by Amity Cross
It was well past dawn when we reached Thornfield.
Edward and I had not spoken again, the silence stretching on and on as we got closer and closer to the old manor. His promise hovered in my heart, lodging itself there despite my efforts to distance myself. I could not deny the things I wanted, just as I could not deny my part in the wrongs we had committed to one another.
Depression had taken me as much as relief had, so when we at last arrived, Edward had to help me from the car lest I fall in a heap on the ground.
The air was crisp and cool, the sky brilliant blue. Summer had arrived on the moors, and if I had not been so depleted, I would have liked to linger in the garden and lay among the roses, the sun warming my pale skin. Life would be so simple if I could surrender myself to nature.
Edward’s arm was tight around my waist, his touch comforting yet confusing as he assisted me in our path toward the hotel. The driver carried my duffel and a sleek black overnight bag, which I assumed was the master’s, and overtook us, disappearing inside Thornfield. How long had he been in London searching for me?
The door did not have a chance of closing as a familiar person emerged into the sunlight.
“Jane!” Alice rushed toward us, pleased to see me once more, but as she approached, her hand flew to her mouth when she saw me fully, her eyes wide with shock. “My goodness! What has happened?”
I knew I must look a sight, bedraggled in my fine dress, smeared makeup, and a bruised neck. I hadn’t had a chance to behold myself in a mirror to see the damage Rivers had caused my flesh, but from the tenderness each movement bore, I was sure it was substantial.
No one replied to her question, but she did not complain.
I hugged Edward’s jacket tighter and cast my gaze to the ground, allowing him to lead me into the hotel.
“Is her room ready?” he asked as my eyes adjusted to the gloom of the gallery.
“Yes.” Alice handed him a set of keys. “Is there anything else I can do?”
“Have the cook make some broth, and bring a jug of water.”
We moved again, this time ascending the staircase.
“Mr. Rochester?”
We halted, and I sank against his side, the events of the last months finally taking their complete toll upon my spirit.
“Rivers,” he said to Alice. “It was Rivers.” Then he scooped me up into his arms, my form seeming to weigh nothing more than a feather, and carried me through the hotel.
The door to the suite was unlocked, and as he guided me inside, I recognized it as the one closest to the east wing, far away from the haunted western hallways of Thornfield. I was glad, knowing these rooms were secure and held no hidden doorways.
Setting me down, Edward knelt and removed my shoes one by one, his fingers tracing the curve of my leg. If felt erotic to have a man such as he caress me so, but his touch had always conjured wicked thoughts. Rising, he stared down at me, his shoulders tense.
“May I?” he asked, laying his hand on my back.
My naked body was nothing he had not seen before, so I nodded, allowing him to unzip my dress. His touch was soft as he nudged the fabric from my body, exposing my bra and underwear. Then he retrieved something from the dresser and slipped a soft T-shirt over my head.
The fabric carried his scent, and I wondered if it was another of his games. Encapsulate my body with something of his to remind me of his affection, and soon enough, all would be forgiven…but I did not think him so foolish.
I did not react as I felt his fingers unhook the clasp of my bra through the material, ease the garment from my shoulders, and remove it from under the hem. Finally, he guided my arms through the sleeves.
“There,” he murmured. “Are you comfortable?”
I nodded and slid into bed, the cool sheets soothing my feverish skin. Propped up by the pillows, I watched him linger and realized he would not leave me alone so easily. He had called for broth, and I suppose he would see me consume it before retiring.
Edward sat beside me, the mattress dipping under his weight, and he placed his palm on the quilt. His fingers were thick, his nails bitten almost to the quick, and his forearm corded with muscle. His pure masculinity was one of the attributes which pleased me the most, along with his sharp mind. It was so sharp he had become a master at avoiding the truth. I was not sure what it said about me that I loved the very thing about him which had deceived me the most.
“I hardly know what to say now you are here with me,” he murmured, casting his gaze downward. “After all that has transpired, I am at a loss. Edward Rochester, devoid of words.” He shook his head gently and sighed.
I could not speak, either. The change in circumstances was completely surreal. In the space of one evening, I had been unveiled as the toast of the art world, and then I’d proceeded to be threatened, loved, attacked, saved, and returned to Thornfield. More had transpired in a twenty-four hour period than my whole life, and it had left me spinning out of control. Perhaps there was nothing to say, for our actions had said it all for us.
Tell me what’s in your heart, I thought to myself, unable to conjure the words into sound.
As if the rope that had once bound us together had returned anew, he seemed to hear my plea and spoke.
“I want for nothing more than to take you in my arms, Jane,” he said his voice thick with emotion. “I want to lie with you and kiss your lips, and remain until you fall asleep. I never wish to leave. I want all those things I pledged to you the day I asked you to marry me.” He swallowed, betraying his welling tears. “All I want in this life is you, but I fear the truth I withheld is too terrible to forgive. I do not know what to do.”
A knock at the door interrupted his stream of consciousness, and Alice entered, wheeling in a tray. Smiling at me, she set a pitcher of water on the bedside table, then set the tray over my lap. A bowl of broth steamed before me, filling the room with the hearty smell of chicken.
