by Amity Cross
Sinking down the wall, a sob burst from between my lips, and I buried my face in my hands as if I could hide from the world and my own dreadful choices. My heart had all but disintegrated, my strength was no more, and my resolve was completely shattered.
Terror overcame me. Had I escaped the clutches of a tyrant that day on the moor? Or had my decision to turn him down only caused his already tortured despair to grow unchecked? Where should I lay blame if blame was to be laid at all?
When I first crossed the threshold of Thornfield, I had wished it to be everything I was lacking in my life. I hoped it would be a home and provide me with a purpose and a sense of belonging. I’d wished to stay my wandering feet on the hearth and never stray. I was so very tired of being a solitary figure with no name and no family to call my own.
Well, now I had a name, and I would guard it as fiercely as a lioness guarded her cubs. No man would ever control me and hold my love at ransom, nor would he make me settle for anything less than what I deserved.
It pained me so, but I’d made a grave mistake in lingering here these past months.
I was packed, my scant belongings squashed in my tiny duffel bag, and tomorrow, I would leave Thornfield or forever lose my soul to darkness.
13
The sun rose to a bleak morning.
Sitting on the window seat in my little room, I watched the grounds lighten, everything awash with dreary gray. Snow had fallen overnight while I’d cowered under my blankets, shivering with dread as well as cold, though it wasn’t enough to cover the ground completely. Frost clung to the grass, and clumps of snow had browned in puddles where it had been thick enough to linger.
It was a picture of depression, and it echoed my current disposition exactly. Sighing, I rubbed my tired eyes, the motion making them water. Perhaps I should cry, but I wasn’t sure I had the energy even for that. I’d felt too much in the proceeding months and was now entirely spent.
Checking the clock, I moved away from the window and pulled on my boots, tying the laces and fixing the side zipper. Then I laid out my coat and scarf, setting my gloves on top of my bag in preparation for my departure.
Sitting on the end of my bed, I brought my phone to life and used it to look up the train timetables. Seeing one was departing in twenty minutes, I cursed my misfortune. It wasn’t enough time to get to the station to meet it, not from as far away as Thornfield. If I went now, I’d be missed. Alice would mention my uncharacteristic absence to Edward, and when he came looking, he’d find me waiting for my escape.
The next train heading south toward London wasn’t for another three hours. Could I show my face and pretend for another hour and a half? I imagined I was an open book, my anguish clear on my features as words on a page. She intends to flee like a coward! Jane Doe is as she always was. Poor, little, plain, and obscure.
Who was Jane Eyre? I still felt like Jane Doe. The name Aunt Sarah had given me was naught but a starting point, and one I hadn’t followed or thought upon since returning to Thornfield.
Making a spontaneous decision, I settled on my imminent path from this place. I’d go to London via John Rivers’s studio, find some employment to get me by for the present, and then search for my family history. The rest would come in time.
Set with a new purpose, I lingered by my door, listening intently for ghosts playing games in the hallway beyond. My hand shook on the knob, hoping Edward was much too hung over to cause any trouble this morning. When I was satisfied nothing or no one stirred, I left my room.
I strolled downstairs, my ears straining for any sound indicating I was being followed or watched, but I heard nothing. Downstairs, I traversed through the kitchens, showing my face to the staff assembled for breakfast. Alice asked me to sit beside her, and Bessie offered me a plate of bacon and eggs, but I shook my head and told them I wasn’t hungry.
They watched me with an air of confusion as I disappeared through the gallery and went outside, but my duty had been done.
Outside, I was free of the oppression of the house and felt more at peace with my decision to leave. Deciding to take one last turn around the garden, I wandered across the rear landing, the sound of my boots soft against the paving.
The cherry trees, which were laden with fruit in the warmer months, were barren, the thorny stalks of rose bushes lined the path, and the cottage flowers had died down, leaving only the hardiest of plants to thrive in the harsh frost of the north. Curling my hands into the sleeves of my jumper, I did not feel the cold, though it should have frozen me to the bone without a coat to shield me.
