Deliverance

by Kirsten Bij't Vuur

  My tears dried instantly and I shamed myself by relishing my master's touch with an intensity that almost frightened me. Somehow, passion had sprung to life in me that one fateful night, and had lain dormant since. I remembered my master's intense sadness and guilt, his tenderness, the mercy he showed me despite his own wishes and needs, but also the fire in his eyes, the eagerness of his hands and his kisses. I had always been a passionate person, my likes and dislikes only suppressed by my low standing in the ways of the world. To know myself loved with such ferocity gave me a certain self-assurance, and for a short moment I dared to feel the same passion for the man holding me now, beginning to entertain thoughts of kissing him.

  This time, he broke the spell before the situation got dangerous.

  'Will you tell me what happened, dear Jane? Did someone die? You did tell me you had no relations? Who can it have been, a friend from your school-days?'

  Having to talk helped conquer the passion, though I did not offer to leave his embrace. Not just yet.

  'He was my uncle, my father's brother. He lived in Madeira, I never knew I had an uncle until I visited my aunt who lay dying, you know, when you had Miss Ingram here.'

  It pleased me to see him look a bit guilty, that had been a bad trick he played her as well as me.

  'My aunt showed me a letter he had sent her, in which he stated that he

  wished to offer me a home and make me his heir; she told him I had died, she hated me so. Then when you and I were going to marry, I sent my uncle an announcement, with the result you remember.'

  I surprised myself being able to talk of it so dryly, but on my master the memory had a greater impact; the guilt he showed now was much more intense, in proportion to his misdeed. His hold on me tightened involuntarily, and again I felt satisfaction rather than fear or discomfort.

  'And now, Jane? Did he leave you anything? Were there any other heirs? Was he your father's only relative?'

  That really set me thinking, I knew of no-one, but I had just accepted I didn't have any, had never tried to inquire.

  'I don't know, sir, do you suppose I might find out?'

  'Have you read the entire letter, what does it say?'

  I hadn't of course, so I started all over, read again the sad message of my uncle John's passing, then got on with the rest, couldn't believe what my eyes told me and handed the letter to Mr Rochester.

  'You read it, sir, I cannot make any sense out of it.'

  As he bent forward over my shoulder to read the letter in his hand, his face came really close to mine, I could feel the stubble on his cheek grazing my own smooth skin, and for the few blessed moments he needed to read the whole of its content, I inhaled that secret scent I remembered so well from that horrible, fantastic night filled with grief and passion. Mind spinning, I really had to come back to earth as he spoke in wonder.

  'Your uncle has left you his entire fortune, Janet, and not a pittance, either.

  You need only write a letter of acceptance to Mr Briggs to take sole possession of twenty thousand pounds! Twenty thousand pounds! You're a wealthy woman, Jane!'

  Why didn't that make me happy? I'd never be dependent on anyone again!

  My life was now my own to lead, I could buy a house, a school even, I'd never have to work another day in my life, or take orders from anyone ever again! And why didn't I feel happy? Because the man who I loved with all my heart seemed crushed by the news.

  As he had comforted me when I had first read the news of my uncle's passing, he now seemed in need for consoling. But why? What difference would it make to him that I was rich?

  I turned around in his arms and faced him, suppressing a strong urge to kiss

  those strong features, that severe mouth. Daring to take hold of both his cheeks, I asked, 'Why aren't you happy for me, sir? I'm wealthy, your Jane is moving up in the world.'

  His face got positively dark now, gloom reminding me of former times, when his moods would change in seconds from exuberant to brooding.

  'You'll leave me, Jane. You'll be expected to go out, meet people, and then you'll meet some handsome young man who'll want to marry you, and you'll leave me.'

  That was too ridiculous to even reply to, but I couldn't refuse him an answer.

  'And let go of my wealth and independence in the process? Hand it over to some man who could never love me for myself, but only for my fortune? Sit at home while he squanders it with his friends, laughing at the foolish plain heiress who fell for his charms?'