“There,” she said. “This will fill you up and not disturb your throat too much.”
“Thank you, Alice,” Edward said, not looking at her.
Taking his words as a dismissal, she nodded and wheeled the trolley away, closing the door softly behind her. Knowing Alice, she was dying to ask a million questions and regale me with all the comings and goings of Thornfield I had missed. She was obviously pleased I had returned but distraught at the circumstances. Truthfully, despite her overzealous nature, I missed her a great deal, also.
As I had suspected, Edward remained until I had consumed the broth, fussing over me in a very un-Edward-like way. He did not speak again, and when he left, tray in hand, I closed my eyes and allowed sleep to claim me, too tired to ponder what had become of me. Fate had taken control of my life a long time ago, and it was time to stop fighting her.
I had no answers to offer myself, let alone Edward Rochester.
13
I must have slept through the day and well into the night when I finally opened my eyes.
I had not moved an inch, my body molding itself into the mattress, my cheek hollowing out the feather pillow. My gaze flickered around the room, the warm light of the bedside lamp lighting my way. My bag was sitting on the dresser, closed and hopefully untouched.
I sensed movement in the next room—the sitting room attached to the suite—and I remained still.
“She has not woken for hours,” I heard Alice say. “She must be starving.”
“I will keep a close watch on her.” Edward’s voice was unmistakable. “I will send for some food when she does.”
“Rocky—”
“The hotel must close immediately,” he commanded, barking his order and interrupting whatever she was about to say. “The doors must be locked at all times, and the staff must not allow anyone inside who is unknown.”
“Mr. Rochester, what is going on?”
“Do not question my orders, Alice,” he snapped. “You shall all be reimbursed and not suffer the loss of work. This is my wish. See to it.�
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There was a slight pause before she answered, “Yes, sir.”
I did not hear any more. I was powerless to remain awake as sleep claimed me once again, but I did not mind. Sleep was peaceful and uncomplicated. A dream was a dream, and there it would remain while life… Well, life was a nightmare one could not escape.
Depression had taken me wholly.
After that first day, I did not know how long I remained in bed, not wanting to see anyone. I attempted to sleep my life away, but even constant rest was exhausting.
I attempted to shower on the second morning, but as soon as I looked upon my face in the mirror, I could not bear it. The marks on my neck were black, the shapes of Rivers’s thumbs imprinted on my throat for all to see. The skin under my eyes was not much better, and I looked sunken, the weight I’d been carrying around showing fully. My pain was no longer hidden, and I could not bear to see it manifested.
I returned to bed and did not move for anyone, not even Alice or Bessie. At least, not until I felt the presence of someone keeping vigil over my tired body.
Opening my eyes, I saw a dark form next to mine. Raising my gaze, I realized it was Edward sitting there, his back against the headboard and a book in his lap. His feet were bare and his shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbows. It pained me to find him there as he had never been so attentive before. Perhaps he had spoken the truth when he’d vowed to never leave my side again.
“Good morning,” he murmured, his eyes drawn to my movement. “I hope you don’t mind me being here. Alice would not leave me alone. I swear that woman has grown bold since you arrived. Do you know she calls me Rocky to my face now? Once, she would not have dared disturb my wrath.” I buried deeper into the blankets, and he smiled. “I fear I am growing soft.”
I feared he was growing a heart and gaining the same ragtag family I had, but I remained silent, unwilling to let myself soften toward him. At least, not until I was certain his intentions were pure this time.
It seemed he expected me to remain mute, and he did not mention it. Instead, he held up the book and displayed the cover to me. It was the copy of Pride & Prejudice I’d read from cover to cover a million times over. The same copy that was worth quite a lot of money if I remembered correctly. It wasn’t the sort of book that was meant for reading, but I’d read it anyway.
“I noticed this was the tome you spirited from my library all that time ago. I’ve seen it in your hands quite a few times,” he said, opening the cover and smoothing his fingers over the title page. “Would you like me to read some to you?”
I frowned, disoriented by his kindness.
Clearing his throat, he began to read. It was a curious thing to behold, a man such as Edward Rochester reading Jane Austin. “It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife. However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighborhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families that he is considered the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters. “My dear Mr. Bennet,” said his lady to him one day, “have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?” Mr. Bennet replied that he had not.” He glanced at me with a smirk. “It is tedious already. Are you sure this is your favorite book in my library?”
I nodded.
“Well, it is an affront all things considering. Marriage and money.” He snorted and closed the book with a snap. “I must purchase you the audio book in lieu of my shredded concentration.”
The one-sided conversation dipped into a lull, but it was not long before his tone turned serious and matters I wished would remain unspoken were dragged into the light.
“Your lawyer friend came to see me not long ago,” he murmured. “He mentioned he was acquainted quite closely with your uncle, James Eyre, who had retired to Portugal some years ago. I understand it was because his health was poorly he sought you. Your aunt did you great harm by withholding knowledge of your family, Jane. I am sorry you never had a chance to know him.”
I remained silent, wary of his motives.
