Euphoria (The Thornfield Affair #1)

by Amity Cross

“I came to terms with my past a long time ago,” I said. “I need neither apologies or pity because of it.”

  “Your aunt took your name!” she exclaimed. “Don’t you ever wonder about it?”

  “Sometimes,” I replied. “But no one has ever come looking, so I believe no one remains but me. I am a Doe, first of her name. I can go anywhere and do anything.” Even as I said it, I knew I was now tied to Edward Rochester and Thornfield. Despite his treatment, I couldn’t find it within my means to leave. I had no place else to go.

  Alice frowned and lay the back of her hand on my forehead once more. “You have cooled some,” she said. “You must get some rest, Jane.”

  I nodded, feeling glad for her company.

  “Can you promise me something?” she asked, and I nodded once more. “Be careful with Rocky. Remember the things you’ve just told me. You can go anywhere, Jane, but please, be wary of his temper. He’s still a slave to his whims and has a spiteful streak, no matter how calm he seems to be now.”

  I didn’t have it in me to reply. As I allowed her to leave, her words hung heavily in the air around me. Burying into my blankets, my body ached from Edward’s lovemaking, and my heart throbbed with the revelations the night had wrought.

  Soon, I fell into a fitful sleep, my dreams plagued with demons of my own.

  Come morning, I felt quite a bit better.

  The sun was bright outside my window, and I sat up with a start, realizing Alice had turned my alarm off. Her intentions came from a good place, but my chaotic mind was soothed by work, not relaxation.

  When I managed to drag my heavy limbs downstairs, it was almost lunchtime. Alice didn’t say a word as I slid into my chair, and I was thankful. I didn’t want to hear any more about the wicked potential of my secret lover.

  As I knew I would, I worked to forget the night before, focusing my mind on the timetable of events for the upcoming artist retreat. Guests were beginning to confirm, speakers and workshop teachers were submitting their requests for space and materials, and there was plenty to do.

  I was so lost in my own desperation for escape, I didn’t hear the front door open in the main gallery.

  Finally, I turned at the sound of footsteps and started as I beheld a man standing in the doorway to the office. My heart thrummed at the sudden appearance, and I took stock of him. He was looking for a room, I suppose.

  “Hello, Miss,” he said, inclining his head, a shock of dark hair falling into his eyes.

  Rising to my feet, I scolded myself internally for allowing my mind to wander.

  “Pardon me,” I said hastily. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “That’s quite all right,” he replied, smiling at my frazzled state.

  His speech and presentation were polite and refined, not at all like the swathes of guests who had departed the week before. His accent was peculiar, not quite European but not quite English, and I couldn’t place it to any locale I could think of. He looked to be of a similar age to Edward, around thirty to thirty-five, and his complexion was sallow and drawn as though he shied away from sunlight. In saying all of that, he was handsome enough, but nothing could compare him to the master of Thornfield.

  “I’m here to see Edward Rochester,” the man declared. “Is he here?”

  “Mr. Rochester is out today on business,” I replied. “I’m not sure when he will return.”

  His gaze held nothing. It was if a vacant man stared back at me, and I wasn’t sure if my words had registered with him until he spoke.

  “I will wait until he returns if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all,” I replied. “Are you hungry? Dinner is not far off, and I can have the chef prepare you a meal if you like.”

  He smiled, some of the tiredness shedding from his person. “That would be brilliant,” he said. “I’ve come a long way, and I’m near starving.”

  “This way, sir,” I said, gesturing for him to follow me through to the dining room.

  “I’m Richard Mason,” he said. “Everyone calls me Mason. I’m not fond of all that sir and Mr. business. I’m just a man.”

  “Well then, Mason,” I said, opening the doors and ushering him to sit where he liked. “I’m Jane, one of the hotel managers. If there is anything I can assist you with while you are here, please let me know.”

  He smiled widely and nodded. “I’ll be sure to.”

  “Take a seat anywhere you like,” I went on, holding out my hand toward the empty dining room. “There are menus on the tables with a vast selection.”

