Deliverance

by Kirsten Bij't Vuur

  Author's note

  This is one of those 'what if' adaptations. I've always wondered why Mr Rochester had to be broken so thoroughly before he could be happy with Jane Eyre. What if she had not been able to get away, what if he had been waiting by her door a second time, pleading her to stay? Would she indeed have lost herself and been made his mistress? Or would they have managed to live together as brother and sister?

  The story starts at the end of chapter 27, when Jane has gathered her meagre personal belongings in a parcel, tied on her straw bonnet, pinned on her shawl and steals away from her room.

  Chapter 1

  'Jane..'

  My master's voice sounded in the dark of the hallway, transformed beyond recognition...by my own racked conscience no doubt. I was merely hearing things in the fevered haste of my departure. Though almost certainly still wide awake, Mr Rochester would not be out there, outside my door for the second time that night, he must be in his own room, pacing from wall to wall with restlessness caused by guilt and passion. He did not expect me to leave.

  I headed towards the stairs, silently bidding farewell to kind Mrs Fairfax and dear Adele, dreading the moment I'd have to pass my master's door, would have to resist the temptation to embrace delirious joy and sin.

  'Jane..'

  I had not imagined the voice! Though further away this time, its anguish was unmistakable, where was its strength? Its certainty to be heard and obeyed?

  Though still driven by the phantom of my dream and my own sense of self-worth, I could not help turning around to face that voice. I saw nothing but dark, however much my eyes strained to discern the beloved shape of my master, now in dire need.

  'So you meant what you said, you are leaving, and without so much as a word of farewell, or a sovereign on you?'

  I nodded, unable to withstand that voice, the love in it, the pain. He wouldn't see in the pitch dark, but he would know.

  By now, my resolve was wavering, my shock at having been caught held me motionless; the sound of suffering in Mr Rochester's voice drained my energy to virtually nothing. The worst day of my life had seamlessly flowed into the next, and I was suddenly tired to the death.

  'I'm so sorry I ruined everything, dear Jane, will you not let me make it up to you? Do you truly wish to tear both our hearts out? Live loveless and destitute among strangers, with not just the agony of your own bleeding heart, but knowing I'll go savage with pain and guilt?

  You've seen me desperate, Jane, do you think I'll not be howling mad within a week?'

  There was no way I could leave, my legs refusing to bear my weight any longer I could not run from my master, nor did I want to. I wanted that voice to find a semblance of peace, and then I wanted to sleep, preferably never to

  wake up again. Could I yet avoid giving my master what he craved, what he needed to be happy? Didn't he deserve to be happy, for once in his life, even if it cost me my self-respect, the only thing I had left after having my love desecrated and my hopes crushed?

  'Jane, will you please stay, and make my life worth living?'

  How I ached to feel those arms around me, to embrace that solid chest, to stroke that raven hair and kiss that stern brow. If I went to him, he would be strong again, and I so needed that strength, for I had none left of my own.

  He did not pick me up this time; for minutes, nothing happened. I sought support against the wall or I would have fallen down, to which my pride objected, its last feeble convulsion before I smothered it to death and delivered myself to a life of denigration and servitude. To be a mistress, how the very thought repulsed me, how I would loathe myself the rest of my life, but I needed to be loved right now or perish; and I could not condemn my master to solitude and self-destruction, I'd rather die on the inside myself.

  My eyes by now could discern some vague shapes in the pitch dark, the straight lines of the walls and floor, the vertical posts of the doors. The only irregular shape was as unmoving, as solid as the rest.

  He would make me come to him of my own free will; at least, that was what it would seem to him if I walked towards that still shape and delivered myself to it, body and soul. He had never been dependent on anyone, not like I had been and was destined to be, my master did not understand that I no longer had the will or the physical strength to remove myself from him. He would take what dignity I still possessed, without realising my sacrifice.

  Mr Rochester would expect me to be happy in his arms, safe from want and loved but despised by myself and everyone else but him, less free than I had ever been, even locked in the red room at Gateshead. I expected to be miserable, but still I shuffled towards him, holding on to the wall for support.

  Of course he could hardly stand to see me like that, he loved me, he had done this to me. I could discern him now, sitting cross-legged on the floor, his face still agonized but hope already lighting his strong features. I was afraid of his dominance, as his wife I would have teased him until I found my courage, as his mistress he would rule me until he got tired of my meekness, my lack of spirit; with luck, he'd realise who had broken my spirit and leave me not entirely destitute and loveless.

  But do not think these black thoughts in any way spoiled my intense

  satisfaction in entering those arms, spread now in welcome; do not think I did not rejoice in seeing his face clear altogether, the happiness on it now real, visible even in the dark of night. For a few blessed moments I felt I had done the right thing, had given my master what I desperately wanted to give him, saw him at peace, in the possession of what he wanted more than anything in the world. Me.

  As passive as he had been so far, so quickly did he spring into action as soon as he had my unresisting shape in his arms. I could discern no strain in him as he got back to his legs without the use of his arms, since those were bearing my weight. He had kissed me joyously as soon as he had his arms around me, but now he wanted more, it seemed his passion had woken for he crushed me against him, still in his arms, and kissed me on my lips, causing me to shudder in fear and passion at the same time; already short of breath, I was not given respite, his lips opened and he intensified that kiss even more.

