they often spend the evenings together.”

“That is one benefit, at least. She is good company for my housekeeper.”

“You simply couldn’t be bothered to let an old friend in on yet another Rochester secret, eh? I must discover these things for myself?” He shook his head. “After all these years, am I not to be trusted?”

I looked away, ashamed. “I feared you would ask me to relinquish the plan, and I was in such a damned hurry to be back to the Continent. Perhaps it was imprudent, even cowardly of me, but I knew you would have questions, would demand explanations…”

“But a child! Edward, for God’s sake! Where on earth did you pick her up?”

I winced. “That, as you so plainly suggest, is what I did not do. Be patient, Carter, and you will hear the whole story, just as I promised in my letter. But as to circumstances…let me just say it was rather more a case of her being left on my hands.”

“I see,” he replied, shaking his head, a deuced, all-knowing smile on his face.

“James, you must believe me. The child is not my daughter.”

“That is precisely the conclusion everyone else will draw, Edward. And on the face of it, the supposition is not unjustifiable, I daresay. Are you aware of the rumors?”

“Of course. There are always rumors,” I replied bitterly. “It is the way of things. People’s lives are so pathetic they have nothing better to ponder each day than hearsay and scandal. When one day a little French girl arrives at the house of an English country gentleman, the natural assumption is of course, that she is my bastard daughter. It merely adds to the mysteries associated with Edward Rochester and Thornfield Hall.” I laughed. “I would be disappointed if such an event did not set all the tongues to wagging. I don’t give a damn for the opinion of others, Carter, only yours. Truly, I cannot abide that you would unjustly condemn me.”

“What else should I conclude? You have been very close over the years, and yet I have gleaned much from our rare conversations and the scattered letters I have received. You have wandered the globe, living at Paris, Naples, Rome, St. Petersburg for God’s sake! The very edge of civilization. Living with mistresses…well, surely, the child belongs to one of them.”

“No, Carter, no. I plead my innocence, and I beg you would believe me. I am not Adele’s father.”

~ I Arrive in Dover – End of Part II ~

© 2016 by R.Q. Bell and Imaginality Press; All rights reserved.

 Ξ  From the Journal of Edward F. Rochester ~ 1825  Ξ

“It’s good to see you again, Rochester,” exclaimed James Carter, as my trunk was hoisted onto the top rack of the coach preparing to leave Dover.

We shook hands. “I am glad you are come to meet me, James.”

My dog Pilot jumped in before ahead of us, then pushed his nose forward as we climbed in after. I scratched his ear, while Carter patted his head.

“Aye, dog. I am glad to see you as well.”

The coach soon settled into a rattling rhythm as we headed north along the Dover Road towards London.

Early January was damned cold, even bundled as we were from head to foot against the weather. The morning mist was gathering, but the road was yet dry, and Carter and I were the only passengers. After we had bumped along in silence for awhile, he suddenly observed, “Your dog at least looks hale and well-fed, Rochester.”

“That is well. And I?”

“To all outward appearances, you are very hearty…”

“…outward appearances?”

“You are quite distracted by something, Edward. You forget how well I know you, in spite of your attempts to conceal everything.”

“James, the death of your son–can you forgive my cold heart?

Well, it’s a damn sorry excuse is all, and I heartily regret it.”

“Thank you, Edward. It is strange. As a doctor, I have attended the deathbed of many a still-born infant, and seen the grief of so many mothers and fathers. I cannot deny that I felt their sorrows, and grieved for their losses, but when it is your own flesh and blood…”

“…it is a very different thing, indeed. But no apology is necessary, James. You cannot be expected to grieve for every child as you grieve the death of your own son. No man has that much mercy in his soul.”

Carter nodded. Mutely he gazed at me a moment, unable to reply. He turned his face to the window, and watched the barren, frost-laden meadows roll by. “I could not know him, Edward. He died without a name, and yet the pain was…so much greater than I could have imagined,” his eyes glistening with tears. “What should it be like to lose a child who has lived in the world? Whom you have seen smile, and laugh, and cry and call you ‘Father’?”

I shook my head. “It is something no man can fathom until he must walk through that valley. But take heart. Emily is young, is she not? She will yet be able to bear children, I trust?”

He smiled at hearing his wife’s name. “She speaks of it already. But now,” he continued more cheerfully, “while I am grateful for your condolences, belatedly though you offer them, you shall not evade my concern for you. Late last summer when you came to Thornfield, you took every precaution to prevent any encounter between us. Why?”

I laughed. “How can you ask me that? You wrote to me in November, as I recall, informing me in rather a disapproving tone, that you had discovered a child was living there. I knew you would have such objections, so, I simply told you nothing about her.”

“But why should I not have made such an attempt, Edward? For besides the child and her nurse, there is now a governess for her.”

~ I Arrive in Dover – End Part I ~

© 2016 by R.Q. Bell and Imaginality Press; All rights reserved.