  I became positively angry at the very thought, and concluded brusquely, 'I'd rather stay here with you forever, and teach Adele, maybe travel a little, see the world.'

  'That is what you say now, but tomorrow you will write to Mr Briggs to claim your inheritance, and he may know of some distant relative of yours, who will then convince you to make a decent match, have children, live life to the full instead of sharing the exile of an ill-tempered man of advanced years.'

  Then I did indeed kiss him, and only with utmost discipline did we keep that kiss chaste.

  The very next morning I wrote that letter to Mr Briggs, not forgetting to inquire after possible other relatives I might still have hiding out somewhere.

  I mailed it myself, the weather still stormy, but I needed some fresh air, and some time all by myself. Mr Rochester had been thrown back into some kind of gloom by the prospect of my gaining new connections; as if I'd let people I didn't even know influence my life.

  After one week of storms followed two weeks of lovely sunny weather. The leaves were now in autumn colours, and my master's mood cleared once we could ride out again. We made the most of the time that was left before autumn really set in by riding all over Mr Rochester's lands, visiting little farms whenever the yearly festivities of the harvest season demanded some of his attention.

  His tenants were all pleased by his visits, and I was greatly relieved to find

  that none of them seemed to see me as anything but his employee, allowed to accompany him on an outing. There were no sidelong glances, no hints, of course no-one would have dared to challenge my master to his face even if they did regard me as his mistress.

  But despite the pleasantness of these two weeks something was stirring inside me, a restlessness, soon we would be forced to live inside all the time, how were we going to keep our distance then? It was all well and good to be formal and distant when riding and exploring nature; but sitting in the master's parlour, with a fire stoked high, and him reading, myself drawing or doing some needlework, thrown together by the cold outside?

  How were we going to refrain from becoming a couple if we behaved like one already? Should I stay away from him to have dinner and spend my evenings with Mrs Fairfax once again? During that fabulous month of summer we had let ourselves become so close, we hadn't even noticed because we were outside all the time; but in fact we were a couple in everything but the bedchamber.

  Brother and sister would be together all the time, my mind protested, but in my heart I knew Mr Rochester and I would never be brother and sister, our fits of passion were not abating, they were getting worse. I often found myself contemplating my memories of his bared chest, the muscled stomach, the soft little pelt covering it, the feel of it against my own skin. I longed to once more hear the rumble of his voice beneath my cheek as he talked, but especially, most tantalizingly, I remembered his scent.

  I could remember it vaguely, having smelled it again when I got that letter from Mr Briggs, but I repeatedly caught myself trying to get closer to him, trying to discern even a trace of it again, longing to feel that heat inside me, tempted to imagine what would have happened if he had not stopped unbuttoning my dress. The danger of becoming his mistress was growing, and winter hadn't even started.

  As if she knew my indecent thoughts about her husband, Mr Rochester's wife acted out wildly each night now, for weeks in a row. My master no longer kept silent about her, it was clear it was torture to him to be reminded of her presence, and he often cursed
the madwoman, or the evil spectre haunting the place.

  Though his temper had worsened markedly since she started to get noisy once more, I dared confront him on that.

  'I wish you wouldn't dehumanize your wife like that, sir,' I told him one night after dinner.

  'She may have been a bad woman, but she still cannot help being mad. She's still a person, you know, though she may act more like a beast.'

  That was the moment I realised he had to get away from Thornfield for a few months, for he did not rage or even show a single sign of anger, he merely promised, 'I will try, dear Jane.'

  This was not the Mr Rochester I had known this summer, and I offered,

  'Maybe you should travel for a few months, sir, leave Thornfield far behind you.'

  In my mind, a plan was forming, I had a place to go for a few weeks, for Mr Briggs had not only written to me to formalize the matter of my inheritance, he had also stunned me by giving me the names and addresses of not one but three cousins I had living in different parts of the country.