  “Wonderful,” Mason exclaimed, choosing a table in the center of the room. “You’ll be sure to let Edward know I’m here when he returns? I have urgent business with him, though I’m sure he won’t see it that way. We’re old friends, he and I.”

  “Of course.” I frowned slightly at his words but didn’t question them. It wasn’t my place.

  Leaving Mason be, I let the kitchen know we had a guest to attend to, then ventured back to reception to finish my tasks for the day before I too sought out dinner.

  “Who was that?” Alice asked as soon as I entered.

  “You don’t recognize him?” I asked in surprise. “He seemed so familiar with Mr. Rochester that I assumed you knew him.”

  “No, I’ve never seen him before. Did he tell you his name?”

  “Richard Mason,” I replied.

  “Mason?” Her cheeks paled, and her eyes widened slightly, but it was so brief I wasn’t sure I’d witnessed the change.

  “Do you know him after all?” I prodded, hoping for some scrap of information.

  She shrugged and waved her hand. “The name sounds familiar somehow. I’m sure he’s just one of Rocky’s business partners.”

  “He mentioned they were old friends,” I offered.

  “Old friends?” She contemplated this, then shrugged. “Perhaps they went to school together. Or they know one another from his travels around Europe. What a mystery!” Gathering herself, she closed down the computer and turned the telephone onto the answering machine. “Now how about dinner, Jane? I’m starving like you wouldn’t believe. I forgot lunch today!”

  Making a note of Alice’s hasty dismissal, I turned off my own computer and followed her toward the dining room.

  Now that all the guests had departed, the room was reopened to host our nightly staff dinnertime. Sitting in my usual corner, I looked at Mason as he devoured his plate of food and attempted to decipher a little of the mysterious stranger’s being.

  His eye wandered, and there was no meaning to it at all. It gave him a very odd look. There was no power in his stature, no firmness in his expression, and no command in his blank brown eyes.

  He’d mentioned he and Edward were old friends, and it struck me as a curious relationship. They seemed to be cut from two very different pieces of cloth—two extremes meeting in the middle. It was often said that opposites attract, but in this case, it was outrageous to my mind.

  The sound of a car outside demanded my attention, and I stood.

  “Where are you off to?” Alice asked. “Your plate is still three-quarters full!”

  “There is a car outside,” I replied. “If it’s Mr. Rochester, he will want to know Mr. Mason is here. I shan’t be long.”

  “Don’t be too long, then. The roast beef is particularly delicious this evening. Shame to have some go missing from your plate.”

  Smiling at Alice’s humor, I went out into the main gallery just as the grand oak door was opening. When it let in Edward and a gust of cold air, I shivered.

  “Jane,” he said. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your greeting?”

  “There is a man here to see you,” I replied, keeping my tone formal even though I wished to smooth down his hair and kiss his lips. “A Mr. Richard Mason. I’ve set him down to dinner in the dining room…”

  I trailed off as Edward’s expression began to change, the fearful man I’d first met rushing unhindered to the surface.

  “Has he spoken to a
nyone?” he asked harshly. “Has he spoken to you?”

  Confusion washed over me, and I shook my head. “No, not much. He mentioned you were old friends, and he wished to wait for your return. He seemed to have some urgent business.” I gestured to the dining room. “He’s at dinner and very much preoccupied with the roast beef, sir.”

  His expression twisted even further, and a sharp jolt of fear flowed through my veins. His ire had risen to heights I’d never witnessed before, and as he strode past me, I followed hastily as he burst into the dining room. The staff glanced up at his sudden appearance, the air stilling as if it perched on a precipice of a cliff.

  Such a look of anger passed across Edward’s face as he beheld Mason, and it startled me, my blood beginning to run cold thinking I’d done wrong to offer the man hospitality. Glancing at Alice, she looked just as dumbfounded as I felt and came to stand beside me.

  “A storm is brewing, Jane,” she murmured as Edward practically manhandled Mason out of the dining room. “The good times were never meant to last around here. Not at Thornfield.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, glancing at her. What a strange thing to say.