  I did not object, I had made the decision and there was no going back on it, and besides, I loved him and yes, part of me wanted this, very much, as if our wedding had taken place without mishap and this was the natural result. It was not very difficult to return that kiss with love, the day's events had worn him out, too, and I was certain he was not as forceful or as passionate as he might have been.

  'Jane, my dearest Jane.'

  The love in those words, it cannot be described with a pen, it proved to me what I already knew, his love for me was real, only human conventions laid between him and my ultimate happiness. For a few moments I managed to forget them, and relished lying in his strong arms, his eyes upon me with love and passion, his kisses now tender, his grip secure but no longer tight or frightening.

  He took me to his own bedroom, dawn was already breaking; the curtains were still open, the drapes of his bed still absent, the rest of the interior familiar to me from the time I saved his life, and the time I fetched and carried for him when Mr Mason got hurt. His brother-in-law.

  My master laid me down on his bed reverently and he did not join me there, or start to undress himself or me, but he kneeled by the bed and laid his head against my waist, an almost humble gesture were it not for my constant realisation that I was delivered to him, had no freedom left, no right to make another decision of my own. But he never noticed, for my mind and body

  were almost two separate beings by now, and my body turned towards him and stroked the intensely black locks, his rough cheeks, even his solid neck disappearing in his collar.

  I suppose he was incredibly tired as w
ell, he had been watching my door while I slept, he had faced heartbreak as much as I had suffered from the day's events; and now, under my attentions, he closed his eyes and relished my touch. His stern face relaxed, his brow smoothed, I had never seen my beloved master like this, years were taken off his face, he looked like the boy he told me he had once been, not as young, but certainly as vulnerable and as innocent. Love for him suffused me, lifted me up, gave me hope.

  But after a few minutes he looked up from my caresses, and his eyes shot fire, the moment had passed, passion now had him in its grip. My fear returned, but mixed with it in equal parts was a passion of my own, a decided heat that wanted to rip off his shirt, and kiss him again, and have him press his powerful body against mine. It felt good and natural, and I managed to give myself up to it for a few moments; if this was the moment where I lost everything I held dear, including my master, I'd at least try to enjoy it.

  After kissing me again he stood upright and undid the top few buttons of his shirt, then pulled it over his head in one smooth move. A dry part of me looked at his bared chest in wonder, it was covered in short hair, almost like a pelt, and beneath that, light skin and dry muscle, there was very little fat on my master. As if to test my mettle he bent over me like that, and kissed me again, a highly personal scent now reaching my senses, and sending my body into something much like a flutter.

  It was like heaven, small wonder this was so sinful, all sensible thought was driven from me and I wanted touch that bared flesh, stroke the hairs, relish that scent, let it drive me out of my mind, then trace the muscle all the way down his belly, to where even more unspeakable parts were hidden. And I would have, if my master hadn't reached out for the buttons on my dress.

  Instantly, all my fear and my self-loathing were back, and this time they overcame my desire, causing me to avert my face, and close my eyes, waiting for the axe to fall.

  When nothing happened, not a touch, not a sound, curiosity overcame fear, and I opened my eyes and looked up.

  Mr Rochester was sitting on the bed, chest still bare, face down and hidden in both hands. His hair was longer than I pictured it, it fell in raven feathers over

  his hands, obscuring all view of his face even if his hands hadn't covered it. A strangled voice came forth from between those hands, tortured once more, not addressing me, but berating himself.

  'I knew that to force the bird was to break its wings, damage it beyond repair, and here I had nearly broken its spirit. Twice in one day.'

  When he looked up, there was anger in his features, though not aimed at me, and despair was back as well. His voice was choked as he begged, 'Can you forgive me Jane, for doing you harm once again? Out of selfishness, again?

  You never wanted this, I thought you did because you came to me of your own free will. Or so I thought. But you love me as I love you, you want me to be happy, as I want nothing more than for you to be happy. You merely wanted to comfort me, take my pain away, not taste love you deem forbidden.

  Jane, I will not touch you again, I promise. I'll take you to your own bed, and let you sleep until you are awake and alert. And then we'll talk. If you still want to leave, I'll help you find a new situation, or better yet, I'll set you up with your school, right here in Millcote, you can teach the little factory boys and girls, and be the angel who delivers them from a life of poverty.

  But don't run away, my love, I cannot bear the thought of not knowing where you are, I need to know you're safe and provided for, even if heart-sore and lonely, as I am. And let me know when you find someone you can love and marry, let me know when your life is no longer in shambles because of me.

  It'll save me one sleepless night out of two.'

  Breaking his own promise by taking my hand and kissing it, my dear master got up from the bed and put his shirt back on, after which he picked me up even more gently than before, carried me to my bedroom and sat me on the bed there. Then he kneeled next to the bed again, head in my lap, still calm, almost resigned, and spoke again.

