by Jade Astor
“It’s kind of cold in here, you know. Is your furnace broken?”
“I turned it down because I knew I’d be gone all day. Can I make a suggestion? We could go into my bedroom for a while. I suspect it’ll soon be a lot warmer in there.”
“Good thinking,” Argo said. “Let’s make sure of that.”
THE END
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JAMES EYRE
by Jade Astor
A gender swap adapting the classic Gothic romance Jane Eyre.
In Victorian England, 21-year-old James Eyre, frightened by his feeling for another man, decides to leave the boys’ school where he has spent ten years, first as a student and then as a teacher. He manages to secure a position as a private tutor for Axel Vance, the ward of a wealthy man who owns an estate in Yorkshire.
From the night of his arrival, James begins to sense that things are not as they should be at Thistleton Manor, the home of the enigmatic Edmond Manchester. Late at night, wild screams seem to echo through the house, and during the daytime objects disappear from James’s room and are replaced with sinister-looking voodoo dolls. Though his instincts tell him to flee, James stays on because he enjoys his duties and the company of his pupil—and even more so because he has begun to develop an attraction for his employer, Mr. Manchester.
To his surprise, Mr. Manchester seems to return his feelings. However, a jealous former lover and a phantomlike presence in the house seem determined to tear them apart.
If he is to have any hope of a happy future with the man he loves, James must solve the mystery of Thistleton Manor and save Edmond’s life as well.
Enjoy this sneak peek at Chapter 1!
Chapter 1
Silvery rain streamed down the leaded windowpanes, the angry sky and thick clouds precluding any possibility of taking a walk that day. With his afternoon lessons over, and the last pupil off to stash his books and prepare for the dinner hall, James longed to escape the confines of his narrow classroom and stroll along the tree-lined lane bordering Gloamwood. There he could, perhaps, begin to sort out the thoughts and emotions roiling through his head. However, he was not so desperate that he was willing to court a chill or ruin his boots. The purchase of a new pair was beyond his means at the moment, and a lingering illness would be entirely impractical given his plans for the immediate future.
Out in the hall, the last gaggle of boys rushed past the classroom door in a happy stampede, thrilled to be released from their lessons at last. They formed a lively group, mostly the sons of clergymen and merchants, entitled to be educated away from home but not quite eligible, by dint of financial resources or class standing, to attend a more elite institution. Some of the boys were the same as he had been upon his arrival ten years earlier, namely the wards or adopted sons of wealthy gentlemen with a charitable bent or a duty that could not be shirked. They, too, enrolled in steady numbers at Gloamwood, while their favored stepbrothers went on to more prestigious establishments.
James would miss them, without question. He had reason to believe they would miss him as well, given his reputation for stringent standards in the classroom tempered with a nonpunitive method of instruction. The switch had never assisted his own learning process, and he refused to apply it to his current charges. He only hoped his successor, whoever he might be, would adhere to his compassionate precedent.
A clatter at the threshold alerted him that someone had entered the room. He turned to see the one person he had least hoped to meet just now. He had wanted some time to prepare what he might say and practice the way he might react to the expected protests.
On the other hand, there was never anyone he was happier to lay eyes upon than Hallam Burnley, who had been his schoolfellow at age ten and his closest friend every day of his life since then. With his slight build, unremarkable round face and dull brown hair, James had never considered himself capable or even worthy of claiming any stranger’s affection—especially given that he could hardly even claim that of his relatives—but Hallam had cleaved to him from that very first afternoon. In his presence James had always felt welcome, even cherished.
Today Hallam looked flushed and wide-eyed, his ginger hair tousled as if he’d been running his hands through it in agitation. James knew he must have spoken to the headmaster, perhaps not long after James himself had.
Hallam didn’t bother with any false pleasantries or even a greeting. His voice was strained, as though he were holding back a torrent of much stronger emotion. “Is it true?” he blurted, his distraught gaze landing on James’s guilt-stricken face.