  “You’ve not seen Rocky in a temper,” she replied. “Not a real one. The waters have been calm these past months. It’s unusual, but now things seem to be returning to the status quo.”

  My stomach churned as I contemplated what appeared to be the true nature of the man who’d stolen my heart. Was it a kindness when he’d removed me from his bed the previous night, then? I had not once seen the face of the man who had just now all but dragged another from the room by the scruff of his neck. I’d seen a great number of masks in his collection, but this one had been hidden carefully.

  Anger was an ugly emotion. It was fearful and unstable. I didn’t like it at all.

  At that moment, I felt the string that bound Edward and I together begin to fray, its strands spinning as it unfurled. I thought I’d seen all the parts of him that mattered, but in truth, he was a labyrinth full of unexplored corners. I feared I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did…and to my fragile heart, it was dangerous.

  What was I supposed to do?

  Even as I asked myself the question, I knew the answer to my dilemma. Nothing. I was to do nothing unless commanded to. It was none of my concern, but how I wished to help him!

  I’d always felt things more keenly than others, and in this, I was no different. Every hurt that passed across Edward’s face I bore with him, even if he knew it or not. Every sorrow I wished to share in an attempt to remove some of his pain, but he wouldn’t allow me. There wasn’t even any interest in the things that made me who I was, either.

  Perhaps I was just his secret mistress after all.

  22

  That night, I received no word from Edward.

  I suspected he was busy with Mason, dealing with whatever business had brought his old friend to Thornfield, and I tried not to let it hurt my already wavering emotions. He would call for me when he was ready, and then I’d attempt to discuss the meaning of our relationship. It was dangerous as it could go either way, but I could no longer sit by and become a plaything.

  Curling up in bed, I closed my eyes and attempted to fall asleep—because everything seemed better when rested—but as per my usual routine, my thoughts tumbled around and around.

  I wanted to belong more than anything, and this affair with Edward… Well, it did nothing but set me apart in the worst possible way. I thought I could handle it because in the beginning, having him a little was more satisfying than not having him at all, but now it was not.

  I was just dozing off when laughter drew me back to the surface, and I slapped my palms over my ears. Hush, Thornfield! Not tonight, I beg you!

  Dismissing it as another of Grace Poole’s weird midnight walks, I dozed and fell into a deep sleep, my thoughts finally lulled to a murmur.

  “Jane.”

  I heard my name being whispered as if spoken in a dream.

  “Jane, wake up.”

  My eyes opened a crack, and light illuminated my face. Blinking, I realized I’d left the lamp on, and as my wits returned, I saw Edward kneeling beside me.

  “What…”

  “Jane, wake,” he murmured again, his hand gently untangling my hair.

  “I heard a scream in my dream,” I muttered, pieces of what my mind had wrought whilst sleeping brought to the surface by his words. “Such a scream…”

  Edward cupped my face and stroked his thumb across my cheek. “Wake, Jane,” he murmured. “I am not an apparition.”

  Realizing I was indeed awake, I sat upright, forcing his hand to fall from my face. “What’s the matter? It’s past midnight.”

  “I need your assistance quite urgently, and there is no one else to ask,” he replied gravely.

  “Surely—”

  “Jane,” Edward barked, his black eyes shooting sparks, and I was silenced. “You can resume your argumentative spirit another time. Right now, I need you to come without complaint and a still tongue. Can you abide?”

  I nodded, reaching for a cardigan draped over the chair beside my bed. I was hardly dressed for midnight emergencies, but people rarely were. My cotton shorts, worn singlet, and cardigan would have to do. Once I’d slipped my boots on my feet, Edward took my hand and peered out into the hall as if we were on some secret mission. Perhaps we were, but this didn’t seem all that strange to me in the grand scheme of odd things that had happened within Thornfield’s walls these past months.

  He ushered me forward. “Take your time. Make no sound.”

  Trembling, I followed his path through the silent hotel even though his hand slipped from mine. I wanted to ask him so many questions, but his harsh command had me frightened. Something terrible had happened, and all at once, my mind went to Mason. Had Edward done something to the man whilst in a rage?

