The Eyre Affair_ A Novel - Jasper Fforde [124]
“I’m sorry, miss. I was in the bar downstairs, not drinking, mind; I swear to it. He must have slipped past me—”
“Did anyone else come down the stairs, Daniel? Tell me quick!”
“No one. No one save the old lady . . .”
I took the horse from one of my riders and was at Thornfield in double-quick time. Neither of the guards at the doors had seen anything of Hades. I entered and found Edward in the morning room, toasting himself from a bottle of brandy. He raised his glass as I entered.
“She’s gone, hasn’t she?” he asked.
“She has.”
“Damnation! Curse the circumstances that allowed me to be trapped into the wedding with that half-wit and curse my brother and father for entreating such a union!”
He fell into a chair and stared at the floor.
“Your work is done here?” he asked me resignedly.
“I think so, yes. I have only to find Hades and I can be off.”
“Is he not at The Millcote?”
“Not any longer.”
“But you expect to capture him?”
“I do; he seems weakened here.”
“Then you had better tell me your password. Time may not be on our side when the moment comes. Forewarned is forearmed.”
“True,” I conceded. “To open the portal, you have to say—”
But at that moment the front door slammed, a gust of wind disturbed some papers, and a familiar footfall rang out on the tiles in the hall. I froze and looked across at Rochester who was staring into his glass.
“The code word?—”
I heard a voice calling to Pilot. It had the deep bass resonance of the master of the house.
“Blast!” murmured Hades as he melted from his disguise as Rochester and leaped at the wall in a flash, bursting through the lath and plaster as though it were rice paper. By the time I had made my way to the hallway outside he had gone; vanished somewhere deep into the house. Rochester joined me as I listened intently up the stairs, but no sound reached us. Edward guessed what had happened and quickly mustered his estate workers. Within twenty minutes he had them guarding the outside of the house, under strict orders to fire upon anyone who tried to escape without giving a prearranged password. This done, we returned to the library and Rochester drew out a set of pistols and loaded each carefully. He looked uneasily at my Browning automatic as he placed two percussion caps atop the nipples of the pistols and replaced the hammers.
“Bullets just make him mad,” I told him.
“You have a better idea?”
I said nothing.
“Then you had better follow me. The sooner this menace is out of my book the better!”
All except Grace Poole and the madwoman had been removed from the house, and Mrs. Poole had been entreated not to open the door to anyone until the morning on any account, not even to Mr. Rochester. Rochester and I started at the library and moved through to the dining room and then the afternoon reception room. After this we searched the morning reception room and then the ballroom. All were empty. We returned to the staircase where we had placed John and Mathew, who both swore no one had passed them. Night had descended by this time; the men who stood guard had been given torches and their meager light flickered in the hall. The stairs and paneling of the house were of a dark wood which reflected light poorly; the belly of a whale would have been brighter. We reached the top of the stairs and looked left and right, but the house was dark and I cursed myself for not bringing a good flashlight. As if in answer to my thoughts a gust of wind blew out the candles and somewhere ahead a door banged. My heart missed a beat and Rochester muttered an oath as he stumbled into an oak chest. I quickly relit the candelabrum. In the warm glow we could see each other’s timorous faces, and Rochester, realizing that my face was a reflection of his own, steeled himself to the task ahead and shouted:
“Coward! Show yourself!”
There was a loud concussion and a bright orange flash as Rochester fired off a shot in the