“Yes. The letter just arrived this morning.” Reluctantly James took the document in question from his coat pocket and held it between them. Hallam bit his lower lip and stared at the folded sheet as though he were hesitant to touch it. Finally, slowly, he extended his hand.
“May I…?” he asked softly.
James didn’t need to hear the rest of the question. He pressed the letter into Hallam’s hand. “Of course. It contains nothing I wish to keep confidential from you.”
Hallam’s mouth twisted into a tense grimace as he scanned the contents. Now and then he recited certain parts of it aloud, as if he could scarcely believe the meaning of the words in their present arrangement.
“Thistleton Manor…Mr. Edmond Manchester…tutor to his ward, Axel…the northern moors!” With a cry of bewilderment, he let the hand holding the missive drop to his chest. “This is astonishing! My dear James, what can you be thinking?”
James sidestepped the question he knew Hallam was really asking. “It is rough country, to be sure, with a good many miles between here and there. I do not look forward to the coach ride, much less a night in a roadside inn, but it can’t be helped. Once I arrive I will no doubt find the moorlands agreeable enough. Perhaps I will even find myself singing the praises of their rough beauty in the tradition of Thomas Grey or Mr. Wordsworth.”
“You know very well I am not referring to the countryside,” Hallam objected as James retrieved the letter, folded it, and returned it to his pocket. “I am agog at this scheme of yours. Tutor at some pompous toff’s estate? Is this what you really want for your future?”
“How do you know Mr. Manchester is pompous? He didn’t write the letter himself. His steward, Mr. Fairman, did.”
“That alone tells me all I need to know. Why would he not put his own quill to paper? It’s as if he meant to engage a groom for his stable! Does he consider a tutor beneath his notice?”
“I am to serve as a tutor his ward, Hallam,” James replied in a quiet voice. “Not his son. It makes a difference.”
“Ah.” Comprehension dawned in Hallam’s eyes, along with a flash of pity James could not help but resent. “Is that what this is about, then? You wish to save this young fellow from the sort of neglect your Uncle Reed imposed on you? Very noble of you, James, but perhaps you had better let someone else perform that particular act of charity. You are too emotionally involved already.”
“It is hardly an act of charity, Hallam. You saw yourself—the salary he offers me is nearly double what I might expect here. And I will be lodged in a manor house.”
“In the servant’s quarters, no doubt. Honestly, James, I cannot understand this. Have you been so unhappy here? Modest though our arrangements at Gloamwood are, I always assumed there was sufficient compensation…” Hallam paused and blushed, clearly having said more than he’d intended to. “Of a non-pecuniary nature, I mean.”
James considered this statement for a few moments before he attempted to answer. These were the very words he had wished to rehearse before the inevitable confrontation with Hallam ensued. “There has been, to be sure,” he answered sadly. “I think you realize, however, that things will change soon. They must.”
“Well, yes.” Hallam shifted his weight from one foot to the other and ended up taking a step back from James. James realized then how close Hallam had been standing—a bit closer than was strictly proper, he was sure. “Once I am married, of course the c
ircumstances will dictate certain alterations in our daily routines. However, you must know Priscilla adores you and insists upon you being our dinner guest almost nightly. And here at the school, there will be no perceptible change. Our duties, and our lessons, will continue as always.”
“But we cannot go on as before, Hallam. Surely you can see that. Grateful as I am to Priscilla for offering to include me in your family, the genuine affection I feel toward her makes it impossible for me to accept her invitation.”
Hallam’s brow furrowed, and the muscles in his jaw tensed. “I cannot understand your stubbornness in this matter, James. You act as though you and I have something to be ashamed of. Priscilla is well aware of the depths of our friendship, and she does not object in the slightest to its continuance.”
“You are right—we have nothing to be ashamed of. Your marriage will ensure that we never shall, either. You have chosen her, and I respect your decision fully and without ill will. That, in fact, is the very reason I must go to Thistleton. You see it as clearly as I do. When your heart settles and your head clears, I know you will thank me.”
A tense silence stretched between them. Hallam shoved his fists into the pockets of his waistcoat and shook his head as he struggled for words. Finally he looked up with an expression of abject pleading.
