by Amity Cross
When I didn’t make a sound or raise an eyebrow, Mr. Brocklehurst scowled at me.
“Let her stand on that stool for the remainder of the day,” he commanded. “And let no one speak to her.”
There I stayed for hours, perched on top of the stool as the class went on around me. My legs shook, my head spun, my throat burned with thirst, and I was denied escape. I was ten years old, forced to grow up faster than any child should, and now I stood upon a pedestal of infamy, deemed the degenerate and wild Jane Doe. Trust her at your peril, for she is broken and evil!
As the sun set and evening chores and dinner were over, the class was finally sent to their dormitories for the night, and still, I stood on the verge of tears. I was tired, sore, and starving, and still, I was ignored.
Just as I was about to collapse, a girl stole into the room and stood before me. Realizing it was Helen Burns—the quiet and sickly Irish girl with brilliant curly red hair—I almost wept tears of joy.
She smiled softly and pressed something into my hand, scurrying away before she could be discovered.
I didn’t dare look at the treasure she’d given me until I was alone again, and when I saw what she’d given me, a spark of hope ignited in my heart.
It was a bread roll.
My memory shifted again. This time, I was older—sixteen—and still in the clutches of Lowood.
I stood in a dark hallway, my feet bare and my hand on a doorknob. Glancing around, I made sure I was undiscovered and unwatched before opening it.
“Helen,” I whispered as the scent of sickness flowed from the room beyond. “Are you awake?”
She stirred, turning over in her bed so she could see who was at the door.
“Jane?” came her tiny voice through the darkness. “Is that you?”
“Yes,” I replied, stealing into the room and standing by her bedside.
For two weeks, she’d been confined, and her loss in class and at mealtimes had been grave, indeed. Helen Burns was my only friend, and our conversations about the world and the things we’d do once we were free of Lowood were the only things that kept me going when I would otherwise drown.
I felt her absence as if a limb had been rent from my body. No other student would talk to me, and I drifted alone and unwanted. They feared they’d be punished severely if they defied Mr. Brocklehurst’s order to shun me.
“Do they still turn from you?” she asked, reading my expression as if I were an open book. Helen had that quality about her. She was deceptively aware.
I nodded. “I miss you dearly.”
“You think too much of the love of others,” she whispered. “You are too impulsive.”
“I have cause for it,” I replied haughtily. “They have judged me without a fair trial.”
Helen smiled at our old argument, for it was a topic we discussed regularly. “Why are you so quick to fall into distress when life is too short already? If death is so certain, why dwell on it and forgo the happiness life has to offer?”
There was no happiness to be found at Lowood. That was why we longed for the day we both turned eighteen. Truly, what was the point of life if I was to spend it hating and longing as I did and doing nothing about it?
“Soon, you will be away from this place, Jane,” Helen said. “You can go anywhere.”
“It’s a fine dream,” I replied. “And what of you?”
“I know my fate,” she replied with a ragged whisper.
At sixteen, we were both well aware of death and the ways in which it could take us, but I was too stubborn to admit defeat. There was still hope among such oppression, and I willed Helen to see it.
“You will be well again,” I assured her. “There are all kinds of medicines to cure everything.”
She smiled, the light dimming in her eyes, and I clutched her clammy hand in mine. She knew as well as I that people like us, children deemed degenerates and orphans, had no money or priority for such miracles. The injustice burned in the back of my throat, but crying it wasn’t fair would do nothing but cause a scene. We were in a hopeless situation.
I was already formulating a plan to escape Lowood and break into the nearest hospital so my friend could live when she closed her eyes.
I tugged on her hand. “Helen?”
“I’m tired, Jane,” she whispered. “I’m not afraid of where I’m going. I’m sure I wasn’t meant for this world. Not yet.”
“Then will you come back?”
She smiled, her eyes opening a crack. “Perhaps.”
I stayed beside Helen all that night. When I was discovered the next morning, I was sentenced to a day and night in the storeroom closet, and she died alone.
Not long after Helen departed, Lowood was brought under investigation by the authorities. Mr. Brocklehurst was sent to prison for crimes against his young wards, the curriculum and conditions were vastly changed, and the remaining two years I spent within its walls passed as quickly as they might but were no less dreary as they’d already been.
When I turned eighteen, I left without so much as a backward glance, having learned the most precious lesson of my life to date.
Protect your soul at all costs.
3
I don’t know why my mind conjured memories of Helen and Lowood.
Perhaps it was a reminder of the person I’d become to cope with such misery, to remind me my walls were constructed for a reason. Or perhaps it was to tell myself I was strong even when I felt abandoned, and that I had the power to endure if I had to.
It was two days before I felt well enough to rise, and after I’d showered and dressed, I emerged from my room rather sheepishly. Working my way through the employee quarters, all was silent. Thornfield was now back into a short hibernation before the autumn artist retreat.
Descending to the main gallery, I hesitated when I heard voices echoing in the main gallery.
“The kitchen staff are asking after Jane,” Alice said. “She’s been in bed two days. I hope she’s well soon.”
“Rest is what she needs,” Bessie replied. “Not speculation.”
