My Mr. Rochester 1 (Jane Eyre Retold)

by Rigel, LK

  My Mr. Rochester 1 (Jane Eyre Retold)

  Copyright 2013 L.K. Rigel

  Published by Beastie Press

  Cover design by eyemaidthis

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Ebooks are not transferable. All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, with the exception of brief quotations used in critical articles and reviews, without written permission from the author. The unauthorized reproduction and distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.

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  Table of Contents

  My Legacy

  Madam Mope

  The Red Room

  Brocklehurst

  Goodbye To Gateshead

  Bishop’s Charity

  Helen

  To Hate Him More

  I Scandalize Myself

  News From Gateshead

  Stranger On A Train

  Thornfield Righteous Estate

  Dusk

  The Master

  My Mr. Rochester

  ( Jane Eyre Retold )

  Episode 1

  l.k. rigel

  « Chapter 1 »

  My Legacy

  Anno Domini 2081

  One rainy afternoon when I was thirteen, I was summoned to the morning room to sit with Mrs. Reed and her two younger children. This was no kindness on Mrs. Reed’s part. The vicar was coming for tea. No doubt she meant to show how well she cared for me.

  I am an orphan. I belong to no one. My mother died not long after I was born, and it’s said my father died of grief within six months of her death.

  According to custom I should have gone to my father’s brother. But my mother’s brother was an Anointed Elder, well connected and financially comfortable, so I was sent to him at Gateshead Righteous Household near New Bellefleur in the south of Idaho.

  Uncle Reed also succumbed to an early death, from a wasting disease no one would ever speak of. When he lay dying upstairs a year after my arrival, he made his wife swear before God to keep me and raise me as she would her own children. Mr. Fleming, the vicar, was witness to her solemn oath.

  I didn’t mind going to the morning room to see the vicar. Mrs. Reed was always civil to me in front of visitors, and there were sure to be raspberry teacakes. I didn’t particularly like Mr. Fleming, but that was unremarkable. I didn’t particularly like anybody.

  I didn’t dislike him.

  In a mood to seek approval, I brushed my hair and secured it in a chignon at the nape of my neck. I changed into my new dress, a soft white cotton and silk blend with a high waist and a scooped neck. The skirt flowed from just below my breasts to mid calf length. I put on my gold cross pendant, my one piece of jewelry and the only memento from my mother.

  Mrs. Reed nodded approval when I entered the room. John Reed scowled as usual then pretended not to see me.

  Eliza, two years younger than me, had the honor of pouring Mr. Fleming’s tea. As the pot wavered in her hands, Mrs. Reed frowned, making her more nervous. The vicar kindly tried to divert attention from Eliza, and his gaze landed on me.

  “How is Jane Eyre coming along?” His smile fell when he really looked at me. If he meant to instigate some pleasant chit-chat, he’d picked the wrong subject. “Not another Georgiana, I see. Not destined for great beauty.”

  “Another Georgiana?” John Reed snickered and looked at me sideways. “Don’t hold your breath, vicar.”

  John Reed was seventeen and heir to Gateshead, though his sister Georgiana was his superior in age and character. Under the Edicts, Decrees, and Laws of New Judah, a female can inherit only in the absence of a male.

  Georgiana was also my superior in character. By now I would have murdered John Reed, if not for the inheritance then to rid the world of a meritless pest.

  He was tall and thick for his age, with limp hair the color of dirt in August, ruddy skin, and persistent acne. He gorged himself at every meal, resulting in flabby cheeks, a general repulsive softness, and a belly which spilled over his belt. At the moment, the crumbly evidence of raspberry teacake covered that belly.

  “Are you enjoying your sabbatical, John?” I said.

  His face darkened, as I’d intended. I felt a small victory in delivering the sting. It was a sensitive subject. He ought to be away at school, but he’d had trouble finding one to accept him.

  “Oh, Jane Eyre. Why did you remind me?” Mrs. Reed rubbed the furrow between her eyes. “California, Mr. Fleming. I don’t think I can bear it!”