“Stay, James. Your place is here—with me, with the school. Find yourself a wife, as I have done. With Priscilla’s help, it should be a simple matter. We will always be friends, and our wives likewise. We can live out our days together, as we planned since we were little more than babes. Surely you can see the sense in my idea.”
Sighing, James shook his head. “I cannot take a wife I do not love, Hallam. It would be a lie. A cruel one, at that.”
“How do you know you will not love her? You haven’t met her yet!”
“As you love Priscilla, you mean? I’m sorry, but no. It cannot be.”
The color rising to his cheeks again, Hallam opened his mouth to argue. Then he seemed to think better of it. “We will speak of this later, I hope, when we are both less agitated and more willing to listen. Just now, I must prepare for dinner.”
“Will I see you in the hall?” James asked, suspecting what the answer would be. He was not disappointed.
“I am dining with Priscilla’s family this evening. However, I shall stop at your room when I return.”
“No need,” James said. “I will begin packing my things tonight. Mr. Manchester expects me to arrive within the week and the headmaster has no objection to me departing, without fuss, three days hence. He will personally assume the instruction of my classes until a replacement can be found.”
“You really do mean to carry on with this foolish plan, then.” Hallam’s voice grew hoarse with amazement. He made no further comment as he turned and left the room, snapping the door shut behind him.
Alone again, James slumped against the window, feeling the chill from the rain outside penetrate all the way to his skin. Hallam would forgive him, he felt certain, and over time he would come to see the wisdom in their separating abruptly, with minimal fuss and pain, like a swift cut to sever a diseased limb. And that grim epithet would describe James perfectly once Hallam became a bridegroom, even if he couldn’t see it now.
Soon his eyes begin to burn, and he reached up to rub them with his fingertips. He and Hallam had shared so much over the years—though never had James ventured to communicate, in words, his most hidden longings. He suspected that Hallam shared them, too, though it was impossible to be certain. That deep love existed between them, there could be no doubt. Yet expressing that love with their bodies must remain a forbidden dream. James knew well enough that some males did it. Why else would the headmaster have cautioned them so sternly and so often to watch the boys in their care for what he called shocking and unnatural tendencies?
To James, such desires didn’t seem unnatural or even strange. Instead, they were part of himself, as familiar and steadfast as his own name. Hallam obviously felt differently enough that he was willing to devote his passions to a wife. Or was his love for Priscilla just a ruse, an effort to reshape his desire into a socially acceptable form? Would marriage really temper Hallam’s urges?
James didn’t know. Their confidences did not extend that far. He knew it would never work for him. As long as he could remember, James had wondered if he could have more with another man than whispered intimacies, furtive glances, and emotions that must, in the end, be denied.
One day, he hoped to find out. But it could not be at Gloamwood.
He saw little of Hallam for the next two days, while he gathered his few possessions and bade farewell to his students and fellow teachers. When he and Hallam did speak, it was generally among others and never on matters of any consequence. In the evenings he absented himself from the school premises, presumably to call on Priscilla. When at last the hour of his departure arrived, James experienced nothing so much as relief.
His trunk beside him and his coat buttoned against the morning dampness, James took his place at the wrought iron gate to await the coach Mr. Manchester was sending for him. Dawn painted the dark stone walls of Gloamwood with a silvery sheen of mist, giving it a mysterious and almost dreamlike appearance. Off in the distance, he could see the roofs and spires of the nearest village, along with the pale thread of the road that would bring the carriage. A small spark of hope for the future stirred inside him. Aside from his ten miserable years in his Uncle Reed’s house in London, he had known nothing of the world outside of Gloamwood. Perhaps it would not be as ugly and unwelcoming a place as he had feared, after all.
A clanging noise behind him made him turn back to the gate. To his surprise, he perceived Hallam slipping through it. He was hatless and out of breath, his black frock coat open and flapping behind him.
“So the coach hasn’t come yet!” he exclaimed in obvious relief when he spotted James at the side of the road. “Thanks be! I didn’t want to miss you.”
