with a snapped neck?” Charles Thornfield asked, regaining his testiness.
By the time we had reached Nalin, my entire body was confused—an ankle ballooning, breath taut and hoarse, rough but kind fingers imprinted upon my torso, roiling anger in my belly at being caught out in such a pathetic state, a strange echoing sweetness in my ears at, Shall we see about getting you home?
“I’ll lead Nalin,” Mr. Thornfield proposed, linking his fingers together and leaning to make a step for me. “Quick, now, before you indulge the urge to faint at last.”
This barbed remark proved all that was necessary to effect a complete cure.
Setting the boot of my uninjured foot in Mr. Thornfield’s hands, I hoisted myself onto Nalin. My other ankle pulsed bubbling tar, but it would keep; as jauntily as I could, I dipped my head in imitation of his first snide bow and calculated the distance from the hedgerow to Highgate House.
A quarter of a mile, I thought: close enough for me to make it without danger of falling; close enough for the master to make it on foot.
“I fear this injury should be seen to speedily, Mr. Thornfield,” I called down. “I’ll send one of the grooms back to fetch you.”
With this insane parting jibe, already anticipating my return to London and imminent penury, I set off on my master’s horse for my own ancestral house.
SEVENTEEN
I both wished and feared to see Mr. Rochester on the day which followed this sleepless night: I wanted to hear his voice again, yet feared to meet his eye.
I retired straight to my aunt’s former room wretchedly humiliated and at once sipped at the laudanum bottle I had packed as a precaution against melancholy or sudden disaster. I awoke to an ankle blazing like a lighthouse beacon, a small breakfast tray of broth and cold green rice, and a folded communiqué written in Sahjara’s friendly scrawl:
Dear Miss Stone,
Thank you for seeing to Nalin, as I was ever so worried when I heard there was an accident and the more so for your sake but I was yet glad you returned her to the stables unharmed though you were harmed yourself. Charles has returned! Happy day! He says not to disturb you, but only send you this note and ask that you ring for Mrs. Kaur when you awaken so she might treat your ankle properly and he won’t let me see you as he says you must rest but know I am thinking of you every second.
Very sincerely affectionately and kindly,
Sahjara Kaur
This brought a smile to my face; but, hark—here was another missive below the first, penned on much more masculine paper and in a matching hand:
Dear Miss Stone,
As you refused my offices so far as to flee the scene entirely and barricade yourself against enemy encroachment, I will not crudely offer them again but rather suggest that Mrs. Garima Kaur has a working practical knowledge of the whereabouts of the human ankle and a steady hand, since I’ve no wish to further alarm you. A repast has been provided, lest your strategy be to remain in your fortifications, but I assure you that should you emerge under the white flag of truce, the natives—though savage and frankly even heathen—will greet you with unparalleled interest.
Your servant,
Charles Thornfield
Groaning aloud did me no tangible good, reader: and yet, groan aloud I did. I rolled over with a twofold whimper—half because it hurt my ankle, half because stupidity (particularly my own) hurts my heart.
Knock, knock, knock.
“Just a moment,” I called.
A glance at the ivory light through the window told me it was already ten if not later; duly considerate of my responsibilities, I stepped out of bed and promptly collapsed.
The door flew open to reveal Mrs. Garima Kaur’s feet. If feet could be amused, I have no doubt but that her toes would have laughed, such was the indignity of my position.
“All right?” she asked, eyes narrowing.
“No,” I admitted.
She entered, tension marring the straight sweep of her scar. After she had got me safely seated on the rumpled bedclothes, she searched my face; this was not simple concern, but rather a critical study—or perhaps I only thought so because her own physiognomy was so very apparent, her face resembling nothing so much as a handsomely clothed skull. Though she spoke English poorly, Mrs. Kaur’s eyes positively radiated intellect, and I wondered what heights of nuance she could achieve in her native tongue.