Standing at the top of the stairs that led down into the orchard, the grand hotel towering behind me, I surveyed the land that sat at the feet of the behemoth. White and shades of gray covered the moor, slices of muted green showing through the pallor. I thought of Rivers then and wondered which colors he would place on his pallet if he were to paint the scene below. Black, green, white…was the intricacy my eye beheld made up of elements so simple?
Studying the grounds, I knew I wouldn’t be able to leave via the main gates. I’d have to cross the gardens, climb the low bluestone wall, traverse the little forest, walk about half a mile across the moor, and then I’d meet the lane about ten minutes walk outside of the village.
To my right, a rookery of starlings occupied the great oak tree at the very bottom corner of the grounds, and I caught sight of the groundskeeper and his dog on the way to disperse the bothersome birds. He and the little feathered creatures were the only things that moved.
“Jane Doe,” a malicious voice purred behind me. “What sort of name is that?”
I turned automatically, and my gaze met that of Blanche Ingram. She looked positively irate, her empty eyes fixed on my person like I was her prey.
“Well?” she prodded. “What are you trying to hide?”
I instantly went on the defense, my resolve crumbling like ash in the wind, and I was nothing but a quivering mess before her.
“Nothing,” I said. “I was an orphan and had no name. I’ve nothing to hide.”
She scoffed as if she didn’t believe me. “You bothersome, little wench. I know you prowl the library at night hoping to see my husband-to-be. Don’t deny it.”
“I…”
Her eyes narrowed in warning, and I knew she wouldn’t listen to anything I had to say to justify my actions. She’d come to her own conclusion, and there would be no budging her.
“He assured me you would be gone, but here you are months later,” she declared, looking me over with a sneer. “What a poor, pathetic-looking thing you are.”
“My bag is already packed,” I said hastily. “I intend to leave this very day.”
“Somehow, I do not believe you.” A glint of metal caught my eye, and my gaze dropped to her hand.
I saw the knife she held, and dread began to pool in my veins. Did she intend to use it, or was it another threat? I wasn’t the best at relating to other people, and I’d either have to fight, run, or talk her down. I didn’t like my odds of survival, and I hastily began to think of a way out.
“Blanche,” I said warily, my gaze returning to hers. “Think about what you’re doing.”
“Oh, I’ve thought about it,” she said with a snarl, brandishing the blade. “I’ve thought about it a great deal.”
I took a step backward, my heart thrumming wildly. “He is yours. You’ve already won.”
“No, I haven’t,” she replied, moving forward. “He still harbors a secret affection for you. Do you know how insulting it is? I am Blanche Ingram! I can have the pick of any man in the country, and certainly, any man would jump at the chance to marry me…but not Edward. He’s too busy lusting after the servants!”
I shook my head. “You’ve got this all wrong. We’re not doing anything behind your back. I wouldn’t—”
“Oh, save it,” she declared, rolling her eyes. “Poor bitches like you are all the same. The master throws you a scrap, and you do whatever it takes for another piec
e. I’ll never be rid of a leech like you unless I cut you off.”
She lunged, thrusting the knife toward me. Her eyes held hatred and madness that I’d never beheld before, not even during my days at Lowood or even Gateshead. I’d been shunned, turned on, hated, and feared as a child, but it was nothing compared to this moment. Blanche Ingram’s hatred of me was pure…and it was all because of Edward Rochester and his inability to love.
I stumbled backward to avoid the knife, but as I moved, my foot twisted on the edge of the stairs, and I fell to the side. Hot pain seared through my arm as the blade sliced through my flesh, and I gasped.
I didn’t feel it at first. I was weightless for a sickening moment, but then my other arm collided with the stair, then my head cracked against the one below it, and I was plummeting with no way to stop myself. I tumbled over and over before my body collided with the path below…and all was still.
