The Trouble With Cravats
In the days when she'd still been Jane Eyre, orphaned governess, Jane had spent a deal of time anticipating the varied and numerous pleasures that would be hers after marrying Edward Rochester. Now, at the beginning of her second week of wedded bliss, she was pleased to be able to note that for once reality exceeded imagination.
She could never have conjured up for herself, then, what it would be like to begin each day enfolded in his arms, with the brush of his lips on her temples gradually drawing her forth into consciousness. She could never have conceived of the pleasure, the joy that could arise from the most ordinary of tasks when imbued with the full awareness of his love. The daily rituals of washing and dressing, of taking walks, of dining, of stoking up the fire, of lighting candles, of retiring to bed – all took on a deeper and dearer purpose with him near.
In the early mornings when all was quiet save for the calls of birds in the wood outside, they lay together in the patches of pale sunlight that trickled through the windows, slid through the gaps between the curtains and pooled on their bed.
"Tell me," he would murmur, his hand moving over her, "what is this?"
"My chin."
"And what is this?"
"My ear."
"And this?"
"My hair."
"And this?"
"My eyebrow."
"And this?"
"My eye."
"And what does it see?"
"You."
"And what else?"
"Nothing else."
"And what would it like to see?"
"Nothing else. Nothing but you."
As the world began stirring from its rest, he lay with his head against her heart and listened as she whispered to him her dreams for their life together. Sometimes the dreams became fairytale, and sometimes their life seemed a dream, for what greater wonder could the heart know or the mind conceive than her body in his arms, her voice in his ear, her promise in a band round her finger?
"Do you remember saying you would take me away to live on the moon?" She smiled at the recollection, slowly stroking back his hair. "You said we would sleep by a volcano for warmth, and by day you would gather manna for us to eat."
"Would you have liked that? Would it not have been lonely for you?"
"No, never lonely."
"If we could go today, would you wish to?"
"I wish for nothing but what you can give me."
The light was changing. It was time to rise and begin another day, to face all the challenges and joys it held in store. Downstairs he could hear that John and Mary were up and about, already starting the day's tasks. Jane stirred at his side. It was time to relinquish the dreams.
"Someday, my love." he murmured. "Someday we will go." She gave his hair a last stroke and rose to dress.
"Jane, darling, would you be an angel and ring for John?"
The sun was much brighter now, coming in through the windows with the full strength of the morning, lending a rosy hue to her pale skin. While Edward sat on the bed, she washed and dressed quickly, talking to him all the while. Screens had been set up in the corner of the room for privacy, but as there was no one in the room but themselves they stood unutilized.
"Certainly."
Jane was thankful that all of her frocks fastened in the front, which allowed her to dress quickly and without the aid of a servant. It was unavoidable, she supposed, that when she finally did make the trip to Millcote that Edward had promised her, and did choose some new gowns that would better befit her married status, she would need to have some finer gowns that would require additional assistance to put on, but for the moment she was content to be fully independent in matters of her own toilette. She took a couple more moments pinning up her hair, then went over to him and bent to kiss him gently.
"I'll see you downstairs."
She didn't much care for the imperious fashion of summoning servants, being herself so unaccustomed to doing so, but for formality's sake she gave the bell pull a firm tug on her way out. As she descended the stairs, she meditated on all the changes she wanted to bring out about – in the house, of course, which was the worse for wear after years of neglect and in desperate need of some brightening up – but also to their routine: hers and Edward's. They had fallen almost immediately into a series of pleasant habits following the morning of their union in the parish church. They walked for hours every day in the woods and fields around the house, while evenings were spent by the fireside in alternate reading and conversation, but the morning – her favorite time of day – saw them separated, if only for minutes – as their differing abilities forced them to turn to others: Edward to John, to see to his dressing and shaving, and Jane to Mary to see about the daily household arrangements. The simple circumstance of having to go downstairs alone every morning saddened her, and Jane regretted every moment spent apart from her husband. In a childish way that betrayed her youth, she envied John for his skills, wishing she could do for Edward what the old servant did with such ease, yet she was too shy to ask for instruction, fearful that it would damage her authority. She knew that John and Mary thought well of her, but she was also mindful of the reproaches of a year ago at the announcement of the first engagement, when she was thought too young, too inexperienced, and no doubt too low for the master. She did not wish to appear any of these things now, and ever conscious of her youth, was loathe to draw attention to it in any way.
She met John as she approached the kitchen, wishing him a cheerful good morning as he hastened to his master's aid. He smiled and greeted her kindly, but as he passed her and started up the stairs, she noticed the lag in his step, the way he clutched at the banister as he climbed, the heavy rise and fall of his shoulders that showed what an ordeal it was for him. John was getting on in age. He had, after all, looked after Mr. Rochester since he was a boy, and with her husband nearing his fortieth year, it was no wonder the old servant was reaching the point where constant administration to his master was taxing his strength. As Jane watched John reach the upper floor and disappear down the corridor to the master chamber, it seemed more important than ever that she give him and Mary a bit of respite, if only to be able to retain their service for longer. She knew it was time to swallow her pride and ask for help. With John's tired figure clear in her mind, she entered the kitchen.
She found the housekeeper giving the table and dresser tops a good scouring while a pot of some deliciously aromatic stew bubbled over the fire. They exchanged good mornings, and while Jane inquired about the day's tasks and issued suggestions about meals, she pondered how to broach the subject of her husband's needs. As the conversation meandered to speculations about the weather, she realized the only way was a direct confrontation. Drawing a deep breath, she took the plunge.
"Mary, may I ask you something?"
"Of course, Madam."
