Jasper Fforde - The Eyre Affair

‘Visiting from Osaka,’ affirmed the woman, at which the man—he seemed not to speak English—nodded his head vigorously and started to consult a Bronte guidebook written in Japanese.

‘How—?’

‘My name is Mrs Nakijima,’ announced the woman, ‘and this is Mr Suzuki.’

The man grinned at me and shook my hand excitedly.

‘This is crazy!’ I said angrily. ‘Are you trying to tell me that you two are tourists?’

‘Indeed,’ admitted Mrs Nakijima, ‘I make the jump once a year and bring a visitor with me. We touch nothing and never speak to Miss Eyre. As you can see, we are dressed fittingly.’

‘Japanese? In mid-nineteenth-century England?’

‘Why not?’

Why not indeed.

‘How do you manage it?’

The woman shrugged.

‘I just can,’ she answered simply. ‘I think hard, speak the lines and, well, here I am.’

I didn’t have time for this at all.

‘Listen to me. My name is Thursday Next. I work with Victor Analogy at the LiteraTec office in Swindon. You heard about the theft of the manuscript?’

She nodded her head.

‘There is a dark presence in this book but my plan to extract him is dependent on there being only one way in and one way out. He will stop at nothing to use you to get out if he can. I implore you to jump back home while you still can.’

Mrs Nakijima consulted for some time with her client. She explained that Mr Suzuki was hoping to see Jane if possible, but that if he were taken back now he would want a refund. I reiterated my position on the matter and they eventually agreed. I followed them to their room upstairs and waited while they packed. Mrs Nakijima and Mr Suzuki both shook me by the hand, held on to each other and evaporated. I shook my head sadly. It seemed there were very few places that the tourist business hadn’t touched.

I left the warmth of the inn for the chill exterior and made my way past a stall selling late root vegetables and on to The Millcote, where I enquired about any new guests.

‘And who would be wanting to see Mr Hedge?’ enquired the innkeeper, spitting into and then polishing a crude beer mug.

‘Tell him Miss Next is here to see him.’

The innkeeper vanished upstairs and returned presently.

‘Room Seven,’ he replied shortly, and returned to his duties.

Acheron was sitting by the window, his back to the door. He didn’t move when I entered.

‘Hello, Thursday.’

‘Mr Hedge?’

‘Locals in mid-nineteenth-century England are a superstitious lot. I thought Hades might seem a little strong for them.’

He turned to face me, his piercing blue eyes seeming to look straight into me. But his power over me had waned; he could not read me as he had others. He sensed this immediately, gave a half-smile and resumed staring out of the window.

‘You grow strong, Miss Next.’

‘I thrive on adversity.’

He gave a short laugh.

‘I should have made quite sure of you back at Styx’s apartment.’

‘And spoilt all the fun? Your life would be considerably more dull without me and the rest of SpecOps to louse it up.’

He ignored me and changed the subject.

‘Someone as resourceful as you would never have come in here without a way out. What is it, Thursday? A prearranged code to let Mycroft know when to open the door?’

‘Something like that. If you give me the instruction manual and Polly I promise you shall have a fair trial.’

Hades laughed.

‘I think I am way beyond a fair trial, Thursday. I could kill you now and I feel a strong urge to do precisely that, but the prospect of being trapped in this narrative for all time bars me from that action. I tried to get to London but it’s impossible; the only towns that exist in this world are the places that Charlotte Bronte wrote about and which feature in the narrative. Gateshead, Lowood—I’m surprised that there is even as much of this town. Give me the code word to get out and you can have the manual and Polly.’

‘No. You give me the manual and my aunt first.’

‘You see? Impasse. You’ll want to wait until the book is written again, though, won’t you?’

‘Of course.’

‘Then you will expect no trouble from me until such time as Jane leaves Thornfield for good. After that, we negotiate.’

‘I won’t negotiate, Hades.’

Hades shook his head slowly. ‘You’ll negotiate, Miss Next. You may be disgustingly righteous but even you will balk at spending the rest of your life in here. You’re an intelligent woman; I’m sure you’ll think of something.’

I sighed and walked back outside, where the bustle of the shoppers and traders was a welcome break from the dark soul of Hades.

The weeks passed rapidly at Thornfield and I busied myself with the task of making Jane secure without her ever knowing it. I had a young lad positioned at the Millcote to warn of Hades’ movements, but he seemed quite happy just to go out walking every morning, borrow books from the local doctor, and spend his time at the inn. His inaction was a cause of some worry, but I was glad it was merely that for the time being.

Rochester had sent a note advising of his return and a party was arranged for local friends of his. Jane seemed to be severely agitated by the arrival of the airhead Blanche Ingram, but I gave it little heed. I was busy trying to arrange security with John, the cook’s husband, who was a resourceful and intelligent man. I had taught him to shoot with Rochester’s pistols and he was, I was delighted to find out, an excellent shot. I had thought that Hades might make an appearance with one of the guests but, apart from the arrival of Mr Mason from the West Indies, nothing out of the ordinary occurred.

The weeks turned into months and I saw little of Jane—on purpose, of course—but kept in contact with the household and Mr Rochester to make sure that all was going well. And it appeared that all was going well. As usual, Mr Mason was bitten by his mad sister in the upper room; I was standing outside the locked door when Rochester went for the doctor and Jane tended to Mason’s wounds. When the doctor arrived I kept watch in the arbour outside, where I knew Jane and Rochester would meet. And so it went on until a brief respite when Jane went away to visit her dying aunt in Gateshead. Rochester had decided to marry Blanche Ingram by this time and things had been slightly tense between him and Jane. I felt some relief that she was away; I could relax and talk to Rochester quite easily without Jane suspecting anything.

‘You aren’t sleeping,’ observed Rochester as we walked together on the front lawn. ‘Look how your eyes are dark-rimmed and languorous.’

‘I don’t sleep well here, not while Hades is barely five miles distant.’

‘Your spies, surely, would alert you to any movement of his?’

It was true; the network worked well, although not without some considerable expenditure on Rochester’s part. If Hades set off anywhere I knew about it within two minutes from a rider who stood by for just such an occasion. It was in this manner that I was able to find him when he was out, either walking or reading or beating peasants with his stick. He had never come within a mile of the house, and I was happy to keep it that way.