Euphoria (The Thornfield Affair #1)

by Amity Cross

  It had caused many people to think of me as a standoffish kind of soul, so I was mostly left alone. I was plain enough that I was overlooked more times than not, but it did mean my personal relationships had been few…and very brief. It was a lonely life, but I was used to it, so it didn’t bother me as much as it did when I was a child.

  The main entrance was closed, a large oak door barring my way. Unsure as to how to proceed, I lingered on the step, questioning my next course of action. Finally, I decided to go inside without announcing myself. I opened the door and stepped over the threshold, wondering what I would find inside. Thornfield was a hotel, after all.

  I was entirely expecting to come face to face with hotel staff and guests as I entered, but all was quiet and still, much like it had been outside. Curious, I ventured farther into the manor, inspecting my new surroundings as I went.

  The air had a chill to it despite the modern radiator set against the far wall. Perhaps it was the ancient house and the spirits that lingered in its dark corners, or it could just be the fact it was simply winter. One could never tell in places such as these.

  “Hello?” I called out as I stepped into the main gallery.

  I was rather late in arriving due to a fiasco with a taxi driver at the train station, and I was to make myself known to Alice Fairfax. I assumed she was the owner of the hotel from the short conversation we’d had on the phone. She’d seemed to know a great deal about the comings and goings of Thornfield and had spoken with much authority on my hiring. I already liked her, even without having met in person.

  My gaze roamed the large room, absorbing as much detail as I could in the low lighting. The oak staircase was grand, rising toward the second level—and above to the third and fourth levels—with a wide bannister and glossy finish. Paintings dotted the paneled walls, their gilded frames containing desolate landscapes and portraits, which stared down at me with empty eyes. The floor was carpeted with long, ornate rugs and runners over polished oak boards, the pile worn in the center from years of footsteps.

  Once, it had been a well-loved place, but now it seemed forgotten.

  “Hello?” I called again, beginning to wonder if anyone was here at all.

  There was a clatter and a bang from an adjoining room, and in a whirlwind of activity, a woman appeared in the doorway.

  “Please tell me you are Jane?” she asked, sounding breathless.

  I nodded, startled at her appearance.

  “You’re late,” she said, but not in an unkind way. “We were beginning to worry you had become lost on the moor!”

  “Are you Alice Fairfax?” I inquired, taking in her delicate features and short, spiky chestnut hair. She couldn’t be a day older than I, and she looked more like a pixie from a fairy tale than the owner of Thornfield.

  “That’s me,” she said cheerfully. “And you are Jane Doe.”

  I nodded once more.

  “Did you walk from the village? I didn’t hear a car.”

  “Yes.”

  Her eyes widened at my revelation. “Oh my! We should have arranged you a taxi! Are you hungry? You must be chilled to the bone after walking all that way in the dark.”

  “Thank you, but it cost far too much,” I replied. “I have legs that work, and I don’t fear the darkness of the moor.”

  The hour and a half walk was a sight cheaper than the twenty-minute, sixty-five-pound taxi. The driver informed me I had to pay both ways to make the trip worth his while because there were never any fares on the way back. We’d argued, and I’d parted ways with the man, rather irate. The walk had sufficed to calm me down, so all was well in the end.

  Alice began to laugh at this and wiped a tear that had escaped from her eye. “You are a delight, Jane. You shall get along here just fine with a no nonsense attitude like that.”

  I smiled, and I felt the color returning to my cheeks as the warmth of the manor and the welcome heated me from the inside out.

  “Come. Let me show you to your room.” She glanced at the duffel bag in my hands. “Is that all you brought with you?”

  “Yes,” I replied, hoisting the bag over my shoulder.

  “Well, you travel light,” she declared with a huff and waved me forward. “That’s not a bad thing. I’m envious! I’m a woman who loves her creature comforts, indeed.”

