by Amity Cross
I had no control, and I was spiraling. What could I do? There had to be something I could grasp to anchor myself.
While I watched the television crew pack up and leave, I pondered the choices that had presented themselves to me.
I could not press charges against Blanche if I wanted Edward to remain unscathed by her treachery. The authorities would likely come to investigate the legitimacy of Bertha’s care, but they would not find anything worth prosecuting over. Of that, I was certain. He’d taken the utmost care to ensure everything was legal since the hotel had closed. There was no proof she’d ever been here longer than that, and he was certain the staff, past and present, would not talk. He’d been a good employer to them, and it would pay off in spades.
I raised my hand absently and began to rub at the twin scars on my chest. What was I to do? I could rely on my morals and follow through with the legal proceedings against my attacker, which was morally right, but I would bring further shame upon Edward. Or I could just…let it go.
I glanced out the windows, studying the clouds beyond, forlorn that I could not go outside into the garden to ponder the next step my life would take. The story had only spread further in the media, gaining more fantastical twists and turns as the days progressed and had attracted more photographers and television crews.
“I cannot press charges,” I said, knowing I did not need the sun or the presence of the moor to make my decision. “I must be content with Blanche’s shattered reputation. The Ingram’s will languish and come to despise their daughter for bringing ill repute upon their family name. It is not a prison sentence, but it is still a life she will be loathed to live.”
“Are you sure?” Alice asked. “No one would blame you for pursuing more.”
I nodded, my heart feeling heavy with the weight of losing my own justice, but that was what one did for those they loved, wasn’t it? They sacrificed themselves to protect at all costs.
After all Edward and I had been through, I knew without a doubt that it was he I loved, and no other would come close. He was the man I’d been searching for my entire life—my name, my heart, my family—and I would sacrifice everything for him.
“I must,” I whispered. “Justice would be empty without Edward by my side.”
19
Later that day, a furious looking Alice sought me out in the library.
“Jane,” she said, closing the door behind her. “Where is Rocky?”
I nodded toward the study. “In there. He’s finalizing the sale of his assets.”
“Is it really that dire?” she asked, coming to sit beside me on the couch.
“The share prices have plummeted quite dramatically,” I replied. “He assures me that in order to save as many jobs as possible, he must dissociate himself from the company completely.”
“It is such a terrible business,” she commiserated. “But I have some information that may be helpful. Jane, I have found out who gave the information to Blanche about Bertha.”
I straightened up. “Who?”
“It was Grace.”
“Grace Poole?” I asked, my mouth falling open. “She’s Bertha’s carer and very well paid to be so. What cause would she have…” I trailed off, my thoughts tumbling around and around in my head.
Grace had always been apart from the staff at Thornfield and had some curious tendencies about her. She wandered the halls at night, and she had scarce human contact with anyone other than Bertha. It was no wonder she obviously felt alone and neglected.
Had she become complacent with her position and allowed Bertha to slip past her unaware because of it? If it were true, then I needed to see her at her post, and for that, I needed to know where in Thornfield Bertha was.
“I must see her at once,” I declared. “Where is she?” Alice hesitated and glanced at the door to the study. “Alice, please. I do not want to bother Edward with this. He’s got enough to deal with right now, and I fear this new treachery will cut deeper still.”
“I’m not sure you want to see it,” she said in a rush. “It’s quite confronting…”
“Alice, I must get to the bottom of this. I need to see Grace at once.”
She was silent for a long time, thinking over her decision. Finally, she nodded. “Come with me.”
Alice led me to the eaves of the manor.
The old servants’ quarters were as devoid of life and as full of dust as they were the first day I’d laid eyes on them. I was led down a hall I’d never traversed before, in a direction opposite to the attic and the trapdoor, which led to the battlements on the roof above.
“Through here,” she practically whispered, gesturing to the door at the end of the hall.
“Thank you, Alice.”
“Are you sure you want to go in there, Jane?” she murmured, glancing at me nervously.
I nodded. “I shall be fine. You can leave if you wish.”
She bowed her head and scurried away, her footsteps clicking on the bare floorboards until she disappeared downstairs.
I didn’t blame her for wanting to escape this place. Looking about, it felt cold and desolate and positively haunted. I did not want to linger either, so I boldly pushed open the door that led to Bertha’s chambers—it felt too oppressive to refer to it as her prison—and steeled myself.
Immediately, I was assailed by a pungent stench, and I almost gagged. Within lay a small room with a compact window, which let light in from outside, and another door set in the wall directly opposite from where I stood. It was sparsely furnished with a low table and chair, a single bed, and a closet. It was a warden’s lodgings.
Grace Poole sat at the table by the open window, a book in her hands, seeming quite enthralled by the contents that she did not notice me at first. I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer as Bertha’s mad chattering filtered through the door within.
“Miss!” Grace exclaimed, rising to her feet so abruptly she almost knocked over the little table beside her.
“Grace,” I said, covering my nose with my hand. It positively reeked of stale humanity in here. What kind of care was this woman giving Bertha?
“Sorry about the smell, Miss,” she said, watching me. “It’s nigh on impossible to give her a bath, and she goes without most days.”