  In accordance with his late father’s final instructions, John had applied to Princeton in the heathen old country. Unfortunately he’d never taken the trouble to study, relying instead on the legacy position he was sure awaited him. Princeton declined Mrs. Reed’s little prince, as did Harvard, Columbia, Brigham Young and several lesser lights. Only one approved university accepted the darling. Pepperdine in the dreaded west.

  The vicar said, “I assure you, Mrs. Reed, Pepperdine is an oasis of righteousness. John will receive a good moral education there.”

  And not a moment before time, I thought. I caught Mr. Fleming’s eye, and I knew he thought the same.

  Mr. Fleming added, “If John is to take Mr. Reed’s place on the council of elders one day, he must graduate from a listed university. Pepperdine is, after all, on the list.”

  I turned my face to the window, but John saw my smile in the reflection and scowled at me again. I wished he’d already gone. He’d begged a year off, a sabbatical from study, which his mother agreed to—owing to his delicate health, of course. Everyone could see he was headed for ruin. Everyone but Mrs. Reed.

  “The mirrors crack when Jane Eyre walks by.” He returned to the subject of my looks. If he’d been closer, I’m sure he would have kicked me out of habit. “No one can compare her to Georgiana.”

  It was true. I have always been plain. My hair is a mystery color, neither brown nor blond. My eyes are hazel, neither blue nor green. My complexion is clear but unremarkable. I was thin even then, not from lack of good food but from lack of appetite.

  I was, however, beginning to develop a figure. I’d recently started my courses, to Mrs. Reed’s disgust. She sent me to Bessie, the housekeeper, for instruction on becoming a woman. As Bessie described the business, it all sounded like a lot of mess and bother and humiliation without much reward.

  Bessie said it proved God meant women for service and not for authority. I asked her why then did we have authority to run households and care for children and manage so much hard and dirty work? For which cleverness my reward was a slap across the face.

  “Jane has her own virtues.” Eliza looked at me kindly. Some innate goodness remained in her—though her brother did his best to drive it out. “But no one’s as pretty as Georgiana. I can’t wait for her to come home.”

  Eliza was right about Georgiana. The oldest Reed child was unlike any of her family. I fancied she favored my uncle and not her mother.

  Georgiana Reed was quick and clever, and she was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. She had thick raven hair that followed any pattern Abbot, her lady’s maid, tried with it. Her blue eyes twinkled with fun and mischief. Her complexion was like rose-tinged porcelain, and her lips were a perfect shape and color. (She used rouge and lipstick, but Mrs. Reed seemed to believe her daughter’s features were struck upon her at birth by angel kisses.)

  Georgiana was nev
er cruel to me, and sometimes she was actively kind. Only one thing could explain it. As an infant she must have been switched out of her crib by goblins. I chuckled at the picture of it. Were the goblins disappointed or happy with the sour and mean child they brought back to their kingdom in Georgiana’s stead?

  Such philosophical questions sustained me in my loneliness.

  “Your sister will be home for the Christmas holiday, my pet.” Mrs. Reed took the pot from Eliza to refill her own cup. “My youngest child is correct, Mr. Fleming. Georgiana’s become quite the beauty.”

  “Curves enough to tempt but not so much as to intoxicate,” Mr. Fleming said genially.

  I thought the coarse remark was shocking. Eliza standing next to him appeared not to hear it, and John grinned and nodded.

  Mrs. Reed took no offense. “She gives me no worries. She’ll make a wonderful match.”

  “And yet… Harvard?” Mr. Fleming said in honest perplexity. “Curious giving a daughter such an expensive education—and in the United States.”

  It was bad enough New Judah was forced to send its sons out to the heathen old country for their degrees. Most good families kept their daughters close to home until marriage. A degree from a local college was sufficient.

  It wasn’t as if Georgiana would become a physician or engineer or anything so unsuited to a lady of her rank.