"You and John both know how grateful Mr. Rochester and I are for your loyal service, particularly over the past year which we know to have been taxing for you…" Jane stopped, noticing the sudden draining of color in the housekeeper's face, and it came to her that her little speech sounded very much like the prelude to a dismissal. More self-conscious than ever, she began again,
"I wanted to ask you personally, Mary, whether you think John would be offended if I were to take over his morning duties with regard to Mr. Rochester's dress?"
Mary smiled broadly, relief softening her weathered face. "Is that all, Madam?" She regarded her young mistress almost fondly. "No, I daresay he'd not be cross wi' you."
"You are quite sure? It is only that I should like to be able to do more for my husband, but only such things as it becomes a wife to perform. I would, of course, leave the shaving and other – delicate matters – to John's superior abilities."
"Very well, Madam. Shall I tell John when he comes down?"
"If you would, Mary, I'd be much obliged." Jane hesitated, glanced at the door, then looked back at the housekeeper.
"Is there anything else, Madam?"
"Well, there is, yes. I'm afraid my familiarity with a gentleman's wardrobe is quite limited…" Irritated with her own pathetic prevaricating, Jane made her hands – which she'd been twisting together like an anxious schoolgirl – into fists behind her back and said,
"The simple fact is that I'm utterly ignorant of how to tie a cravat. Would you show me how, Mary?"
For years afterward, Mary would remember her mistress' earnest, determined face, the desire for usefulness behind her soft voice and the deep love for her husband that drove it all. This young woman would be the saving of him, that much she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt. The housekeeper felt tears spring to her eyes as she answered.
"I will show you, with pleasure, Madam."
The following morning when John came in as usual, Jane remained in the bedchamber, waiting behind the screens while her husband was helped to clean himself with a wet towel and to shave. But rather than staying to help his master dress, John excused himself and quitted the room, leaving Edward in some confusion.
"What the devil does the fellow think he's doing? What does he mean by it?" Jane suppressed a laugh.
"Don't be cross with John, it was after my instruction that he left."
Edward frowned. Jane went over to him and touched his arm like making a request.
"I'd like to be the one to help you from now on, Darling – that is, if you approve."
"Jane, you do so much for me already. How can I ask this of you as well, when John is paid to do it?"
"But I want to, Edward. For John it is but a task to perform. For me it is a pleasure."
He was quiet for a moment, clenching his teeth and forcing his breaths into evenness to keep the tears at bay. At last he said,
"You told me once that you would give your life to serve me. I believe you would let me claim that precious life right now, without a second thought."
"And so I would."
"I neither expect nor deserve such devotion – no, nor such sacrifice."
"Edward, I am not about to cast myself on a funeral pyre. I am merely asking if I may assist you to dress."
He smiled at her bluntness – the best antidote to the melancholy he was still struggling to shrug off – but felt speech was beyond him. In the silence, Jane went to the chair over which John had draped Edward's clothes: brown breeches, brown waistcoat, navy blue coat, a clean white shirt, freshly starched, and a blue cravat. Wordlessly, she held the articles out to him, one by one. He pulled on the shirt, standing still while she did up the buttons, her small fingers quicker and surer than his one-handed progress. He leaned on her for balance as he pulled on his trousers, was still again as she buttoned them closed. The clothes all came on, a little slower and perhaps with more awkwardness than with John's aid, but Edward felt his wife's hands on him, her every touch a gesture of devotion. He heard her soft voice ushering him to put an arm here, to hold this there, to straighten, to bend, and knew there was love behind every word, not pity. When at last she told him to bend his head down and he felt the smooth silk of his cravat slipping around his neck, he asked,
"When did you learn to do this?" A short release of air betrayed her smile. His face grimaced in suspicion.
"I say, you didn't practice on your cousin, Rivers, did you?"
Jane laughed outright, the idea of St. John encouraging or even tolerating any sort of physical contact beyond the formal handshake striking her as ludicrous in the extreme.
"No," she said, her voice warm with smiling. "St. John would have considered such a friendly gesture offensive – an affront to his dignity – from me, at least."
"Then he was a fool," Edward said softly.
Jane ran a comb through his thick locks, smoothing them back again afterwards with her fingers. When she'd tucked the comb into his waistcoat pocket, she held him away from her and surveyed her progress.
"You look very civilized, Darling. Perhaps John will not be too upset with me after all, for having usurped him as valet."
Cautiously, Edward ran his fingers over his collar, down the front of his waistcoat. All felt proper and in place, and his body felt relaxed rather than stiffened as it did when John helped him, resenting every touch from the servant's hands, every touch that reminded him of his own helplessness.
He reached out, brushing his wife's sleeve, then withdrew, the words of thanks freezing on his lips. He had dreamed once of spoiling her, of giving her a life that the misfortunes surrounding her upbringing had denied her. He had dreamed of traveling with her, of showing her the world and its many luxuries, of devoting himself to her yet keeping her for himself, so that all she saw and learned would be his gift, and his alone. All this he had hoped and planned for. All this he had wanted for her. And now, in the center of a dusty old room, in a ruined, isolated house that lay as far from the shining cities of Europe as earth lay from heaven, she stood at his side in the stark shafts of morning light that he could only just perceive, and cared for him. And it was no dream.
"And to think," he whispered, "that I once spoke of taking you to the moon." He shook his head, sighing heavily.
"Jane, I shall despise my deficiencies more than ever, now, being able to do so little for you."
"What nonsense you talk," Jane murmured, "when you know you can give me this," she guided his lips to hers, "and this." She lifted his hand to her face, leaving his deft fingers to caress it in the way that made her skin tingle and her pulse quicken, moving in slow sweeps down to her throat.
"We are already there, Edward."
It was a good half-hour before they arrived downstairs. John and Mary said nothing, but neither could help noticing the distinct crookedness of their master's cravat.