  The thought had me torn between two courses of action. Should I follow and help? Or should I turn tail and run?

  Knowing someone could be hurt had my conscience up in arms, so I stayed my path. I couldn’t turn away now.

  We stopped outside of Edward’s bedroom, and he turned, casting me a pointed look.

  “Can you stand the sight of blood, Jane?” he asked, causing a shudder to flow through my body. It was as I thought, then.

  “What have you done?” I whispered, shaking my head.

  “Give me your hand,” he said, ignoring my reaction. “It will do neither of us any good if you faint.”

  “I am stronger than I look,” I replied, though I threaded my fingers through his.

  “Strong and steady.” He opened the door then, and I was pulled into the room whether I was ready or not.

  My resolve stuttered and almost failed as I beheld what lay within.

  Mason lay upon Edward’s bed, curled on his side in the fetal position. The sheets were spotted with red, his face twisted in agony. My mind raced to catch up, weaving together the images before me. Blood. He was hurt.

  “Who did this to him?” I asked, turning on Edward. “Did—”

  “I did not, Jane,” he said, his brow darkening. “Why would you think such a thing?”

  “I don’t know what to think of you anymore, sir,” I replied, glancing fretfully at Mason.

  “I’m going to fetch the doctor,” Edward said coolly. “I need you to care for him until I return.”

  “But we should call an ambulance,” I protested, but he held up a hand to silence me.

  His eyes warned me not to argue. “I will go to the village and fetch the doctor.” Turning to Mason, he leaned over and murmured into his ear, “You must not talk to her on pain of death, Richard. Do you hear me?”

  The man nodded, his expression tight and his eyes screwed shut.

  I was struck dumb, and my mouth fell open. It was blatant now. I was purposely kept from the mysteries locked away within this house and in Edward’s cold heart. The realization stung as if I were the one wounded on that bed.
>
  Edward glanced at me, his expression closed, and said, “Remember. No conversation.”

  Then he strode from the room, leaving me alone with Mason. Why he should think I had the skill to care for a wounded man was beyond me. Considering our secret entanglement, perhaps I was the only one he could place this burden upon. This event, this violence, was meant to be kept as secret as our affair.

  Glancing at Mason, I frowned, but he was too out of it to say much of anything, even without Edward’s command.

  Filling a basin with cold water from the bathroom, I set it on the bedside table and doused a face washer. Wringing out the material, I folded it up into one long strip and placed it across Mason’s forehead. He moaned as the material came into contact with his skin, but his eyes didn’t open.

  I urged him onto his back, and he rolled over without complaint, revealing the severity of his wounds to me. Beholding the blood that coated his skin and the bed below, I paled. He wasn’t just hurt. This was… Who had done this violence to him if not Edward?

  Lifting the torn pieces of Mason’s shirt away from the wound on his arm, I dabbed gently at the blood with a clean cloth, cleaning as much of it away as I could. Glancing at his face, he was still unconscious or asleep—I didn’t know which—so I moved onto cleaning the gash as best I could to help promote clotting lest he bled to death.

  The more worrying violence was the deep gouge in his side. Rolling up his shirt, I repeated the same process. Here, his flesh had been torn viciously, and now that it was clear of blood, I could see something had stabbed into his side. It was worrying indeed, but at least the bleeding seemed to have slowed to a mere trickle. That bode well.

  Deciding to leave the wounds uncovered and open to the air, I drew a chair to the side of the bed so I could keep close watch over Mason. I curled up in it and watched the rise and fall of his chest as he slept.

  The night twisted around me, a pale and bloody spectacle lay within reach, and my thoughts wandered to ghosts and murderers let loose in the halls of Thornfield.

  I’d heard the same manic laughter that had led me through the halls of Thornfield to the fire that almost took Edward’s life. I’d heard a scream in my dream as if it was born above my very room, and I began to suspect it hadn’t been in my mind after all. Was it Grace Poole who had wrought this harm? If she was capable of such treachery, then why was she allowed to roam the halls as freely as she did? I wanted to see the good in all things, so I began to formulate excuses and alibis for the strange maid. Surely, it wasn’t her?