“But it is good speculation, Bessie!”
“They’re gossiping busybodies,” she declared. “They should leave well enough alone. Grace has done well enough—”
“Jane!” Alice exclaimed, rushing up the stairs to hug me.
Annoyed I’d been discovered just when I was about to hear a clue about the mystery I was desperate to solve, I allowed her to embrace me. I was so embarrassed over my conduct the last week that I didn’t utter a word, nor was I inclined to ask further about Grace Poole and her good work. Alice didn’t seem to notice my mortification and helped me down the remaining steps as if I was so weak I was going to fall.
“Do they all know?” I asked, my cheeks heating.
Alice nodded, understanding I was asking about Edward, and Bessie smiled.
“Don’t you worry about it, Jane,” the maid said. “No one thinks anything of it. They now see the reason for the change in Mr. Rochester these past months. He was a better man when he was with you.”
“If there is a side to be taken, then the entire household is on yours,” Alice chimed in.
“The foolish man,” Bessie huffed. “Some people are too embroiled in the trappings of society to see what’s under their very noses. It doesn’t matter these days, but try telling the rich! It’s like they’re all stuck in the seventeen hundreds!”
“Are you hungry?” Alice asked, shooing away the maid. “Let’s get you something to eat.”
They installed me at a table in the dining room and began fussing over the best thing to make my strength and color return. I sat numbly, my limbs feeling listless after two days in bed, and my heart felt much the same. I’d taken a battering and I would need something a great deal more powerful than food to get me back on my feet. If I knew what it was, I’d be ordering it up by the lorry full.
“A letter came for you this morning,” Alice said, pulling my attention as she lit the candles i
n front of me as if I were a guest. “Let me get it for you.”
She darted from the room, and I frowned, beginning to wonder who knew I was here and why they would want to send a letter to me. My mind went back to the dreams I’d had whilst ill and the images of Helen and Lowood. I’d hardly been in my right mind as the fever tore through my body, and most of the things I’d dreamed were jumbled at best. Hardly an omen of a strange letter.
Alice was back in a flash and handed me the mysterious letter with a flourish.
I stared at the envelope, my gaze studying the swoops and curls of the letters scribed on the front. I recognized the handwriting, but I was hesitant to pick it up and open it lest it was a trick.
“It’s handwritten,” Alice declared. “Who writes letters by longhand these days?”
“Leave the poor girl in peace,” Bessie scolded her, and to me, she said, “I’ve told the chef you’re here, and he’s getting you some light soup and bread to start. Best not to rush yourself with more than that.”
The maid left after that, but Alice lingered, and I thought about giving her the letter since she was the only one interested in it, but it was a foolish idea. No one should have to read it, but my own sense of right and wrong drove me to pick it up. I would be a hypocrite of the highest order if I continued to hold a grudge against Aunt Sarah, and all the work I’d done to grow as a human being since leaving Lowood would all be for nothing.
With a sigh, I broke the seal and slipped out the single piece of paper within. It was folded once down the middle, and my fingers brushed over the raised lines that indicated Aunt Sarah still had a very heavy hand, even when she only wielded a pen.
Reluctantly, I turned the letter over and wasn’t surprised in the least when I saw how short the note was.
* * *
Jane,
It is with great sadness that I write you this letter.
Many things have come to pass since your childhood, and I must impart them on you, but it is best done in person. If this letter finds you well or finds you at all, please consider visiting me at Gateshead as soon as you are able.
Sincerely,
Your aunt, Sarah Reed.
* * *
Swallowing hard, I folded the paper and slid in back into the envelope. My mind wanted to lash out and attack, not able to survive another blow, but I bit back my anger.
“What does it say, Jane?” Alice asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.
Without so much as a word, I held the paper aloft and placed the end into the tapered candle before me. The tiny flame flickered and caught, igniting the envelope and devouring it hungrily. Alice’s mouth fell open as I set it onto the empty plate beside me and watched it burn to ash.
I didn’t know how Aunt Sarah found me, but there was no place left in my heart to hear the things she wished to impart on me after all these years. It was a trick, an awful game of cat and mouse, and I would not give her the satisfaction. That part of my life was over, and I was never going back. I wouldn’t allow it.
The soup arrived at that moment, and I dipped the spoon into the liquid and began sipping. I had work to complete, and then the future was mine to behold.
The days went by, and I felt as if I were floating.
I regained my strength, no one looked at me any differently, and things went back to the state they were in before I even laid eyes on the brooding Mr. Rochester. Sometimes, I fancied if I closed my eyes and opened them again, this past summer would all be but a dream, but it wasn’t to be. Edward had marked my very soul, and there was no forgetting him.
I reflected on myself and realized I’d grown in the months I’d been in residence at Thornfield. I still felt as if I was a wanderer on the face of the earth, but I felt less oppressed at the thought of being so small in such a large world. The gaping wounds of the wrongs done to me were much healed, and the flame of resentment was extinguished. I had a firmer trust in myself, and the choices I’d made, though dire at the time, seemed to be now in my best interests. I would settle for nothing less than what any person deserved, which was someone’s complete and utter love. Perhaps Edward would have come to love me, but it would never have been with his full mind, body, and spirit.