  I followed her up the stairs and over the landing, all the while Alice telling me about the rooms and renovations that had changed Thornfield over the years. It had been built in the early eighteenth century by a noble family and had been their ancestral home for generations before finally becoming a hotel in the nineteen sixties.

  In recent years, the manor had been renovated and shaped to fit the trappings of the modern world. Larger rooms had become smaller, and electricity and plumbing had been installed with great care to preserve the heritage of the building, but everywhere my eyes dared to look, the edges seemed worn and tired, almost as if the house itself had given up all hope of the hotel becoming a successful venture for its owner.

  “Is the hotel yours?” I asked as Alice led me down the hall to the employee’s lodgings located in the east wing.

  “Oh my, no!” she exclaimed with a hearty laugh. “What a thing to say! Thornfield belongs to Mr. Rochester. We are related, quite distantly, but I never assume to think he cares for the connection. I’m just the same as anyone around here.”

  Who is Mr. Rochester? I wondered as my boots hardly made a sound on the plush crimson carpet. He sounded as if he were an older man who was so rich he had no regard to maintaining all of his holdings and had let the staff and guests at Thornfield run amok in his absence.

  “Is Mr. Rochester here?” I asked, curious to know more of the man who let his grand hotel slide into disrepair.

  “No, he’s off in Europe somewhere,” Alice informed me. “He comes and goes as he pleases. He’s quite a good employer, he pays well, but he can be unpredictable at best.”

  Unpredictable? I didn’t like the sound of a flighty rich middle-aged man, but as long as I performed my duties and did nothing to ire him, then it shouldn’t worry me. Deciding to leave the identity of Mr. Rochester be, I turned my attention to where I was walking, memorizing the lay of Thornfield.

  “We are all very pleased you have come, Jane,” Alice said as she came to a halt in front of a closed door. “It’s been so long since we’ve had a new face around here.”

  “I must admit, I am as well,” I replied. “It’s not a position I would have normally agreed to, but I’m never one to back down from a challenge.”

  “Thornfield is a challenge, for sure! But don’t let that sway you. We have a great deal of fun here, don’t you worry about that.”

  I smiled, her extroverted energy beginning to tire me after my walk from the village.

  “It’s past midnight, and you must be exhausted,” Alice declared as if she sensed the fatigue in my limbs. “Here is your room. It’s quite small, but it has its own bathroom, as many of the rooms here do. It is yours to do what you wish with, short of painting and putting holes in the walls, of course.”

  I waited patiently as she unlocked the door and turned on the light within.

  As the little light bulb illuminated the interior, I found her description quite apt. The space was compact without much room to be had around the bed. It was a double mattress squashed into the place of a single, and I was thankful for the extra room I would have to stretch out at night. The bathroom was in much the same state, the basin was installed over the toilet, and the shower took up three quarters of the remaining area. It was much like the budget hotels in London with their single room shoeboxes.

  I didn’t intend to stay in here if I could help it, and with my meager belongings, it was quite fine for me.

  “It’s not as grand as the guests’ rooms,” Alice said, trying to make light of its smallness. “But it does fine enough.”

  “It’s perfectly adequate,” I replied kindly.

  “Tomorrow, come and find me in t
he reception room beside the main gallery,” Alice said, handing me the key to the room. “Then I will show you the whole of Thornfield and introduce you around. We have a lot of work to do!”

  Her enthusiasm, although at such a late hour, was infectious, and I found myself smiling in return. She had not once scolded or made me feel inadequate for my attire nor my proper speech, not like the teachers at Lowood had. Ruffian, thief, and charlatan they’d called me, simply for my choice of wild hair, boots, jeans, and leather jacket. Not once had they looked into my heart to see my true intent. They saw the surface, took judgment upon it, and that was that.

  Alice was overtly pleased at my reaction to the room and left me to become acquainted with it. I placed my duffel on the trunk at the foot of the bed and surveyed the space now that I was in it alone.