“Briggs is a good man,” he continued, setting the book aside. “You were right to put your faith in him.” He glanced at me, then smiled briefly. “I suppose you presume I merely sought you because of your inheritance. I can assure you I did not.”
Upon hearing this, I sat up and smoothed my hands through my hair. The thought had not crossed my mind, and I wondered if it had been naive of me.
“I understand why you chose not to tell me,” he went on. “I am not put out by it. It is a good secret to have, unlike the demons I kept hidden from you.” A sigh passed his lips, and for a moment, he looked exhausted. “When I saw you with Rivers, I was overcome with jealousy. I’ve never felt the like of it before.” He trailed off and waited before continuing, his eyes focusing on mine. “I lingered outside, struggling with what I should do. I did not want to frighten you, Jane, but I could not bear it if he had touched you. Then I heard him shouting, followed by a crash, and the decision was made for me.”
My silence continued, and he shifted from the bed, placing his bare feet on the floor. Placing the book on the nightstand, he rose and smoothed his wrinkled shirt.
“Perhaps you would like to have a shower? Then something to eat?” he asked. “I have something I would like to show you, but you cannot come downstairs in naught but a T-shirt. You’ll freeze.”
He left me without an answer to his questions, and I found the strength to shuffle into the bathroom and gaze upon my reflection. I was quite a sight with my tangled hair, sallow skin, and bruised neck. The marks were slightly yellow around the edges, signifying they were starting to heal, but I would be stuck with them for some time yet. Perhaps neck scarfs would be the new fashion at Thornfield this summer. They were good for hiding all manner of neck injuries. Love bites, vampire attacks…strangulation marks.
I showered, washing the grime and some of my depression from my flesh, and dressed in fresh clothing. Rifling through my bag, I found the contents intact as Edward had promised they were, and for the first time in days, I felt safe despite knowing that danger still lurked in some hidden corner of Thornfield.
Descending to the main gallery, as I had so many times before, I felt I had become a different person entirely. Thornfield was the same, yet it was different. Perhaps I was seeing it through different eyes, my various near death experiences clouding my vision with melancholy. I’d always thought it to be a dreary place—and quite masculine in style—but now it held a chill that even the summer sun could not chase away. I entirely believed it had to do with its prisoner, Bertha Mason, wherever she was being held.
Not entirely sure where Edward had spirited away to, I lingered in the gallery, peering into the office. This too was unchanged, and I found Alice sitting in her usual position, working away on one of the computers. When she caught sight of me, her smile was brilliant.
“Jane!” she exclaimed, rising from her chair. “It is good to see you up and about. Rocky is outside waiting for you.” I glanced at the door, and she laughed. “He is quite changed yet again, don’t you think? Who would have thought Rocky would have turned all soft and squishy?”
She all but pushed me toward the door, and I left her to gaze wistfully out the office window.
I eased open the heavy door, the oak creaking on its hinges, wondering what Edward wanted to show me. Bright summer sunshine hit my eyes, and I blinked furiously, not used to such brilliance after being locked inside the dreary confines of Thornfield.
Edward stood in the middle of the driveway, his back to me. At the sound of the door opening, he turned. He smiled, his handsomeness dazzling in the clear light of the garden, and he beckoned me forward.
He was overshadowed by the portrait Rivers had painted of me, and as I approached, gravel crunching underfoot, it looked completely ridiculous sitting there. I almost laughed at the irony. Edward had purchased it at considerable cost and what for? T
o display it in the garden?
“It is quite beautiful,” he mused as I stood beside him. “But it is a given considering the subject…and despite the man who painted it.”
The painting looked different out here, as though I was gazing upon an entirely different rendering. It was merely a trick of the light, and I curled my lip in distaste. I did not wish to see the thing John Rivers had created to lure me into his arms. It brought memories to mind, which were still raw and bleeding, and should be forgotten entirely. It was a symbol of my stupidity.
“Here,” Edward said, pointing to the step behind us. “A canister of petrol and a lighter. I intended to destroy the thing the moment I laid my hands upon it, but I understand it can be cathartic. Perhaps you would like to do the honors?”
It was as if he’d read my mind, and our unexplainable connection surprised me yet again. Turning, I picked up the canister and unscrewed the lid. Careful not to spill any petrol on myself, I flung the contents over the canvas, not stopping until the entire thing was empty. The strong chemical smell clogged my nostrils as I retrieved the lighter, and I took a moment to stare at my likeness.
I wondered for a moment if I was doing the right thing, destroying a valuable piece of art, but I shook my head as it was filled yet again with the vision of Rivers’s rage as he attempted to choke the life from me. I clicked the lighter into life, the flame flickering back and forth in the breeze.
“Do as you will, Jane,” Edward said beside me. “I shall enjoy this as much as you.”
His words evaporated on the air, and I flung the lighter at the canvas, and instantly, the spark caught, and the entire thing was consumed in a whoosh of hot air. The flame flickered with a rainbow of colors as it ate through the oil paints, the image bubbling before it charred and finally began to disappear.
He was right. It was cathartic.