Twelfth Night at Eyre Hall Read Free Page B

not wish to remain in Miss Adele’s service once she marries Mr.
Greenwood, who I am afraid I increasingly dislike. They have postponed the
marriage firstly due to her mother’s ill health, and then her death, but I can
see no further excuses for postponement. 
    After a brief stay at Mr.
Greenwood’s house in London, we will be spending Christmas at Eyre Hall. Mr. Greenwood’s
son, Dante, will be travelling with us to England. Mr. Greenwood seems intent
on Dante’s marriage to Miss Annette Mason, so he must speak to Mrs. R.
urgently. They have never met, so there is no love on either part. Mr.
Greenwood’s funds are growing short (most of the expenses in Venice have been
covered by Miss Adele’s means), and Miss Mason has been generously bestowed a
large dowry. You see, Michael, it is their way. They care little for love, or
honesty. Their main concerns are placed on power, and money. Sadly, you and I
are insignificant pawns in this game.
    Michael, I must beg you return to
Eyre Hall and meet me. I do not wish to alarm you, but I need your assistance
for a matter of life or death. Only you can help me, brother. Believe
me, I would not ask you to return to the place you so dispiritedly left if it
were not urgent and essential for my wellbeing. 
    Miss Adele says we will be
arriving in London at the beginning of December and we will be travelling to
Eyre Hall before Christmas Eve. I pray that you receive this letter and that we
will be able to see each other at Eyre Hall on Christmas Eve.
    Your affectionate and loving
sister,
    Susan  
    ***

Chapter II – Nell
    Mrs. Rochester was sitting on her chaise
longue by the window, sketching the leafless trees outside her window, while I
read the Book of Ecclesiastes to her, as I do almost every afternoon.
She says she likes to hear me read, but I sometimes wonder if she is even
listening, because I often stumble on the long words, or just leave them out,
and she doesn’t seem to notice. Yesterday, just for fun, I skipped every second
verse, and she never batted an eyelid. Even when she is looking at me, which is
not often, her sad eyes are far away, and she hardly speaks.
    Beth and Christy say she wasn’t always
like that. They say she used to be merry and talkative, before it all happened,
but that is how she has been since I first started reading to her, almost a
year ago. When I ask them what they mean by ‘all’, they say Mr. Rochester’s
death, and ‘all that’. And when I ask again, about ‘all that’, they say, ‘Things’,
and when I ask, ‘What things?’, they say, ‘Her sickness’, and if I go on
asking, they say, ‘Children shouldn’t gossip,’ or ‘Children should be seen and
not heard’, so I do not know what is wrong, but I do know she is like a
sleepwalker most of the time, except when Mr. Briggs and Mr. Smythe come, and
they sit for hours talking about numbers, writing in huge books and scattering
bits of paper everywhere. 
    My mother tells me that she is selfish
and proud, and I am fortunate because she has taken a fancy to me. I don’t think
she is selfish or proud. I think she is kind and gentle. I do not mind reading,
but sometimes my mouth is as dry as straw, my hands ache from holding the heavy
book, and my neck feels stiff from bending to read. When I stand, my legs
tremble from sitting on the same chair for hours on end, but I never complain.
I just read and watch her, because she is beautiful, and in spite of
everything, I want to be like her when I grow up, but happier, definitely
happier. I do not understand why she cannot be happy; she has such fine clothes
and jewels, and this wonderful house and all the countryside as far as I can see,
or even walk, is hers!
    I turned back to the Bible and continued
where I had left off, skipping every third verse this time.
    “‘ There is a time for everything, and
a season for every activity under heaven:
    A time to be born and a time to die,
    A time to plant and a time to uproot,
    A time