Jane of Air

by Jessica Penot

  “I will be fine. I have survived worse.”

  Helen looked even more guilty and turned even redder. She looked like she was going to cry. She pulled at the spiked dog collar she wore around her neck and shifted in her seat. “I am so sorry.”

  I didn’t want to make her feel worse, although she couldn’t quite suppress her excitement over moving in with her boyfriend.

  “Do you think it’ll be a problem that you won’t be living there? Don’t they need an adult? I’m only sixteen.”

  “They think you’re an adult. I filled out your application and sent in a fake ID.”

  “You lied? You sent in a fake ID? I’m not comfortable with that. What about the car? How will you get back and forth to school without my help and how will I afford gas without your help?”

  “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself. You won’t need gas money, either. You’ll be able to walk to class. The house was built by the founder of the Huntington College. It’s practically on campus, it’s so close.”

  I stuffed down my anxiety. I should count my blessings. I had no money and no family and a friend who loved me enough to make sure I had room and board, so I could go to school. If it weren’t for Helen, I wouldn’t even be going to college. I had received scholarships to a number of schools, but without money for room and board, I wouldn’t have gone anywhere. Helen had found me a job that made it possible for me to follow my dreams. If it weren’t for Helen, I would be stuck with Mrs. Blankenship, or worse, I would be still stuck in high school and working part-time until I was eighteen and legally old enough to go off on my own.

  I smiled at my friend. “Thank you, Helen. I don’t know what I would do without you. I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

  “Shut up!” Helen yelled. “I told you that you being this nice is only making it harder on me. I’m abandoning you with some crazy old lady and her weird grandson. You should hate me right now.”

  I only laughed. “You got me a job and a place to live. How can I hate you?”

  Helen smiled. “Fine. Don’t hate me, but at least let me stay the first night with you and get you settled in. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. I don’t want you thinking that I’m the type of friend who’d just dump you for some guy.”

  “I know you aren’t. You’re a loyal friend,” I told her. It was true that we both had tough childhoods, although Helen didn’t say much about hers. I didn’t pry, either. I knew what it was to have secrets like the big old secret on my back. Neither of us had come from families that made it easy. We both had to do what was necessary to get by. Which was why Helen’s announcement really was amazing. At least one of us had a happily ever after. Or at least, a happy for now.”

  “I do love Jake, you know. I’m not just doing what I have to do. I really want to be with him.”

  I smiled brightly. I knew that. Helen and Jake had been together since my first year in high school. Jake was the reason Helen was going to Huntington College. Helen wanted to be a doctor. She was super smart and had been offered scholarships at every university in the state, better schools with better pre-med programs. She could have gone anywhere and done anything, but she’d chosen Jake. Of course, I wanted to be with Helen, too, and I wanted to be a doctor, just like Helen, so I’d chosen Huntington for the same reason. I wanted to be near my only friend and Huntington had offered me a very generous scholarship. Helen was the guiding light in my life and she always seemed to be helping me make the right decisions and taking care of me. Like a guardian angel, except she was here, in person.

  The car slowed down and I caught my first glimpse of Huntington. It was a small town nestled in the mountains and it had the quiet charm of an English village, or what I imagined an English village would look like. Out of time. The buildings looked like they were built in the late 1800s and they gave the town a charm that most modern cities lacked. The main street was bustling with life. People were hurrying along the sidewalk, sitting in cafes, or going in and out of the various shops and businesses that lined the thoroughfare. Everyone seemed to have a clear purpose. I wanted that, too.

  We drove through the downtown and onto Huntington’s campus. I took a deep breath. The campus looked like something out of a classic novel. The sunlight hit the limestone and cast strange shadows on the old buildings. The campus was built in a neo-gothic style and all the buildings really did look like English manor houses. Beautiful, but a little intimidating.

  We drove through the campus until we came to the very edge of the school grounds and stopped at a large black gate. Helen got out and opened it for us. We drove down a short road and up to a house that was so beautiful, it left me breathless. It really was a castle. The kind of place that a Jane Austen heroine would live, after she married the hero. I knew that Helen was talking. I could hear her voice, but I couldn’t understand anything she was saying. The only thing I could see or feel or hear was the house. Thornfield Hall.

  I stepped out of the car onto the cobblestone driveway. Gazing at the stone façade of the mansion, my heart pounded in my chest like an old bass drum. My breathing quickened. And I felt a tingling that turned into a burning sensation up and down my back. My tattoo. I didn’t know why it was bothering me all of a sudden. I’d had it my entire life, so it couldn’t be an infection. Maybe all the stress of the past few weeks was getting to me. Almost as soon as the burning feeling had begun it stopped. I sighed with relief. I certainly didn’t need to get sick before I even started my new job.

  I took a step closer to the place that would be my home for the next four years. It was sprawling. It was intimidating. It was unlike anything I had ever seen. I loved it.

  Thornfield was all gray. Dark, smoky gray stones made up the façade of the huge home. And the roof was a darker, charcoal gray. I counted at least ten windows on the second floor, but there were probably more on the other side too. Who knew how many bedrooms were in it? The windows had a lattice crisscross design. I knew that because the richest kid in my hometown had a house with lattice windows. I remember looking it up at the library when I was younger. I couldn’t wait to stand at my bedroom window and see the world through the little squares. The grounds surrounding the home were beautiful, too. There were so many trees on the property, it was like Thornfield had been built in the middle of a forest. Thornfield was perfect. Just perfect.

  Helen punched me gently on the arm and pulled me out of my trance. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s just so beautiful.”

  Helen shook her head. “I guess. It looks kind of creepy to me. Remember that old movie, The Haunting of Hillhouse? It looks just like Hillhouse. I don’t know how we are going to sleep in there. You know, if you can’t go through with this, you can crash with Jake and me until you find another job. We’ll take care of you until you find something.”

  “No,” I whispered. “This is perfect.”

  “Are you sure?” Helen asked again. She sounded worried and relieved at the same time.

  I only nodded. I’d never been so sure of anything in my life. I’d never felt like I belonged anywhere. But Thornfield Hall felt like home. Helen and I grabbed our bags and we walked up to the front door and rang the doorbell. The bell echoed through the massive house. A petite woman, in a dark green sweater and a pleated gray skirt, answered the door. The woman looked like she was in her mid-fifties. She had friendly blue eyes and short blonde hair that was turning gray. She looked maternal and friendly. She reminded me of Julie Andrews from those old movies with nice English governesses where they sang pretty songs. She smiled brightly.

  “You must be Miss Jane Marsh.” the woman said. She reached out and shook my hand, ignoring Helen entirely. Maybe it was Helen’s outrageous outfit and the dog collar she wore around her neck? Or maybe it was because I was tall and seemed older, and Helen was short?

  “Yes,” I sai
d with a shy smile.

  The woman beamed as she opened the door wide and welcomed us in.

  “Wonderful! I’m so glad you made it. I’m Mrs. Fairfax, the housekeeper. Come in, come in.”

  My eyes almost popped out as Mrs. Fairfax led us through the massive foyer. The floor was made of marble so shiny I could see my reflection. The marble staircase marched up to the second-floor landing, which was essentially a balcony that stretched around the interior of the house and branched off into two long hallways. Not to be outdone by the elegant floor, an ornate chandelier hung high above our heads. I almost got whiplash craning my neck back as I counted the tiers. It looked like a crystal wedding cake.

  Mrs. Fairfax ushered us into a sitting room off the foyer. The floor was covered in oriental rugs and bookshelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling. A large stained-glass window, depicting a woman in a red gown, illuminated the room in a strange, red-tinted glow. I blinked a few times to adjust my eyes to the red room.

  “I’m so glad you’re here!” Mrs. Fairfax exclaimed. “It is so hard to get help here at night, with all the rumors, you know. I’m thrilled to have found you.”

  “Rumors?” I asked.

  “Oh dear,” Mrs. Fairfax said, raising her eyebrows. “You don’t know about the rumors? I thought I was very clear about them in my emails.”