“Why is that?”
“Why? She’s a wild thing, Miss.” She waved her hand at my chest. “You’ve seen it.”
I narrowed my eyes, reluctant to voice my misgivings, but I had to in order to discern Grace’s motives and if we were to continue placing our trust in her abilities.
“Are you happy here, Grace?”
“Happy?” Her eyes widened. “I wouldn’t call it happiness, but Mr. Rochester pays me well, and I know the lady’s tells. I do well enough.”
I considered her words with an air of skepticism and found her tone to be unfulfilled. Grace Poole was unhappy and had become disillusioned. Considering the place I now found myself in, it was wholly expected. It took a person of great conviction to be able to care for a violent madwoman, I saw it now.
I was also shocked at what I found here, knowing the hotel had been in operation the whole time. Despite Edward’s assurances the guests had been completely safe, I knew for a fact Bertha had escaped on many occasions. Where had Grace been then?
“Tell me, Grace,” I began. “Where were you those times Bertha found herself wandering the halls and scratching at my door? Where were you when she set Edward’s bed alight?”
“It’s not an easy task, Miss,” she said, her gaze falling to the floor. “She is cunning.”
“It seems simple to me,” I declared, reaching behind her and plucking the bottle of scotch from the shelf.
“No!” she cried. “It’s not like that!”
“You’re not happy at all, are you? I wouldn’t blame you if you said you hated this foul place. Not at all. But to drink at your post? That is inexcusable considering the person you are meant to care for.” Grace began to look panicked, her gaze darting bet
ween me and the scotch. “You told Blanche Ingram.” It was not a question or a statement. It was a direct threat, and from the look of pure fear that passed across her face, Grace knew it too.
“I’m sorry, Miss!” she exclaimed, almost falling to her knees before me. “She promised—”
“Her promises are worthless,” I interrupted. “Do you not see the damage she has wrought because of your slip of the tongue? If you were unhappy, you could have addressed it to Edward. Instead, you gave Blanche all the ammunition she needed to destroy his entire life. None of us are safe from the fallout, Grace. Not you, not me, and not Bertha.”
“Not Bertha! Not Bertha!” screeched the madwoman through her door.
We both glanced up at the sound, and a chill raced down my spine. What an impossible scenario.
“Please, don’t tell Mr. Rochester,” Grace pleaded.
I shook my head as I backed out of the room. “I’m not sure I can let it go.”
Leaving Grace behind, I ventured back down into the house, my mind more chaotic than ever before. I was want to overthink everything, considering all angles so thoroughly my intent often became muddled. It was safe to say, I now saw things more clearly than ever before. After all the insanity Thornfield had thrust upon me, I was no longer shaken by such madness.
Something had to be done about Bertha. She couldn’t continue to live like this. Surely, there was a better option for her? Someplace where she could be cared for by professionals and be treated more like a human being than a caged animal. I didn’t understand the Masons and what they could possibly do to harm her. Edward had said his father had tried to do away with her permanently… Did the Mason’s want the same thing?
I didn’t want to bother Edward with my prying, and I was sure he would be livid when he found out I’d gone to see Grace. But something had to be done. No matter what Bertha had done to harm me and others in the past, she deserved a chance as much as anyone.
Bertha must get proper care and soon.
20
Later that afternoon, the police came and cleared out the media and carted off the lingering paparazzi hiding in the bushes.
As I watched them leave, I wondered if this was how Bertha felt. Locked inside her own home and unable to leave, no matter how much she wanted to. I wasn’t sure our situations were comparable considering her condition.
I hadn’t brought up my visit with Grace to Edward, and I wasn’t sure how I could express to him the need to have his ex-wife moved someplace that could give her the care she needed. Perhaps there was a way to help her regain some of her sanity. It was a fine dream, I suppose.
“Jane,” Edward murmured, coming to stand beside me. “Why are you staring out the window?”
I glanced over my shoulder at him and sighed as his hands came to rest on my waist. Outside, the sky had faded into night, the day long gone, but my memories of it still weighing heavy on my mind.
“I’m only thinking,” I replied.
“From the look upon your face, it does not look good,” he said, tugging me so I leaned back against his chest. “Have you decided where you would like to travel first?”
I shook my head. “I’ve scarcely thought about it.”
“I can see,” he murmured. “Luckily, I have thought long and hard in your stead. Tuscany seems a fitting place for you, knowing how you delight in wandering the gardens here. Italy is all about food, sunshine, family, and the finer things in life. The simple ways of living richly. I’m sure you will love it. Long, lazy days spent under the Italian sun, sipping limoncello, eating your full of pasta, tomatoes, and cheeses. Then tasting a hundred different wines made from grapes grown on the hills all around. It is a sleepy way of life and quite passionate. I can already see you there, Jane. You would thrive.”
“It sounds wonderful,” I murmured, turning to face him.
“Then we shall go the moment the company is sold, and the papers are signed. We can spend a month or even two. Just you and I.” He sighed, leaning his forehead against mine, his eyes darkening with a brewing storm. “All my life, I’ve wished to be free of the burdens that have weighed me down and now… It is almost here, and I can scarcely imagine what the world has to offer, though I have dreamed of it nightly.”