“And indeed you have not.”
They held onto one another, hands to forearms, gazing at each other but not speaking. James knew, as surely Hallam did, there was nothing more to say. While they stood in silence, the coach came rumbling up the drive and stopped in front of them.
“Well,” said Hallam at last, forcing a smile, “look at that. A private coach. You have come up in the world already, James Eyre.”
Sure enough, the carriage door was emblazoned with a coat of arms and a large gold “M” in the center. The bearded driver, though not liveried, was well attired in a clean grey cloak and a fashionable flat-topped hat decorated with a crisp green ribbon. Certainly this was no crude public stage for hire. Mr. Manchester, whoever he might be, had sent his personal rig to collect his new tutor. A mark of high status indeed.
“Just this one trunk?” the driver asked, jumping down and approaching them. “Which of you is Mr. Eyre?”
“I am, and yes, that is my only luggage. I am a man of few possessions, fortunately, though I admit many of them are books.” James stood aside to allow access to the trunk. The driver picked it up as though it weighed nothing and deposited on the back of the coach. “Heavy books, I fear.”
“We’ll manage,” the driver said as he began tying it down with ropes. “Say your goodbyes, then, sir, and we’ll get on the road quickly. It’ll take most of the day to reach our first stop, and the horses are well-rested and raring to go. Best make good time while we can.”
“I’ll be there directly,” James promised. He swung back around to Hallam, whose arms now hung at his sides. His face was the picture of misery. “I’m glad you came to see me off.”
“I won’ t try to talk you out of going again. I’ve learned my lesson. I still wish you were staying, though.”
“You’ll be fine without me. A married man, a trusted teacher, well on track to be headmaster yourself one day.”
Hallam smiled. For a moment James glimpsed genuine happiness in his eyes. “I still cannot picture you as tut
or to a spoiled brat, answering to some wealthy master who will no doubt question everything you do. I’ll wager you will run screaming across the moors in a matter of weeks.”
“Perhaps. But if I do, I will run someplace where I can start again. I must try to make my own way in the world now.”
Hallam’s face grew serious. “I take it you informed your former guardian where he might find you in the future?”
“I wrote to Uncle Reed and explained my removal north. However, after so many years I can hardly expect an answer now. His silence has said more than harsh words ever could.”
“He has wronged you grievously. If he could only see the man you have become, he would know that,” Hallam said. “I hope you find peace, James. And I hope you will not forget me as your Uncle Reed has apparently forgotten you.”
“Never.”
They shook hands, clinging together a bit longer than the driver had patience for, and finally James turned and boarded the coach. The interior was pleasant and comfortable, as well as outfitted with a basket of fresh bread, a wedge of cheese, and two bottles of ale. Whether the driver had gone to the trouble to provide the treats, or whether his future employer had ordered it, James had no idea. Nonetheless, he was grateful for the courtesy. His early departure had deprived him of breakfast at the school. Some bread and cheese would remedy that deficiency well.
He watched out the window until Gloamwood, and Hallam’s waving figure, dropped out of sight. Resolutely he pushed down the burst of grief that flared in his chest. Instead, he let his mind travel along a different path—that which led to thoughts of his former guardian, his Uncle Charles Reed.
In one sense, he could not help but be grateful toward his Uncle Reed, who had taken the orphaned infant James into his home as a matter of duty, if not affection. In another, though, he found it hard to forgive the burden of loneliness foisted upon him since his earliest years of childhood, when his aunt had died of consumption and her husband had bundled his nephew off to boarding school. He had never divined the reason for Charles Reed’s disdain for him, except that he was a relation only by marriage as well as a plain, bewildered child with no particular personal charm. Sometimes, he had wondered nervously if Uncle Reed had somehow guessed that his heart beat differently from the hearts of most men—including Hallam, sadly enough—who desired wives. Was that why Reed had turned him out under the guise of seeking a modest and fitting education for him? Was that why his two cousins, Georgette and Jonas, had never once written to him since he’d gone away a decade earlier?