  “Those dreadful last instructions.” Mrs. Reed gave the vicar a sharp look. “I’ve carried out my husband’s wishes, even those which cause me grief, as you well know.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Reed. Of course, Mrs. Reed.”

  “Vaccinations, evolution…” Mrs. Reed grumbled under her breath.

  “Troubling things,” Mr. Fleming said. “But Mr. Reed was an Anointed Elder. His authority can’t be questioned.”

  I turned again to the window, relieved I wasn’t mentioned in the list of Mrs. Reed’s painful obligations. Once I caught her notice, it never turned out well. Georgiana was so lucky.

  Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t envy my cousin’s beauty or rank. I envied her freedom and her education—though I wouldn’t like to go to the heathen old country, as we all called the United States. Not even for an education.

  “Georgiana doesn’t complain,” Mrs. Reed said. “She makes the best of things, as usual. She’s met what decent people she can find in Cambridge. Useful connections for the future.”

  “Perhaps she’ll marry a diplomat.” Mr. Fleming frowned at his tea as if searching his cup for a pleasanter response.

  “I did consult Bishop Brocklehurst,” Mrs. Reed added. “He found no fault in Harvard.”

  “Well done, Mrs. Reed.” A smile broke out like sunshine over Mr. Fleming’s face. “The bishop always knows what’s best.”

  Mrs. Reed loved to be caught out at being clever. She drank in everyone’s approving looks until she came to me. All the pleasure drained from her expression.

  “As to Jane Eyre. I don’t know what to do with her, vicar. Truly.” She sighed her martyr’s sigh. “It’s so unfair. The daughter of my dead husband’s dead sister. Hardly a real relation.” It irked her so to be bound to me.

  Yet bound to me she was. Mrs. Reed was a cruel woman. (She never allowed me to call her aunt.) She had countless faults. But she was a pious woman. With meanness of spirit and undaunted bitter resentment, Mrs. Reed kept to the letter of her oath.

  She had never promised to love me.

  We all at the same time noticed Bessie standing in the doorway. “Madam, a package has come for Miss Jane.”

  The room went silent but for the crackle of an ember on the fire. Everyone stared dumbly at the housekeeper as if some alien language had just danced on her tongue. John Reed and his mother glared at me in indignation. How dare I presume to receive a gift!

  Bessie held, as announced, a package wrapped in maroon paper and tied with a gray jute string. What could it be?

  More mysterious, who could have sent it?

  « Chapter 2 »

  Madam Mope

  I hesitated and glanced at Mrs. Reed. Had the vicar not been present, John Reed would have already laid into the package and torn away the wrapping. He’d be taunting me with whatever was inside, holding it over my head or threatening to toss the thing into the fire.

  But the vicar was present, and we all stared at each other.

  “Well, Jane?” Mrs. Reed finally said. “Don’t dawdle. See what it is.”

  Too much to hope she’d let me escape to open it in private.

  Bessie brought the package to the side table near me. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity. I felt she was happy for me to have received any kind of present while the others were consternated and more than a little angry.

  “Bessie, go to the kitchen and fetch more hot water for the tea,” said Mrs. Reed. “And send someone in with another log for the fire.”

  Inside the paper was a dark gray cardboard box with a white oval on the top. Within the oval, gray letters read Harvard Book Store Since 1932, and beneath the oval in white letters, 1256 Massachusetts Avenue Cambridge Harvard Square.

  I felt a smile curl my lips as I ran my fingers over the words. What would the inside of a hundred-fifty-year-old bookstore be like? I’d always heard they read with technology in the United States, on little flat slabs where the words changed automatically and there were no pages to turn. But of course a university would have real books.

  “Well, Jane? What is it?” Mrs. Reed said. “Who is it from?”

  “It’s a book.” I could have said more. Of course I knew who it was from, though I was baffled as to why Georgiana would send me anything. I opened the cover and found a loose sheet of paper lying inside.

  “Read us the note, Jane,” Mr. Fleming said. “There’s a good girl.”

  I obeyed.