  I glanced at Helen who looked guilty, again. She was keeping a lot of secrets about this job. “Sorry about that,” Helen whispered to me. “I didn’t pass that email along to you. I forgot. You’re not superstitious in any case.”

  Mrs. Fairfax sighed, as though she had told this story many times. “The local lore says that this house is haunted—”

  “I don’t believe in ghosts,” I interrupted.

  “Well,” Mrs. Fairfax said softly, “I am glad to hear that, at least.” She smiled “Nevertheless,” she continued, “the rumors are terrible. They say that Mr. Rochester’s wife haunts Thornfield.”

  “Mr. Rochester was married?” I guess he must have been older than I’d thought.”

  “Richard Rochester.” Mrs. Fairfax raised her thin arched brows. He was the Great-Great-Great Grandfather of Edward, the current owner of Thornfield Hall and the sole heir of the Rochester fortune. The company is called The Rochester Group and they own properties all over the world, including Huntington. Richard Rochester was the founder of Huntington College. He built this college in the grand tradition of Oxford and Cambridge.” She heaved a deep sigh. “The rumors of the hauntings have been around for years, although I have never seen one inkling of anything ghostly in this grand home.”

  “I could never be scared off by a ghost story,” I said confidently.

  “Well, I am very pleased to hear that. Edward will be thrilled that we have someone to stay at night. I feel that you should have read the emails I sent you explaining the house’s history, however; that is a critical factor in the job. It isn’t good that you disregarded it.”

  “Oh,” I said. I was quick on my feet and made up a cover story. I couldn’t believe Helen had told me so little about the job. “I am just really tired. I am sorry. I just drove eight hours and my mind is mush. I’m not normally this forgetful. Of course, I read the emails. I just don’t worry too much about superstition and ghost stories.”

  “I am sorry,” Mrs. Fairfax answered with concern. “I forgot how long you’ve been driving. Do you need a drink or to use the bathroom?”

  “No,” I shook my head. “I’m fine. This place is so beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it. I imagine its history is fascinating.”

  “Indeed it is.” Mrs. Fairfax smiled. “The Rochester family founded this town in 1847. The Rochesters are a very old English aristocratic family. Richard Rochester’s father was the fifth Earl of Huntington. They shipped the entire house, brick-by-brick, from their family lands in Northumbria. Adele is Edward’s grandmother. Edward is going to Yale,” she said, leaning in as though confiding a terrible secret. “Quite shocking at first, mind you. But we are getting used to it.” Mrs. Fairfax shook her head as though she was still having some trouble adjusting to that fact.

  I was relieved to know that my employer was looking out for his grandmother and wasn’t some creepy guy who just wanted a young woman living in his house with him. When Helen described the job, I thought I was going to be spending a lot more time alone with a strange man. I felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I would primarily be working for Mrs. Fairfax and Edward would be gone at Yale. I might not have to meet him at all. Helen had made it sound like he would be creeping in and out all night. Okay, I really needed to stop listening to Helen. I loved Helen, but her narratives confused me. One minute she was telling me we were going to be living alone with a strange man and his grandmother and the next she was telling me he wasn’t a serial killer and the next I found out everything was completely different. I tried not think about it. I tried not to think about Edward. On the other hand, I couldn’t help but be curious about him. Why would the great-great-great grandson of the founder of Huntington College go to Yale?

  “You look tired,” Mrs. Fairfax commented. “I should show you to your room and let you get settled in. We can talk more after you’ve rested.”

  We followed Mrs. Fairfax through Thornfield Hall. Every room we walked past only served to convince me that I had somehow drifted out of real life and into a dream. I peeked into a huge room with vaulted ceilings that had to be the library. The walls were lined with bookshelves so high that there was a balcony halfway up that stretched around its entire interior. There was also a spiral staircase at both ends and ladders placed strategically throughout. You could fit three of my town’s libraries in Thornfield’s. I couldn’t wait to explore it.