  Peeking out the window, I could see nothing but darkness beyond, the surrounding grounds disappearing in the reflection of the light behind me. I was sure it would all look different in the morning.

  Peeling off my travel-stained clothes, I slipped into bed and found it quite comfortable, and in no time, I fell into a deep sleep.

  My room looked to be a bright, cheery place as night became day.

  The sun shone through a crack between the curtains, showing the space in a much better light than the washed-out bulb had previously. The walls were papered with an old-fashioned green design, which was adequate for a home of its period, and the matching carpeted floors were in need of a shampoo, but the bed and furnishings were a sight better than those I’d endured at Lowood.

  My lodgings were as compact as I’d expected, but I’d already climbed a step higher in the hierarchy of the world. I was by no means at the top or even the middle, but I had a roof over my head, paid work, and the promise of three meals a day. It was more than someone from my situation could hope for.

  Pulling aside the curtains, I leaned my forehead against the windowpane, studying the florets of early morning frost that clung to the outside. Rubbing the side of my closed fist against the coldness, I was able to catch a glimpse of the manor grounds through the ice.

  There wasn’t much to see besides an acre of grass, a long winding trail leading into a small forest, and then the fog-laden moor stretching far off to the horizon and most likely farther still where my eye could not follow.

  A smile found its way onto my lips, and all at once, I allowed myself to believe this was the beginning of a better era. Life, adventure, and the promise of more was finally beginning to rise in earnest for me, Jane Doe, the girl, who was now a woman, with no name.

  Maybe this time.

  4

  I found Alice in the main gallery.

  “Did you sleep well?” she asked as I made myself familiar with the small office that served as the operational hub of the hotel.

  “Very, thank you.”

  The room was small, though a large window opened up onto the main drive of the manor letting in a great deal of natural light. Every surface was covered in papers, folders, and an assortment of coffee cups in various states of use. An ancient looking computer adorned the surface of a desk looking like it was on its last legs.

  “You are aware of the position?” Alice asked, offering me the chair beside her.

  “Yes,” I replied as I sat. “I’m to be an all-rounder, helping where I can but primarily assisting in the rejuvenation of Thornfield.”

  Alice beamed at me. “You are very well-spoken, Jane.”

  “I don’t know about that,” I said with a smile. “I’m polite when it’s called for and rash when it’s due, I suppose.”

  “Rocky is going to get a kick out of you,” she said, finding something rather amusing.

  “Who is Rocky?”

  “Mr. Rochester,” she said. “Mr. Edward Rochester. But don’t call him Rocky to his face. Only his rich friends are able to call him something other than sir!” She giggled at some memory and turned her chair to face me. “You will learn soon enough, Jane. His friends stay occasionally in the summer, and they’re a sight. They fawn all over him because of his status, and the women call him Rocky. It’s all a ploy to crawl into bed with him and into his pockets. I’m sure he encourages it because all men like to be bowed down to, especially by a naked woman.”

  I frowned, getting the impression this Edward Rochester was the clichéd embodiment of a playboy. It must be something to behold, indeed.

  “What kind of man is he?” I asked. “When he is not lording around his friends?”

  Alice thought for a moment. “He is a fair and kind employer. He pays well and rewards good work. He is trusting where it’s due since he’s not here often. Professionally, he is a good man. Personally, he has a mean temper and an arrogant streak.”

  I neither liked nor disliked the sound of that, so I turned back to the desk where the conversation flowed easily through the day-to-day operations of the hotel. I was assigned a budget and a schedule for works to be completed on the interior of the building. Small changes were preapproved, but anything of significant cost was to be submitted to Mr. Rochester for approval. I then made some suggestions for updating the computer and its software and proceeded to make myself at home.

  Organization was my forte, and Lowood and the correspondence course I had completed thereafter had taught me well in the aspects of business management and cost to profit ratios. When it came to work, I was neither small nor plain. I took ownership and shone, finding much purpose in the tasks set for me.