I’d forgotten all about Aunt Sarah’s letter and was content to go ahead with the artist retreat and the search for a new position. Knowing it would cause a storm I wasn’t yet strong enough to weather, I hadn’t told Alice or Bessie of my intention to leave Thornfield. I had no answers or direction, only that it was imminent as the next month.
I was alone in reception, pondering this change of circumstance, when I received a visitor. It was so unexpected, and I was bewildered at the sight of the old man who lingered at the desk. He was tall and slightly hunched as if he’d done a great deal of physical labor in his younger years. White hair sat sparsely atop his head, and his watery eyes held a great deal of sparkle when he saw me. There was strength in him still.
“Jane Doe? Is that you?” He looked me over in surprise. “My, how you’ve changed.”
I frowned and rose to my feet, the man all but a stranger to me. I attempted to puzzle him out, my eye wandering over his features, but I couldn’t place him. The fact he knew me was unsettling, but there was nothing at all unsavory about his appearance.
“I daresay you wouldn’t remember me,” he went on. “You were such a wee little thing the last time I saw you, Miss Jane.”
I shook my head. “I’m sorry.”
“Robert Leaven,” he declared, holding out his hand.
At the mention of his name, recognition flooded my mind. I didn’t remember his face, but his name came back to me with startling recollection. He’d worked for Uncle Reed before he died and then for Aunt Sarah in the years following. He was the groundskeeper at Gateshead.
I grasped his hand, a smile on my face, the first to grace it in weeks. “Mr. Leaven. Surely, I do remember you now, but what brings you to Thornfield? Are you seeking work?”
“No, Miss,” he said, shaking his head and my hand. “I’ve come on your Aunt’s request. Truthfully, neither of us were sure you were here at all, but she’s quite desperate to see you. Did you receive her letter?”
“It was delivered last week,” I replied, leaving out the part where I burned it.
When I offered no more explanation, Robert wrung his hands together.
“Come,” I said. “Let’s sit a while.”
Leading the old groundskeeper through the gallery and into the sitting room, I sat him in a quiet corner and arranged tea and some sandwiches to be brought before taking a seat next to him.
“Thank you, Miss. You are too kind,” he said when the spread was laid out on the low table before us.
“Has something dire happened at Gateshead?” I asked. “It’s a long way to come otherwise.”
“Aye, for sure, a lot has happened this past year,” he said, picking up his cup of tea and sipping. “Master John has caused all kinds of worries.”
“My cousin John?”
The groundskeeper nodded and proceeded to explain. “He gave himself up to awful ways these past few years. He fell in with a bad crowd and ruined his health and his fortune.”
Remembering my cousin’s mean temperament and penchant for striking women, including myself, I wasn’t entirely surprised by this revelation.
“He is no longer with us I’m sorry to say,” Robert went on. “He committed suicide.”
I allowed the shock of his statement to settle before asking, “When? Why?”
“A year ago,” he replied. “He developed quite the gambling problem in the years leading up to it. He squandered his trust fund, spent his entire fortune, and almost drove your aunt to ruin. She bailed him out several times, and when she finally refused to give him any more money, he took matters into his own hands.”
I lowered my gaze, beginning to feel terrible. I’d burned her letter and cast her aside as she’d cast me—an eye for an eye—but I now regretted it.
&nbs
p; “Your aunt took it badly I’m afraid. She’d been in ill health for quite some time and had become rather frail. John’s problems had caused her quite a bit of stress, and she worried about falling into ruin and poverty because of it. The news of his passing was such a shock it brought on a stroke, and it’s only in the past few months she’s regained some of her strength. Her mind was affected, and her memory lapses. It comes and goes, but the doctor says she’s not got much time left. Perhaps six months to a year, they suppose, but no one can ever tell for sure.”
I was struck dumb by the turn of events and didn’t know how to proceed.
“She’s been asking for you, Miss Jane. Every day for two months.”
“Where is my other cousin, Georgiana?” I inquired, hesitant to embroil myself in a promise I wasn’t sure I could keep.
“She returned from London after Mr. John’s passing. She’s been in residence with her mother ever since.”
I nodded, pleased to hear it. I remembered Georgiana to be quiet and dutiful, her golden hair, blue eyes, and pale features setting her apart from everyone around her. She was her father’s daughter, and if any of the Reed’s were to look similar to me, then it was my cousin.
I suppose she’d gone off to London the moment she was able and became the life of the party. She was such a beauty as a child, I assumed she’d only grown more so as a woman, and I could see her with a different man on her arm every night of the week. It was a wonder she’d returned to Gateshead at all and hadn’t installed Aunt Sarah into a care facility of some sort. Didn’t she have a rich fiancé or husband already?
“So will you come, Miss Jane?” Robert asked.
I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Robert, but I cannot. You know the things she put me through as a child, and when I was taken to Lowood, there was worse, and I cannot return knowing it.”
He lowered his gaze, disappointment clear in his old brow. “Aye, I know.”
“I’ve made peace with my past, and I vowed never to return to it. I can only go forward.”