Chapter 30

The address of the surgery confounded Williams. “It should be here, sir, but all I can see is a passage. It isn’t wide at all. We’re four streets south of Marylebone, just as we are supposed to be. But this should be the place.”

“Perhaps if I can move in closer to the façade, I’ll discover an entrance. Or where we’ve gone wrong,” I said.

Williams helped me climb out of the carriage, and then while Edward was stepping out, I walked nearer to the brick-fronted buildings. As the driver had explained, between the two structures was a narrow passage that needed sweeping with a good broom. Beyond the clutter of dead leaves and old newspapers was a door once painted white and now streaked gray with an overlay of coal dust. Nailed to that singularly unwelcoming entrance was a small sign with the words “PARMENTER/3RD FLOOR.”

It did not seem at all promising, particularly for a man meant to be a renowned oculist, but what other options did we have?

None.

I led Edward up the narrow stairs. At the top, a painted sign with one word, “OCULIST,” swung from a set of rusty chains. An arrow pointed us down a hallway to the right. I knocked on the only door. In response there came the sound of footsteps across a wooden floor.

“Mr. Parmenter?” I asked when the door opened.

“Mr. and Mrs. Rochester, I presume? Mr. Carter wrote me about your case. Do come in. I believe you’ve already met Mr. Lerner? Good, good, good.”

The man who greeted us had a face as round as a full moon, embraced by overgrown sideburns peppered in white and gray hair. I judged Mr. Parmenter to be in his forties or early fifties. The clothes he wore fit him badly, and his shirt cuffs were threadbare. But his eyes arrested my attention: They were gray as a wet cobblestone but soft as the feathers of a dove, and they seemed to take in every bit of me with great interest. Behind them, I could tell, was a quick-moving mind, with an agility that shone like a candle inside a glass jar.

The office’s greeting area was Spartan, with three hard-backed chairs in a row like Grecian columns. Two very small and poorly done watercolor landscapes failed to brighten the dingy wall.

“My examination room is this way. Mind the threshold. Step up a bit, please.” The specialist guided my husband with one hand on Edward’s elbow. I followed along behind, blinking rapidly in the bright light. Here the walls had been recently painted with a coat of whitewash. Floor-to-ceiling cabinets with glass fronts displayed an astonishing array of implements, many resembling buttonhooks and crochet tools. On other shelves rested models of the human eye, animal skulls, textbooks with cracked covers, and clear glass jars in which unmoored eyes floated. I found the display both provocative and disgusting.

Mr. Parmenter led Edward to a simple cot, such as the ones used in our sickroom at Lowood. He encouraged his companion to step forward, saying, “Mrs. Rochester? May I present to you, Mr. Samuel Lerner. He’s spoken to your husband already about working in your county.”

“At your service, ma’am.” As he bowed, Mr. Lerner’s brow puckered with confusion.

“We’ve met, although we weren’t introduced properly,” I said. “We passed by each other in Hyde Park yesterday. And Mr. Lerner responded to a crisis yesterday when a patient of his passed away unexpectedly. I happened to be present when it occurred.”

“Oh my,” said Mr. Parmenter. “Oh my.”

Mr. Lerner managed to control his mobile features, although a flicker of surprise slipped past. Like my husband, he had eyes of such a dark brown that they appeared to be black. His nose was rather large, but his high cheekbones and generous mouth offset it and balanced out his face, though in response to my reminder of our earlier meetings his face grew concerned.

“I sincerely hope you have not formulated a bad opinion of me, Mrs. Rochester. Given the circumstances of our encounters.”

“Why should I?” I asked. I was curious as to how he would respond.

“Because my companion in the park was so . . . agitated. And because later, when I attended Lady Ingram, I was too late to help her.” A look of worry creased his brow.

His desire to correct any wrongful attributions encouraged me to hold him in high regard.

“Mr. Lerner, I have heard nothing but praise for you. I will admit that I’m curious as to what you learned in your examination of the leftover coffee, however.”

“Unfortunately, my tests aren’t completed yet,” said the doctor.

“At the risk of sounding rude, I’m afraid all his experiments will have to wait, Mrs. Rochester,” said Mr. Parmenter. “I value Mr. Lerner’s professional acumen highly, so I require his help as I examine your husband. Would you excuse us?”

“No!” Edward’s abrupt command startled all of us. “Jane stays here. There is nothing you can do that my wife can’t see or hear.”

“But often women grow weak—”

“Not she. My wife is my helpmate and has the heart of a warrior. She stays or I walk out.”