I blinked, attempting to keep my wits about me, but I was fighting a losing battle. My vision blurred, my entire being ached and sparked with pain, and I couldn’t hold on any longer. As a female foot, dainty in a pair of expensive looking shoes, stood before me, my eyes closed and darkness took me.
“Jane!”
The sound of my name began to rouse me, and shapes started to take form in the darkness. Light was filtering into my vision as my eyes cracked open, but with it, came awareness of pain and danger. I didn’t know how long I’d been lying there, and all I could think of was the knife.
“Get away!” I exclaimed, my limbs defiant in their response. I could not move the way I wished. “God, help me!”
“Jane, please settle, it’s me. It’s Edward.”
I writhed as hands prodded at my arm, then my head, protesting at the painful touches. I was hardly aware of the word around me, my mind was so scrambled, but I knew I was cold.
“Edward?” I asked as his features began to appear before me. He’d found me.
“Jane, what happened?” he asked, looking distraught.
“No…” The powerful and brooding Mr. Rochester full of fear? For me? What an absurd thought.
“Jane, you must answer,” he said firmly, his hands tightening around my body. “Explain this to me!”
I coughed, every part of me throbbing with pain. I’d fallen down the stairs and landed on the garden path. Bluestones had collided with my petite little body, and it was a wonder I wasn’t smashed to pieces. Surely something was broken?
“I don’t feel so good,” I muttered, my head aching so much I could hardly hold onto my thoughts. “I have to… I’m going to miss the train…” I pushed against him, attempting to stand.
Edward grimaced, and with one fluid motion, lifted me clear off the ground and began walking. Where he was taking me, I didn’t know, but light turned to darkness as I was borne inside. I wanted to thrash against him and pull away from his grasp, but I was powerless. I was sure it was a metaphor, for he always held more strength than I did.
“Alice!” Edward bellowed. “Alice!”
There was a bang and quickened footsteps, then her voice echoed, “Mr. Roch— Jane?”
“Give me a key to one of the suites,” he commanded. “Then call Dr. Carter, and get him here immediately.”
“But—”
“I don’t care what you have to do, just get him here!”
There was a jangle of keys, and then we were moving again. Light and dark flashed before my eyes, and my stomach rolled as he wove a path through Thornfield. Finally, soft blankets cushioned my body, and I sank into them with a sigh, the coolness of the cotton soothing my temperature.
Big hands cupped my face. “Jane, you must tell me what happened.”
“Edward?” I asked.
“Yes, it’s your Edward,” he replied.
I’d broken the one rule I’d set myself after the day Helen died. I’d broken it, and now I was paying the price. Protect your soul at all costs. Edward had scarred my soul with his cunning words and desperate touches, he’d even marked me when his body had joined with mine, and it was my entire fault. I’d let him in under false pretenses.
“I must protect myself,” I said, not knowing if I’d spoken the words aloud or if I’d only heard them in my mind. “You can’t have it. You already have too much!”
He frowned, signaling he’d heard, and I closed my eyes, willing him to leave me in peace. His inability to let go had caused this pain. I hesitated and then wondered if it had been mine.
“You’ve had a bad blow to the head,” he said. “Take some deep breaths. You’re safe here.”
He was gone for a moment, but then he reappeared and pressed a cool cloth against my forehead. Now he was a nursemaid?
I allowed him to check me over, the damp cloth wiping at my skin as he went. I’d never felt such a gentle touch from him, and I wondered if I was dead and all of this was a vision. Perhaps I’d been dreaming all along, and at any moment, I would awaken and laugh at the dreadful turn of events. Jane Doe, attacked by a jealous lover? Absurd!
Edward frowned as he beheld the gash on my arm. “Jane, did you fall, or were you pushed?”
I stared at him unblinking. On one hand, I was still quite dazed, and on the other, I was reluctant to speak to him at all, lest he discovered my plan for escape even though Blanche had gotten to me first. I’d only wanted to start anew before I was forced out of Thornfield. I wanted to keep control over my own life. I had a name and a new purpose…forgetting Edward Rochester, Thornfield, and all the madness that had driven me to despair.
