by Amity Cross
“I did wish to come and see you and your studio as you invited me to, but I’m in a bit of a bind I’m afraid,” I said. “I left Thornfield quite suddenly, and I’m not sure where I should stay.” I hesitated, embarrassed to ask for his assistance. “I was hoping you could—”
“Of course,” he declared, not waiting to hear me out as he took my bag. “You must stay a while. The studio is want to be a refuge for wayward souls now and then. Friends, artists, and backpackers—they all rotate in and out. You’re most welcome to the spare room until you decide where to go next.”
My shoulders sank in relief, and I winced slightly as I rolled the joints back and forth.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, frowning.
I sighed, not wanting to explain, but I had to tell him something. I couldn’t hide the pain from the stab wounds Bertha had inflicted upon me if I were to stay a while.
“A few weeks ago, I was set upon,” I replied uneasily. “I was stabbed twice.” To emphasize my story, I pulled the neck of my shirt aside so he could see the puckered pink lines where the blade had sunk into my flesh.
“My goodness!” Rivers exclaimed. “This didn’t happen at Thornfield?”
I shook my head. “No, not at all. I was on a trip away. I was lucky, but something changed in me after the ordeal.” The lie slipped out so easily I surprised myself, and I began to fret.
He smiled, his expression telling me he’d accepted my story wholly. “You wished to make a change? Live life more fully? Take a leap?”
I glanced at my feet, feeling ashamed of my lie. “Something of the kind. I admit I was a bit foolish.”
“Why would it be foolish, Jane?” he asked incredulously. “To want for adventure and have the courage to do whatever it takes to grasp it is not something to be ashamed of.”
“I have no money and nowhere to stay,” I countered. “Surely, adventure comes with some responsibility.”
“Don’t confuse responsibility with common sense,” he shot back with a lopsided grin. “I like you, Jane, that is no secret, and I’m glad you thought to come visit me. I have been thinking about you these past months since the retreat and wondered if you would take up my invitation. Now you are here, spirited in on the wind. It looks like you’ve had a near miss with death himself, and you must let me help you on your adventure.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, bewildered at his enthusiasm.
His smile was brilliant. “One hundred and ten percent.” Gesturing for me to follow, he went on, “Come. Let me show you the spare room, and I shall give you the personalized guided tour of the studio and apartment. It is my turn to host you, Jane. Are you hungry? There’s a fantastic Thai restaurant around the corner. I’ll order us some delivery.”
“Don’t you have any plans?” I asked as we climbed some stairs at the rear of the garage.
“Truthfully, there’s something on every night of the week in London, but even the life of the party needs a sleepy night at home every once in a while. I’m not a man who commits to going to events, Jane. I just show up.”
I raised my eyebrow and wondered if it was also a reflection on his romantic entanglements. Remembering his conduct at Thornfield, I assumed it was so. He’d made no apologies for showing his affection in our few meetings, and I could still remember the afternoon in the garden when he’d kissed me. It played on my mind, but I’d made myself clear then that I wasn’t interested in romance, and it especially held true now.
“Did you say you needed work?” he asked as he let me into the little apartment that sat over his studio.
“Yes, if you know of any,” I replied, looking over the space, which was a patchwork of miss-matched painted walls, posters, furniture, and assorted appliances. It was just as I’d imagined the home of an artist to be. A mishmash.
“Well, I don’t know anything about hotel management, but I may know a place which might be in need of a barmaid.”
“Would it be cash in hand?” I asked, thinking of the paper trail.
“Most likely. They’re a bit rough around the edges, but they are good to their staff. A plucky woman like you will have no trouble there.”
“Where is it?” I asked. “I can go and see them later.”
“My, you’re a keen thing.” Rivers opened a door just down the hall and placed my bag on the end of a little single bed. “Don’t worry about it tonight, Jane. Tomorrow night, I’ll take you and introduce you around. For now, you can stay here. The bathroom is right across the hall, and I’ll leave you a spare key so you can let yourself in and out.”
“Just like that?” I asked, more than happy to have a place to rest my weary head, though I still questioned why it had been so easy for him to offer me a refuge.
“Of course,” he replied with a shrug. “I am a good judge of character, and I know you won’t rob me blind, Jane. The first rule of living life to its fullest is don’t question the universe’s motives when she deals you a good hand. Just smile and take it.” He shook his head and pouted in jest. “It appears we have some work to do.”
“Work?”
“To free you from the shackles of modern life!” He laughed and backed away down the hall. “Make yourself at home. I have some things to finish up downstairs, and then I will buy you dinner.” When I opened my mouth to complain, he raised his finger to silence me. “No arguments. You are my guest.”
I watched him with a curious expression as he left me alone in his home wondering what I had done to deserve such a warm welcome. It was already a sight more happy here than Thornfield had ever been with its dark corners and deadly ghosts. At this thought, I glanced around the room and up and down the hall, looking for signs and omens, but I found none. All I could see was light, color, inspiration, and art. Everywhere was art, whether it be a painting, a poster, a sketch, or a photograph.