  They were a brother, Mr St John Rivers, a clergyman, and his two sisters, Diana and Mary, all three still single. Mr St John lived in the north, he had his parish in the county where his family had lived for nearly a century. The two ladies worked as governesses in rich families, as I did.

  Mr Briggs also explained why the entire legacy had been deeded to me, something to do with a quarrel between my uncle and their father. I decided to waste no time in writing to my cousins, my entire life I had yearned for relatives and these cousins were close to my own age.

  Of course I had told Mr Rochester what I had learned, and it was clear his sentiments had not changed, he disliked to hear my cousin was a clergyman, I suppose he feared a righteous relative would strive to separate me from a situation that might be seen as dangerous to my soul; but my master could not forbid me to seek contact with them and did not even try.

  When they each replied my letter, though all in a different fashion, a mere few lines from Mr St John, and a long, friendly epistle from either lady, I had more or less made up my mind: I would try to visit both sisters soon, and get to know my family. My inquiries on the possibility of a visit were answered favourably, although they would not be at liberty to travel for some time yet, having just had some weeks off work due to their father's passing away.

  Therefore, I planned to visit both Mary and Diana in London, where they were residing in their employers' houses.

  But for now, I was waiting for my master to reply to my suggestion of leaving Thornfield for a while. He seemed to like the idea at least somewhat, but he soon turned out to have mistaken my intentions.

  'I'd love that, Jane, but I thought you objected to travelling together? Where would you want to go? France? Italy? Or do you pfer to stay in England for now, see London, maybe the Lakes?'

  I almost feared to tell him about my plans.

  'I intended you to go by yourself, sir, and visit my cousins in the time you were away from home.'

  It was painful to read his mind from the look on his face. 'So I've lost her already.' It was written there so clearly, he didn't need to speak his thoughts.

  Nothing I could say would sway him right now, I knew him too well, he had convinced himself I was going to leave him to marry some fashionable gentleman my cousins would advise me to. Or maybe the blunt truth still had a chance.

  'I feel bad for inheriting all uncle John's fortune, Mr Rochester. I thought I might convince my cousins to accept an equal share of it. They wouldn't have to live in servitude, they could marry, or live together.'

  'You'd give your fortune away? To people you've never seen even once in your life?'

  It worked, he was so incredulous, his surly mood was gone instantly.

  'Before I'd do it, I would have seen them once. Besides, I never saw my uncle either, and still he left it all to me, because I was his relative.'

  'But your uncle was dying, Janet, that's different. Still, it's your decision, of course.

  Let me think about travelling for awhile, Jane, as I'm certain you have thought about what you intend to do, and still will before you really decide. A day more or less will not make much of a difference.'

  Soon after that conversation we both went to bed, blissfully unaware how much a life could change in a mere night.

  Chapter 3

  There was no clamour from the top floor this night, and hoping this would start another period of relative quiet, saving my master the pain of being confronted with his agonizing situation day in, day out, I fell into a pleasant

  slumber.

  But it was not to last, for I had a singularly unpleasant dream. It started out with myself lost on some kind of moor, driving rain soaking my coat, my dress and my bonnet, even my shoes; I was hungry, cold and in terrible agony of the soul, for I had left my master in the middle of the night and I knew would be suffering even as I was suffering myself. Constantly seeing his tortured face before me, feeling his desperate touch upon me, hearing him plead and beg incessantly, I wandered across those cold, wet hills and through soggy valleys for hours, without a hint of my destination and with a growing numbness of body and soul.

  Just before I was going to drop with weariness, memories of my master put to rest for a few moments through pure exhaustion, I spied a little house with smoke coming out of the chimney. My last strength sufficed to reach the door, which was standing wide open; from inside, I could hear a baby cry, and I went in quickly to ask shelter of the child's parent.

