Thornfield Hall by Jane Stubbs Page A

happy about the mud. It will ruin the polish on his shoes.’
    â€˜Sam thinks he’s a spy.’
    â€˜A French spy!’
    â€˜Nah. War’s over. A long time since. He’s a spy for Mr Rochester.’
    â€˜Then why did Mr Rochester send him on ahead? Why give us warning? Give us time to hide stuff, plaster over the cracks. Much more likely the master would creep up and take us by surprise. Catch us with our trousers down, so to speak. Begging your pardon for language, Mrs Fairfax.’
    â€˜That sounds more like master.’ Sam thought for a bit. A smile illuminated his face. ‘I know. My guess is that Mr Rochester’s fed up with him. He’s finding him annoying. He were all right in Paris. Could show him the ropes and speak the lingo. Now he’s back in England he seems a bit stupid, foppish like. I bet master wishes he’d left little chap in Paris. He don’t want to dismiss him. Bit hard to cut him loose, being a foreigner like. But he just wants him out of his hair – literally.’
    â€˜So he may not be a spy.’
    â€˜Mr Rochester may not have sent him with the intention that he spies on us, but that is exactly what he will do. Valets are sneaky little creatures. Take my word for it, he will spy on us. And he will creep round master dropping poison in his ear. He has to be useful to keep his place. Fastening buttons and brushing hairs off jackets is not enough to earn his keep here.’ Sam pursed his lips and nodded his head up and down as he tested the strength of his theory. Then, apparently satisfied, he turned to John and me.
    â€˜We’d best be careful, specially about Bertha. As far as we know he’s not taken his bible oath, like rest of us. Until Mr Rochester hisself says so, we’d best keep mum.’
    John tapped his top lip with his forefinger to show he intended to keep his lips sealed.
    â€˜That’s right,’ said Sam, ‘and batten down the hatches.’
    We did not feel it necessary to return to the subject. Here in Yorkshire we are naturally suspicious of strangers. We look askance at visitors if they come from a different county in England so there was little hope for the Frenchman. Especially since he was generally thought to be a spy. The sooner Monsieur Alphonse removed himself from Thornfield Hall the better.

    My last task that day was to visit the third floor. Bertha was asleep. The interruption of her visit downstairs had disturbed her. It took only a ripple in the smooth surface of her life to upset her thoroughly. She’d had a fit of temper that was quickly followed by a bout of weeping. Grace and I decided against telling her of Mr Rochester’s imminent arrival. As Grace said, he was not interested in her, and she was not interested in him. She had never enquired as to the identity of our master or even the name of the house in which she was living. For his part Mr Rochester had made no effort to inform himself about the welfare of his mysterious house guest.
    Grace agreed with the general view that Monsieur Alphonse posed a threat of an unspecified nature. We decided it was safer, while the little Frenchman was here, to keep Bertha confined to the third floor and to put a stop on her little expeditions. We did not think she would protest or complain. She was happiest leading a very quiet life with a regular routine.
    The valet was to sleep in the old butler’s room in the men-servants’ corridor. Although this was on the third floor it was at the back of the house, well away from Grace and Bertha, whose rooms were at the front. It was possible to prevent his seeing them during the day as long as he did not go exploring in the night.
    We worked very hard for the next few days. We cleaned and dusted, polished and waxed. The beds were stripped and the sheets were boiled. The meat was ordered and the vegetables were pickled. The extra hands I had recruited from The George to help with the