  “Is there a stable Internet connection?” I asked, spying the router hidden under a pile of paperwork.

  “We have Wi-Fi, but it’s patchy at best,” Alice replied like it was the bane of her existence. “We’d like to have it up to scratch, but it’s not possible. At least, not without a lot of fuss. It’s one of the drawbacks of being so far out in the country. We’re surrounded by miles of moor on all sides. The company said something about bedrock, but what do I know about engineering?”

  “I’m not fussed myself,” I said. “I don’t keep a Facebook profile and only have a neglected email account, but it would be worth looking into satellite for the guests’ sake.”

  Alice’s mouth dropped open like she was about to catch a fly. “You don’t have Facebook?”

  “Don’t look so aghast,” I said with a laugh. “I have no need for it, and past experience has taught me life is far less complicated without being contactable twenty-four seven.”

  “Then you don’t know what its like to be stuck out here all winter with no Netflix to entertain you!”

  I glanced out the window to the yard beyond, the sky a deep shade of stormy gray. She was right, but I was sure I was going to find out one way or another.

  “Do you have many guests?”

  Alice shook her head. “Not in winter. We have the odd artist or writer who comes to stay for a few weeks at a time, but other than that, it’s quite empty.”

  “Perhaps offering packages for artist retreats could get some more rooms filled,” I mused, my mind humming pleasantly at the thought of being surrounded by painters, writers, poets, and all manner of creative types. I had no skill in any of those things, but I was an avid consumer of the written word, and my eye drank in the beauty of art whenever it could.

  “You know,” Alice said, looking excited. “That’s a great idea!”

  “Then I shall put together a proposal for Mr. Rochester. A package deal with accommodation, meals, workshops, and the use of the grounds.”

  She waved her hand at me as I looked around for a pen and some paper. “Leave that for now. It’s your first day, and I promised you a tour of the hotel.”

  “It’s no bother,” I said. “I’m excited to begin work.”

  Alice thought this was outrageous and demanded I traverse about the house with her. “Come. Let me give you the grand tour.”

  Through the main gallery was a grand sitting room with fine upholstered chairs and lounges reminiscent of the seventeenth century. A large mirror hung over the f
ireplace, its tiled hearth matching the era perfectly, and I wondered if all the fittings were original. Alice gave me a rundown of things as we went, giving me a thorough history of the hotel.

  The dining room was next, and it had been stripped of its traditional long table in favor of two dozen smaller ones, which seated six quite comfortably. White linen was placed over each with grand centerpieces, made up of what I supposed were artificial flowers—crimson roses, baby’s breath, and assorted greenery—and place settings.

  “Surely, you don’t keep the dining room set up like this with no guests in residence?” I inquired, thinking of the work involved.

  “We like to keep the common areas in a constant state of readiness,” Alice informed me. “It keeps the resident staff occupied, and if Mr. Rochester decides to come unexpectedly, then all is as it should be.”

  As we left the dining room, I was shown through to the kitchen, which was made in a modern galley style, and introduced to the chef, kitchen hands, and wait staff. The bartender was also in attendance having naught to do until later in the day.

  Once we were done with the introductions, Alice guided me upstairs.

  “Are there any guests here currently?” I asked as we walked down the hall past closed and numbered doors.

  The walls were adorned with many original oil paintings, English style portraits and landscapes, and the hardwood floors were topped with long carpets that hushed our footsteps.

  “We have one long-term guest who tends to stay for a few weeks over winter and the odd couple or two passing through on their way to London and back,” she said. “We have some bookings coming up, but for now, three rooms are occupied. No one wants to come this time of year, which is why it’s so quiet. Summer is our busiest time.”

  “Are you ever at capacity?”

  Alice laughed and shook her head. “Never. Not even when Rocky brings his friends.”

  That must change, I thought. Mr. Rochester may have a great deal of money, but a business was a failure if it could not turn a profit after so many years in operation. I wondered why he kept it if he had to keep putting funds into the kitty.