Now that I had the freedom to study Rivers’s home, I realized the entire hallway was painted with one enormous mural. An autumn scene—full of trees and nature—completely surrounded me, and it was like a tunnel of flame leading from one end to the other. It was the most wonderful thing I’d ever seen and a stark contrast to the stuffy heritage grandeur I’d been among that very morning.
For the first time in months, I had complete hope that my future would brighten. My heart was another story entirely. That would take time.
3
Sleep might have been restful that night if not for thoughts of Edward.
My heart trembled for him—though I had made the terrible decision to escape his tyranny and lies—but the truth was too shocking for my inexperienced and battered soul to bear. Leaving someone I loved was the hardest thing I’d ever had to do, and I was paying the price.
Words escaped me when I attempted to decipher my feelings, and I no longer had the strength to try. I’d been solitary all my life, and having experienced the euphoria of being wanted and ultimately loved had done nothing but show me what I’d been missing all those years. Now that it was destroyed, I longed for it even more. I fretted so much I made myself sick, and all I could do was allow myself to sink into a fitful sleep. There was nothing else I could do. Perhaps the feeling would fade in time, and I would look back upon this moment and wonder why I’d ever allowed a man like Edward Rochester to rule me.
Perhaps I would go back to him once I found my heart again, or maybe remaining apart forever was for the best. I wouldn’t know which one it would be if he pursued me. Forcing the situation would do nothing but make it worse.
When morning came, I was somewhat rested but had no desire to emerge from the room which had offered me a haven. Turning over, I winced as my flesh pulled at the puckered wounds in my chest. They were not fully healed even though the stitches were removed, and the skin had grown over, and every now and then, the marks would ache something fierce if twisted the wrong way. It was another reminder of Edward’s paradox, and I would be carrying the marks for the rest of my life.
The previous evening had
gone well enough with Rivers. I’d told him nothing of my renewed romance with Edward, of the failed wedding, or of Bertha. He believed the story I’d told him the day before and had not questioned me any further. He’d supplied dinner at his insistence and had left me to retire early after my long day of travel.
When I was finally able to drag myself out of bed near midday, the apartment was empty. Music filtered through the door from the studio downstairs, and I assumed Rivers was in residence working on some grand work of art.
I made myself at home as he bade me, taking a shower and cleaning up the dishes in the sink, anything to keep my mind occupied. I’d never liked to be idle. Work that kept my hands busy also served to still my mind from desperate and depressing thoughts. Perhaps the pub Rivers had spoken of would be able to offer some hours, and I would be able to think of more than my pining for the dream I had lost to suffering.
I found a brush and shovel under the sink and began sweeping up in the little kitchen, then I found a vacuum cleaner in the hall closet and proceeded to work over the hallway, the guest room, and the living area.
When Rivers appeared later that afternoon, my chest and shoulder ached, but the flat sparkled.
“There you are,” he said. “Do you still want to come to the pub?”
He didn’t wait for my answer, though I was more than ready to depart. He stood and looked around the apartment as if he didn’t recognize his home at all.
“Did you clean, Jane?” he asked in bewilderment. “And was the carpet always that color?”
I smiled, thankful he was pleased and for his kind words. “Yes, I’m sure it was always that color underneath the dirt.”
“You didn’t have to, but I’m thankful. I scarcely bother with it. I suppose it is a terrible male cliché to admit to, but you know that about me already. Unashamed arrogance.”
“And you’re unashamed at reminding me,” I said.
He winked and nodded toward the door. “Well, are you coming to the pub?”
Thinking again of work, I knew it would keep my mind busy and my fingers out of my uncle’s money—I still did not think it wise to leave an electronic trail of my whereabouts in case Edward was seeking me—so I nodded and went to fetch my jacket.
Rivers was not lying when he said the pub was around the corner.
We walked down the street, across the road to the opposite corner, and we had arrived. Two minutes passed, and that was it. I could see why it had become his local watering hole with such easy access.
“Here we are,” he declared, opening the door for me. “Welcome to The Gossiping Shrew.”
I was no longer surprised at some of the names proprietors gave their drinking establishments, at least not in the United Kingdom. They needed an outrageous moniker to compete with their neighbor in the next city block, and many punters likely delighted in telling stories about drinking at a place called The Gossiping Shrew.
Stepping inside, I found myself in a traditional English pub. It was dark and dingy, its corners full of a different kind of darkness than I was used to. A long bar stretched along the side, the mahogany polished to a high shine, its surface covered in various mats emblazoned with the Guinness logo. There were three sets of gold taps, each pumping a variety of local and international beers and ciders. Bottles of spirits and liquor lined the wall behind, and fridges were set below.
The room itself was full of long tables with benches. There were also booths with red leather seats to one side, a little stage in one corner for live music, and a television was set into the wall where they would no doubt show the latest football games. Menus were littered everywhere, so there was also a kitchen hidden away someplace.
The scent of beer and food filled the air, and I decided I liked the place well enough. Pubs were on every street corner in this city and were much the same as the next. It was the people who made punters come back, and they enjoyed the sense of community.
The door closed behind me as Rivers weaved past me and made his way toward the bar. Following him, I slipped my trembling hands into the pockets of my leather jacket. It did not matter how I was feeling in my heart or how depressed I was at the loss of my love, it was time to make a good impression in case there was a chance of obtaining some work behind the bar.