“You amaze me, Mr. Rochester,” I said.
“How so?”
I smiled, thinking back to the man I first met on the road to Thornfield. Handsome, dangerous, brooding, and hurtful. Only one of those words seemed to apply to him now. What a transformation he’d been through! Stone into flesh…
I placed my hand upon his chest and said, “There was a heart in here all along.”
“And Jane Eyre always had a wicked tongue, no matter her name.” He walked me backward to the bed, his smile so wide I hoped it would never leave his face. “Come to bed. It’s becoming late, and the window holds no warmth…unlike my arms.”
Untangling myself from his grasp, I slid under the covers, drawing him toward me as I placed my head on the pillow.
He wrapped his arms around my slight frame as his lips teased my skin, and I buried closer to his body, wanting to lay as flush with him as I could manage. The heat of his skin was comforting as was the rise and fall of his chest.
“Can we just lay together?” I asked. “I just…”
“Of course,” was his reply. “It is comforting just being like this, don’t you agree? There is more than one kind of physical intimacy to be explored.” His lips brushed against my neck, and I shivered.
“Thank you,” I whispered as he drew the blanket up further.
“Do you truly believe we can overcome this, Jane?”
“Yes, I do,” I replied sleepily. “We have to if we ever want to live a truly happy life. I believe we can despite it all.”
He muttered something incomprehensible as we both drifted off, the warm cocoon of his arms lulling me to sleep.
I wasn’t sure how long I’d been floating in darkness when my eyes cracked open, but it was still dark, and Edward had rolled onto his back, his arm leaving my waist. I hovered just outside of wakefulness, my mind foggy with a dream that still clung to the edges of my mind. That was why I wasn’t sure if I’d heard the manic laughter in the hall outside at first. Not until it came again, this time louder as a light patter of footsteps rushed by the door.
Raising my head, I listened as the sound echoed down the hall and disappeared. Bertha.
Cursing under my breath, I glanced at Edward, who was still sound asleep. He had been through so much in the past week, the last thing I wanted to do was wake him—he desperately needed the gift of unbroken sleep. If Bertha was loose, then I would raise Grace from her bed and force her to search for the woman. I no longer had any fear of the dark corners of Thornfield and would deal with Bertha’s wanderings harshly when I lay my hands upon her.
Slipping out of bed, I put on my boots and tiptoed to the door, shivering in my shorts and singlet. Summer was going to be over quickly this year if the nighttime temperature was anything to go by.
Opening the door to the suite, I peered out into the hallway and immediately noticed an orange glow and the woody scent of smoke. My heart began to beat wildly as I turned and ran toward the bed.
Shaking Edward’s shoulder furiously, I cried, “Wake up! There’s a fire! Edward!”
His eyes flew open at once, and he was alert.
“Fire?” he asked, his brow furrowing.
“Quickly!” I exclaimed, pulling one of his discarded jumpers over my head. “We must do something.”
He shot out of bed and pulled on his own boots before donning the jumper I tossed him. Rushing across the room, he snatched up my duffel bag and shoved it into my hands—the bag that held all my papers and identification—and then grasped my free hand. He knew the value of what I kept inside, and in his haste, he did not stop to think of his own belongings. There was no time to traverse the study if the fire had spread further than this hall, and truly, it would be foolish to try.
&nbs
p; “Why didn’t you let me fix the alarms?” I cursed as he pulled me toward the door.
My question remained unanswered as we burst out into the hall, and when Edward saw the flames licking their way up the tapestries, he let out a roar full to bursting with rage.
“Curse that woman!” he exclaimed, placing his forearm over his face to block the smoke from pouring into his lungs. “We cannot fight this!”
“Edward…” I said uneasily as my eyes beheld the wall of flame that was eating its way down the hallway toward us.
Heat radiated against my skin, my brow breaking out in a sheen of sweat that had nothing and everything to do with the fear that was threatening to take over my senses.
We began to back away and then turned, running in the opposite direction. When we reached the stairs, I gasped as I realized the curtains on the floor below had been lit, as well. Had this been Bertha’s aim the night she lit Edward’s bed aflame? Did she want to harm him? Did it even matter when she was so lost in the madness of her own mind? Right now, all I could think of was getting out of Thornfield before it burned down with us still inside.
“Edward,” I said, grasping at his arm. “The staff. Alice. Bessie… We’ve got to get them out!”
The alarms hadn’t gone off, and the sprinkler system was broken. They’d all be asleep in their beds, none the wiser to the flames bearing down on them. They’d all be burned alive!
Edward didn’t let go of my hand as we ran down the stairs and into the east wing. My bag knocked heavily against my back as we emerged into the hallway that housed the employee quarters, and we began rousing everyone.
I knocked furiously on Alice’s door as Edward barreled down the other side, thumping and yelling until perplexed faces began to appear.
“Quick! There’s a fire! Everyone must get outside now!” he bellowed. “Don’t take anything, don’t linger…run! Meet us down by the main gate! Go!”
Alice emerged, looking ashen, and when she smelt the smoke on the air, she clutched my arm.