  “Jane. I know you’ll be gobsmacked to receive this package from me, but let me tell you what it is. A brilliant insight struck me this morning as I browsed the campus book store. Jane Eyre shall become a teacher! The idea must have come from your guardian angel, Jane; otherwise I can’t explain why I thought of you at all. Let this Atlas of the World mark the beginning of your career. Say hello to my brother and sister, and give Mama my love. –Georgie.”

  Mrs. Reed paled. “Georgie!” She forgot to be flummoxed that Georgiana would send me a present, let alone such an expensive one. “Did you hear that, vicar? Georgie. Oh, dear. Why did we let our sweet girl go to that heathen land?”

  “There, there, madam. All young people go through phases.” Mr. Fleming touched Mrs. Reed’s hand, which she didn’t withdraw. “It’s nothing, I’m sure.”

  “May I be excused?” I hugged the precious gift to my chest.

  “Yes, go. Leave me to my distress, selfish creature.” Mrs. Reed waved me on.

  I felt rather than saw John Reed rise to follow, but his mother came to my inadvertent rescue. “Oh, John,” she cried. “Come hug me. I’m so glad you’ve stayed home this year.”

  I closed the door behind me and skipped away with my present, punching the air in victory.

  On her return to the morning room, Bessie caught me thusly dancing. Her mouth fell open, and I thought sure she’d report my behavior. I jerked my finger to my lips and shook my head, silently pleading with her to say nothing.

  Sweet Bessie nodded and waved me on with a grin.

  I rushed to the library and climbed into the window seat and closed its curtains. As was my ritual in that cold space, I stuffed one of the pillows behind my back, tucked my feet under my skirt, and pulled the coverlet over my lap.

  I was free and safe, with John Reed detained in the morning room for as long as the vicar stayed.

  Sitting cross-legged in my hideaway, I opened my new treasure. In one section, maps of North America before and after the Great Secession faced each other. I traced the outlines of New Judah and found New Bellefleur in Idaho, the state farthest northwest. The United States bordered our country in larger masses than I’d imagined, especially in the east.
<
br />   I found Cambridge, Harvard’s home in Massachusetts. Pepperdine was in the southwest on the California coast. John Reed’s campus-to-be overlooked the ocean. How wonderful.

  It was interesting to compare the current maps with the one country of two generations ago. Spokane had been part of the state of Washington. Reno was part of the state of Nevada. Half the Sierra Nevada Mountains were part of California! That made no sense. Our westernmost state, Jefferson, was carved out from parts of Oregon, California, and Nevada. A strip of United States little more than a hundred miles wide ran along the Canadian border. Why did they do that?

  I was in my glory leafing through the pages. Europe might as well be Mars. I’d met people, visitors to Gateshead, who’d been to Canada and the heathen country and missionaries at church who’d returned from Mexico and Ecuador and Argentina. But not Europe. Or Asia, for that matter.

  Of all the places in the world, why did God place me at Gateshead? I was out of tune here. Surely somewhere existed where I could sing a happy song and breathe free. I returned to the map of North America. I closed my eyes, made a circle in the air three times, and pointed to a spot on the map.

  My finger landed a few hundred miles from Gateshead in the state of Jefferson in a county called Millcote. I turned to Jefferson’s county maps. Millcote was farm country, spread over foothills and valleys. There were three Righteous Households: Fairfax, Ingram, and Wade—and one Righteous Estate, Thornfield. I traced the county perimeter.

  Yes.

  A sense of well-being glowed within me. Surely my guardian angel had guided my hand. Right then I adopted Millcote as my true home, my soul’s home. It didn’t matter if I never saw it. I knew now such a resting place existed in the world. It would be the theoretical anchor for my adrift self.

  Had Georgiana done me a favor, sending the atlas? I was glad she did. Somehow it made me like the heathen country a little better. How funny was that? I turned to the county page for Cambridge to look for Harvard.

  Someone had written on the page. Scandalous! The lettering was tiny, but when I held the atlas up to the window for better light the writing was clear: