“Oh no, sir.”
“Then I think we understand each other.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Rochester.”
“It may actually be, Mrs. Greenway, that little Tiso could be of help to you in your work.”
She nodded solemnly, and I left, with that seed in her mind. Tiso was old enough to need occupation and young enough to adjust to new ways. I hoped it would work.
***
Mr. Carter arrived at Ferndean that afternoon. He was impeccably dressed, with a warm and pleasant way about him that made me feel immediately at ease as we greeted each other. I led him into the library as if it were my own home, though it was almost as unfamiliar to me as it was to him.
“It is a pleasure to meet you at last,” I said, motioning him to a chair.
“You have just arrived, I understand,” he said.
“Three days ago. But as you know from my letter, I have immediate concerns regarding my wife.”
“Your wife?” he said, and I remembered too late that I had referred only to “a relative.”
“Yes, indeed. My wife.” I cleared my throat. “She is, unfortunately, the victim of some familial disorder. You may recall that I asked you to look into the Grimsby Retreat.”
“Yes, and I did. You are not, by any chance, a Quaker, are you? It’s a Quaker institution, designed primarily for members of their own persuasion.”
“For Quakers only?”
“Not exclusively, but nearly. I believe that funding is sometimes difficult; perhaps if a person were to offer a generous gift, they might consider…”
I settled back in my chair. “Tell me about the place.”
“It has a fine reputation; they exercise what they call the ‘moral treatment’ of their patients, believing that if a mad person is treated as if he were a rational being, whatever spark of rationality remains will be nourished.”
“And they have cures?”
“Yes, of course. But you must realize that not everyone is curable. May I see her?”
If the Grimsby Retreat could offer a cure, I thought, it might be worth taking her there, despite my promises. Surely both Jonas and Bertha herself would have wanted me to follow that path. But first I must deal with the immediate issue.
“Actually,” I told him, “I have a more pressing need of help with her.” I explained about the laudanum, and that she needed treatment for her addiction to it. And I went on to tell him of her habit of sleeping in the day and roaming at night, her need for secure surroundings, even her rages and her occasional violence. It was not necessary to tell him so much, I am sure, but once I began to unburden myself I could barely stop, and he listened, calmly, quietly, without judgment.
When I had told him everything, including my intention to keep our marital connection a secret, at least for the time being, I led him upstairs to her room and he saw her lying there, not even slightly restless. He asked me when she had had her last dose. I told him, and he nodded again and opened his valise and measured out something into a bottle and gave me instructions. He would be back every day, he said, to monitor how she was doing, and he urged me to send for him if there was a crisis and warned me never to give more of the medication than he advised. She would, he said, be quit of her addiction in a month or six weeks, if I obeyed his instructions.
But those six weeks were among the worst I could have imagined.
Chapter 3
Mr. Carter was true to his word: he came every day, shortly after noon. Bertha was at first usually asleep, but as the effects of the medication became less and less, she grew more and more agitated, her rages and visions and screaming continuing for hours on end. I could not imagine what Mrs. Greenway down in the kitchen thought; Tiso generally stood in Bertha’s chambers with her back against the door, not quite willing to leave her mother, but staying as far as she could get from the terrifying creature Bertha had become. For her part, Molly followed Bertha around the room, murmuring, singing, caressing, trying all sorts of tricks to distract her, to soothe her to sleep. Sometimes they worked, but more often they did not. The first time Mr. Carter saw Bertha’s outbursts, he suggested to me that I tie her down to keep her from hurting herself or others, but I could not bring myself to do that.
At Valley View, I had relied on Molly to tend Bertha, and I had gone to her apartment each day for only a short time, but at first at Ferndean I made it my business to be with Bertha as much as possible; it was my fault, after all, that she had become addicted and that she now suffered from withdrawal of the medicine. Only now and then did I ride back over to Thornfield for respite. When she slept, I would slip away to find some peace: I could not have kept my sanity if I had had to stay constantly locked up with her as Molly did. As for Molly, I urged her to give herself a rest, to leave Bertha for a while and go to the kitchen or out into the garden. But she would not leave Bertha’s side, sending Tiso to fetch the meals or a jug of water when Bertha demanded it, or to empty the chamber pot.
And Mrs. Greenway was true to her word as well. As much as she could, she took Tiso under her care, luring her from Bertha’s bedchamber with sweet treats and promises to teach her how to cook in the English style.
After those initial weeks, when it became clear that the laudanum addiction had run its course, it was also clear that Bertha had further regressed. She rarely slept now, neither in the day nor at night, and she roamed her bedchamber with a fury, grumbling and murmuring to herself, telling herself incoherent tales, laughing wildly. Once, left alone for just a moment, she pounded her bare hands against the mullioned windows until one shattered, and she cut herself quite severely. When Molly returned, Bertha was in the process of licking up her own blood as it ran down her arms.
In desperation, Carter and I rode to the Grimsby Retreat to speak with Mr. Mitchell, who was in charge there. I had regained my hopes for the place as time had passed, realizing more and more each day how futile and mistaken had been my plan to house Bertha permanently at Ferndean. As we rode through the grounds, I began to feel optimistic. Grimsby was a grand estate, with handsome spired buildings and walkways across the gardens and green lawns. It was nothing at all like the gloomy asylum in Kingston.
Inside, as we were led to Mr. Mitchell’s office, I noted the tall windows, the bright rooms, the lack of unpleasant odors. Bertha could be cared for here as well as anywhere, I told myself. It was not at all what Jonas was thinking of when he exacted that promise from me, and my spirits rose at that thought.