“You don’t have to utter a word, not at all,” he murmured, caressing my face with his rough fingertips. “I do not need your testimony to know who did this to you. I will protect you, Jane. You may scold me for it afterward, but nothing is more precious to me than your life.”
“Liar,” I exclaimed.
He bowed his head, attempting to hide his anguish from me, but I could see it all. The lines in his face deepened, his brow darkened, and his suffering was laid bare.
“She will never hurt you again,” he murmured, smoothing my hair behind my ear. “I’ll see to her ruin.”
“I don’t want to cause any trouble!” I said through a moan. “I never wished to harm anyone!”
“I know,” came his reply. “You, who have been oppressed by life most of all, are the most gentle soul I have even known. Despite your wildness, your sharp tongue, and your steely resolve, you care too much. If someone means to mortally harm you, you must fight, Jane, and if you will not, you must allow those who care for you to go into battle in your stead.”
I studied him, my thoughts becoming clearer as I settled. “Why must our story hurt so? I feel it in my heart like a hot poker. I tried to let go, but you won’t let me… I love you still, but I cannot allow myself to submit without it returned.”
His brow darkened, but he didn’t reply, so many emotions flowing over his strong features. They were much too elusive for me to catch and decipher.
“You are the spirit,” I muttered, closing my eyes. “You reside in the cage, not I.”
“Mon chèr maître,” he whispered into my ear as I drifted away on the soft waves of sleep. “You, Jane. You are the only master I’ve ever known.”
14
I was awoken some time later by a strange face.
He looked different in the daylight, but I immediately recognized Dr. Carter. The first and last time I’d seen the man was the night Mason was attacked by an unknown assailant, and the memory lit up my mind with renewed ferocity.
“Miss Doe,” he said, sitting beside me. “How are you feeling?”
I thought this a strange question as I felt extremely poorly, but I told him, explaining how I’d fallen. As he inspected my various hurts, I studied his features closely, though my head throbbed with an ache that hadn’t dulled since I’d injured it earlier.
I’d scarcely looked upon him the night I’d been roused to care for Mason. I’d been too fixated on the violence and mystery of the evening to
worry about what a stranger looked like. Now that I was the patient, I was free to study him. He was an older man, perhaps in his fifties, his hair had a generous helping of gray, his skin was lined with fine wrinkles, and his eyes were kind yet stern.
“And you hit your temple?” he asked. “Nowhere else on your head?”
“I have a headache, but I don’t think so. It happened so fast I can hardly remember it all.”
“Then you must drink lots of water,” he said. “Some mild pain killers like ibuprofen will help with the aches and pains, but only take two every four hours.”
Dr. Carter took great care to explain my injuries to me, and I assumed Edward had explained it in full whereas I’d only told him the bare necessities. He looked grave as he spoke, his brow furrowed as if the goings-on within the hotel were of great concern to him. He was not alone in his thinking. I too shared the same misgivings.
He told me the knife had only scored my flesh, opening a wound but causing no lasting damage. He’d used a bonding agent—a special glue—used in surgeries to close the gash in lieu of stitches and told me it would dissolve once my body had healed itself enough. I was bruised and battered from my fall, but he could discern no broken bones, though he would convince Edward to bring me to his practice in the village for some X-rays to make sure. I also had a concussion from the blow to my head and would need watching for the next few days, but he considered me lucky.
I didn’t feel that way. There were so many things wrong with how I’d conducted myself over the last few months I scarcely knew where to begin. The blow to my temple had caused my view to shift, and things I should never have forgotten had dislodged and bobbed to the surface like rich, red apples in a bucket of water.
Mason, Grace Poole, the fire, the laughter, the secrecy, Edward’s demon, Blanche Ingram… Had I been that embroiled in my own despair at losing Edward’s love? I’d forgotten myself entirely.