There were only two staff members tending that evening—a woman and a man—as it was still early, and the pub was still rather empty. Lingering by a stool, I watched as the woman came over with a smile.
“Adele,” Rivers declared as she leaned over the bar.
She air-kissed him on both cheeks with such familiarity I began to wonder if she was one of his many flirtations. Watching their exchange, I took in the woman’s appearance, attempting to discern what kind of soul she was.
“Rivers, darling,” she purred in a thick French accent. “If you’ve come to tease me some more, then you can just turn around and walk back the way you came in.”
“No teasing tonight,” he replied, his smile wide. “I’ll take two pints of the house swill if you please.”
“Two?” she asked, glancing at me.
“Two.”
Her brown eyes sparkled, and she tossed her matching hair back over her shoulder as she pulled down on the tap and began filling the first pint glass with beer. She was the embodiment of a typical French girl, tall and willowy, her words spilling forth with absolutely no thought, her accent causing her to trip over her English. It was endearing in a way, and I felt a surge of jealousy at the ease in which she carried herself. Adele did not care one bit about what anyone thought of her, no matter who they were.
“This is Jane,” Rivers said as Adele placed the first beer on the bar.
“Hello.” I smiled as she glanced at me.
“Nice to meet you,” she said. “They call me Adele Varens. Are you and Rivers dating?”
I laughed and covered my mouth with my hand as I shook my head.
“Not in the slightest I’m afraid,” he said with amusement.
“Then she has brains, and for that, I already like her,” Adele quipped, pouring the second beer.
“You don’t happen to know if Gibbons is looking for more staff, do you?” he asked. “Jane is in a bind and is looking for some employment.”
“I would do just about anything given the opportunity,” I said, chiming in.
“I like how you said ‘just about anything’,” she replied, a twinkle in her eye. “Us women have to keep some standards. We always have staff coming in and out of this place, so there might be a little something. Don’t let that put you off, though. Bar work is very transitory, and one has to have a strong disposition to be able to put up with drunken louts on football nights. I would have to ask Mr. Gibbons as he’s the owner.”
“If you could,” I said. “I have the experience.”
She shrugged but agreed. “Leave it with me, and enjoy your beer. I’ll see if I can convince him to come and see you.” Then she disappeared, leaving me alone with Rivers.
“Don’t worry, Jane,” he said. “I know Gibbons, and he’s a hard man, but he has a knack for sizing up people. He will see what I see, and you’ll be out of the black and pouring beer in no time.”
“And what do you see?” I asked, hardly understanding why I tempted fate by asking him at all.
All he did was wink before sipping at his drink.
Adele returned not ten minutes later, followed by a man I assumed was the proprietor.
“This is Mr. Gibbons, the owner,” she said, confirming it. “If you want work, he’s the man you should talk to.”
He was a gargantuan man, quite robust and broad chested, his head devoid of hair, and his eyes seemed sharp as if they never missed a trick. He had a formidable look about him, but I didn’t allow it to intimidate me. Confidence was key.
“And who do we have here?” he rumbled, looking me over.
“My name is Jane Doe, sir,” I said, and he raised an eyebrow as all people did when they heard it. “I know the name might seem s
trange to you, but it’s mine and not some fancy ploy. I wish to find some employment, and I assure you, I am suitably qualified and ready and willing to work. I have much experience—”
Mr. Gibbons waved his hand at me with a grunt, and I glanced at Adele nervously, but she didn’t seem to be worried about his reaction. Was this a good sign, or had I already been dismissed before I could make my case?
“You’ve worked a bar before?” he asked, and I nodded. “You know how to pour a beer?” I nodded again. “Work a mop?” Another nod on my behalf. “Handle a drunk buffoon?” I nodded a fourth time. He spent a good two minutes looking me over with a keen eye, and then he seemed satisfied. “We’ll start you on Monday and Tuesdays. It’s quiet then, and we can see how you go. If you’re good, then you get more hours. Simple. I suppose you want cash in hand.”
“Yes, sir. I would prefer it.”
“You in trouble?”
“No, sir.”
“Then that’s all I need to know, but I will be watching to see if you do your bit. If you’re a slacker, then you’re out. Come back tomorrow at four,” he said. “Adele will help since the woman has taken a liking to you.” He nodded at her and strode off, disappearing back from whence he came.
I decided I liked the gruff Mr. Gibbons well enough, though I dreaded to see his bad side if this was his way of showing his appreciation. Things always went smoothly when the terms were spoken clearly and given upfront. Then I knew what was required of me and could perform my duties as needed—and he’d done just that.
Adele leaned against the bar with a laugh. “That’s Mr. Gibbons,” she said. “He’s very abrupt, but he tells you exactly what he means. You wouldn’t know it, but he likes you, Jane.”
“I believe you,” I said, grimacing. The exchange caused me to think of an even more difficult man who showed his affection in much the same manner.
Rivers winked at me, and I changed my expression to a smile. I now had something to occupy my time with, and I was determined to extend two days a week to at least five. It was a start, and that was all I could hope for right now. I would take it.