  The long halls resembled an art gallery: landscapes of dark castles, wind-swept cliffs, and stormy forests contrasted with portraits of beautiful and mysterious women in jewel-toned gowns and dangerously handsome men. I wanted to stop and linger, but I could only peek into rooms as we passed them. I saw a music room with an enormous grand piano and another sitting room with a cozy-looking fireplace. There were numerous bedrooms with huge beds and lavish décor. There was more, so much more, but any further explorations would have to wait until I was settled.

  By the time we arrived at my room, my head was spinning. Mrs. Fairfax opened the door and I couldn’t help but gasp. The bedroom was bigger than Mrs. Blankenship’s entire house. The huge canopy bed had dark red toile bed curtains. At the far end of the room, a stone fireplace had a cheery fire in full bloom. Two large floral upholstered chairs, which could fit two people each, sat facing the fire. A rose-wood dresser and matching desk were ensconced in one corner, but the best part had to be the huge picture window that took up an entire wall. It faced out onto an Olympic-sized swimming pool. I didn’t even know how to swim. I’d always been too terrified of anyone seeing my tattoo to dare put on a swimming suit.

  Beyond the pool, I could see riding stables. There were horses grazing in the tall grass. I’d never ridden a horse either, although every romance novel I’d ever read always had a heroine who loved horses and riding.

  “I’m sorry it is so small,” Mrs. Fairfax said. “We keep most of the house closed now. The larger rooms are so hard to maintain. This room has a nice view and it is right next to Miss Adele’s room, so it will make her feel safe knowing you are here. Here’s the bathroom.” Mrs. Fairfax opened a door revealing a gleaming bathroom with ultra-modern fixtures, a large marble shower with a rain-shower head and a special bath-tub, that looked like it had been tailor-made for an old woman with mobility issues. “I hope you don’t mind sharing a bathroom with Miss Adele?”

  “Not at all,” I said.

  “Dinner is at six in the kitchen. We don’t use the dining room when Edward isn’t here. It just doesn’t seem right,” Mrs. Fairfax said. She wandered out of the room before we had time to respond.

 
“We’re getting out of here,” Helen said. “Grab your stuff. Don’t worry about anything. I’m taking care of you.”

  Chapter 4

  The human heart has hidden treasures. In secret kept, in silence sealed; The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures, Whose charms are broken if revealed.

  ~ Charlotte Brontë

  “WHAT?” I WAS HARDLY EVEN paying attention to Helen. I had almost forgotten she was there. I was so lost in the details of a large embroidered tapestry hanging on the wall above the bed that I hadn’t heard her desperate tone.

  “Grab your stuff. This place is weird. It’s like some old mausoleum. Definitely a thirty-five out of ten on the creepy-meter and I’m not leaving you here. Let’s ditch this place before anyone notices.”

  “I love it,” I said.

  “Are you crazy? Mrs. Fairfax seems a few eggs short of a dozen and this place fell out of an old horror movie. This place is haunted as hell and I don’t think it is the good kind of haunted either.”

  “I think Mrs. Fairfax seems wonderful. In fact, I think she thought I was a few eggs short of a dozen since you didn’t tell me anything about this job. This house is not creepy. It is beautiful and there is no such thing as a haunted house, and I don’t know what you mean by a good kind of haunted. There’s a good kind of haunted?”

  “Of course,” Helen said with a wicked grin. “The kind with ghosts that fall in love with you.”

  “You are crazy. There are no such things as ghosts.”

  “You’d be surprised. You shouldn’t stay here. You should come with me.”

  “No. I’m staying. Did you see the library? This place is amazing. I don’t believe in hauntings and even if this place is haunted, I can endure a ghost or two to sleep in a such a beautiful room with a view like this.”

  I started to unpack. I didn’t have much and it didn’t take me long to find homes for my meager possessions. I tried to ignore Helen watching me from the bed. Her eyebrows were knitted together in concern. It didn’t matter to me that the house was a little spooky. All old houses had cobwebs and ghost stories in common. It was part of their charm. Their long histories and dark corners lent themselves to the type of morbid fascination that drew such tall tales. I wouldn’t concern myself with fables or folktales. I didn’t believe in ghosts or hauntings, and there was nothing that went bump in the night that scared me any more than the things I could see with my own eyes.