  'If you do find it in you to stay with me, Jane, we can live as brother and sister, sharing everything equally. We can travel, or we can even stay in this accursed house together. If you want to keep Adele you can have her, to occupy your days, and have something to hold and love. But will you please not run away, love of my life? I'll be by your door until you promise me, I need sleep and a few moments by myself, but I will not take them until I know you'll be safe.'

  Never was my love for Mr Rochester more painful to me, his calm

  acceptance, the love his whole demeanour exuded, the mercy he had shown me by letting me keep my virtue and my freedom; I wished so much I could give myself to him, but I could not. But would it be so bad to be together as brother and sister? I thought not.

  'Thank you, master. I love you more than ever, and I promise I will not try to leave secretly. Go get some sleep, dear master, and we will talk tomorrow.

  Know that I have forgiven you, and I will needle you back to spirits tomorrow. Now I'm just too tired.'

  I stroked his hair and face as I had done earlier, and the chaste kiss he offered I didn't refuse either; I loved him, I wanted nothing more than to be with him, delve ever deeper into that mysterious mind, get to know its secrets; could I love him and not cross the sacred boundary? Could he?

  After that goodbye he left me, insisted I lock the door behind him, which I did. I barely got into the bed before I fell into a deep sleep, without undressing first, without reflecting on the fate I had narrowly escaped, or the promise I had made Mr Rochester.

  It must have been close to midday when my sleep turned restless, but since my curtains kept out every hint of light it might have been midnight instead.

  With vivid reality I heard the gurgling laughter I now knew was not Grace Pool's, but Bertha Rochester's. It passed by my door, a knowledge that brought no relief but rather more anxiety. The creature haunting this house was out for revenge, and its wrath would fall on her husband, my master whom I loved to distraction, and who slept like the dead. He would not save himself.

  Braver in my dreams than in real life I followed her down the long corridor, her candle trailing smoke and soot in its wake, the smell a pungent warning the madwoman's wrath would fall on me as likely as on her husband. As yet undiscovered I reached my master's room, door now open, smoke wafting through, and entered as quietly as I could.

  The scene I saw before me drained my face and heart of blood, for the large, black haired woman who had attacked my beloved master viciously just yesterday, now stood bent over him, candle fallen to the ground, flames starting to lick at the sheets and blankets torn from his sleeping form. The woman's white nightgown was spattered with drops that seemed black in the flickering light of the flames, and with a cry of horror I saw my master's face, unmoving and white, gruesome holes where his eyes were supposed to be. At

  the sound of horror and grief tearing from my throat the unholy spectre turned towards me, rapidly spreading fire now lighting her powerful shape from behind; the arm with the stolen knife was raised, she advanced as I stood rooted with disbelief and fear.

  And still I couldn't wake, there was further torment in store for me; as the knife descended towards my breast, a strong arm grabbed the madwoman's throat from behind, and as I looked up at my saviour, Mr Rochester's face appeared over her shoulder, features set in fury, his mouth a shout of rage or agony, eye-sockets streaming blood.

  In that dream, I fainted dead away, only to awake sweating in my own bed.

  The horror of what I had seen was still with me, my pulse raced, I gasped for breath, my mind reeled with the sight of blood, and the violence of it all. Was this what my defiance of God's laws would bring me? And my master, for being the instrument of my disobedience?

  Could I still avert Mr Rochester's fate by leaving him? Or would that doom him even more certainly to an agonizing death?

  A violent pounding on my door brought me almost to my senses.

  'Jane, are you a
ll right? Are you in pain? Open the door this instant, or I'll have to break it down!'

  At least Mr Rochester was safe and back to himself this morning. No broken down voice, no begging, I could feel myself smiling indulgently, and knowing he did not make empty threats I called out quickly, and as calmly as I could manage, 'I'm fine, master, just had a nightmare.'

  Only slightly less imperious came the reply.

  'Open up anyway, so I can see for myself. If you please.'

  There was nothing for it but to obey, and doing so I found myself quite able to stand and walk, with a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

  The room was still dark, I had slept in my dress and my face and hair were probably a fright; but there was no longer a reason to please my master's sense of aesthetics, so I merely unlocked the door, only to have it flung inside by a frantic Mr Rochester.

  He must have had a great shock last night, for on beholding me, even in the state I was in, maybe because of the state I was in, he lost his brusqueness instantly and became as careful of me as if I was made of porcelain.

  'Jane, are you all right? You look as if you've seen a ghost, or worse.'

  I could help myself no longer, and smiled.

  'I'm afraid I always look like this when I wake up, sir. But I did have a terrible nightmare that shook me to the core. Did I cry out?'

  'Your scream was enough to curdle my blood, and you know I'm used to some frightful noises.'

  Before I could say anything, I had one of his blessed arms around me, and was sat on the bed with him beside me. I still saw that mutilated visage projected over my master's beloved face and shuddered with the memory.

  Without considering the impact on my master, I rested my head on his chest and let him soothe me as if I were a child. He did release a very deep sigh, but gave no other notice, and with his voice deeper than ever due to my lying on the place from where it sprang, he ordered me to speak.

  'Tell me what has you shaking like a reed, dear Jane. Nothing frightens you, not my rage, not Mason bleeding out, not even seeing me attacked by yonder fiend.'