  But there was no-one in the house, except the wailing infant, lying at a safe distance from the blazing fire. Chilled to the bone, I picked up the little baby in its swaddling and sat down in front of the fire, rocking it back and forth until it gurgled contentedly and fell asleep. The fire was a blessing and I relished its warmth, nearly falling asleep myself; until the fire started to smoke unpleasantly, giving off a suffocating stench.

  Alarmed by the harsh burn of the fire in my throat, I woke up.

  To find myself in my pitch-dark bedroom, smoke tainting the air. A sense of fate crept over me, but it did not overwhelm me, on the contrary, it spurred me into action as nothing ever had before: this was the moment of truth, the moment in which I was destined to save my master from agony and death.

  Somehow I was certain the woman on the moor had been myself as well, having deserted my master and thereby condemned him to a terrible fate.

  There was no time to dress, the air was already foul, the fumes could easily kill a sleeping man, and I did not know where the conflagration was centred; whether Mr Rochester's wife was still out there, roaming the halls in seething anger and mad strength, with just a burning candle as her weapon of revenge or armed with a knife or other dangerous object.

  Picking up my ewer as a possible means of defence, but also for its precious content, I marched to my door and with a short prayer I unlocked and opened it, finding the hallway less clogged with smoke than I had feared. This

  suggested that the smoke originated from above my chamber, which meant the mad woman must have set fire to her own bed before moving downstairs, and I closed my door behind me carefully, listening for sounds.

  There were none and strangely, I was not very much afraid, except for my master; I rushed to his room heedless of the danger of meeting his wife on my way there, but his door was still locked, there was no way his face could be mutilated, nor could his bedclothes be on fire. Still, he might yet burn in his bed if I couldn't get him to wake up, there would be no chance to douse him to wakefulness as I had done last time, I couldn't break down the door, he had to unlock it himself.

  Heedless of drawing his wife with my racket, I pounded his door, cried out his name.

  'For the love of God, Mr Rochester, wake up! The top floor is on fire, wake up!'

  There was no reply from his room, but from all around me signs of life were heard. Mrs Fairfax burst into the hall in her dressing gown, hair messed up, face wild.

  'Whatever is going on, Mi
ss Eyre? Where is the fire? I smell some smoke, but I see nothing! Where is the master?'

  'The fire is upstairs, right above my room, it's already filled up with smoke.

  The master may be stupefied by smoke, his room is directly below the flames, too. Do you have a key to his room?'

  'I have it on my household keyring, it's in my room, I'll get it. You wake Adele and Sophie and send them out!'

  Mrs Fairfax was a treasure, I was so bent on my master I would have condemned an innocent child and a blameless maid to a horrible death.

  There was no need to wake them, though, my cries of alarm had already taken care of that, and a wild-eyed Sophie ran out of the room as soon as I had opened the unlocked door, proving fear gave incredible strength for frail Sophie was carrying a sleepy Adele on her shoulder and she lost no time but ran straight towards the stairs and safety.

  The rest of the staff was housed in a different wing, and I was not going there until my master was awake and safe, but maybe Mrs Fairfax could be persuaded to save them; if indeed they were in danger, for as yet there was only one proven fire, right above my chamber.

  Helpless to really do something, I pounded my master's door once more,

  there was smoke drifting down the hall by now, and I could not see whether that was coming from my room, from the stairs to the third floor, or from my master's room. When Mrs Fairfax returned from her room I would have torn the keys from her elderly and hopelessly slow hand, were it not that there was at least a dozen keys on that ring, and to try them all would cost more time than letting the housekeeper use the right one straight away.

  Still it took ages until she had that door unlocked and I could storm in, bringing my ewer as my most trusted friend.

  Smoke stung my eyes as I entered the room and I indeed found my master senseless on the bed. Knowing I'd soon be overwhelmed, too, I did not waste time shouting, slapping or pinching, I merely emptied the ewer over his face as I had done months before, with the same result.