by Amity Cross
She beamed at me, her cheeks flushing with pride, and I began to warm up to her. I would proceed with caution, but I would welcome this newfound relationship. It might be the only one I ever had with what was left of my family. I craved a connection with the places I’d come from—my history and blood—so it would be foolish if I shut myself off completely without at least knowing if it were genuine or not.
I had Georgiana installed into one of the suites in the east wing of the hotel, promising to organize my travel arrangements that day. She chattered happily about Thornfield, about how grand she thought it was and a myriad of other things, but my mind was elsewhere.
I wasn’t sure if it was an admirable thing, to clear the slate of so many years of hardships with one swipe, but that was exactly what she did. To her, we were instant best friends. For me, it would take some time, and I assumed we’d get plenty of it on the journey to Gateshead.
I left her to settle in her room, and while Alice manned the office, I sought out Edward. Like it or not, I was still an employee of Thornfield, and as such, I was required to ask permission to take leave. I didn’t like having to request something of him so soon after our liaison in the library the previous evening, but it seemed time was of the essence.
I could see no reason why he’d decline besides wanting to make me even more uncomfortable—there were no guests apart Georgiana and no prospects of there being any until winter thawed. Alice would be able to handle the operations quite adequately on her own.
Lingering outside the study, I could hear the low murmur of the television within, echoing the chattering of some news program. Closing my eyes, I whispered a little prayer for strength and then knocked on the door.
“What is it?” came Edward’s thundering voice, signaling he was in one of his famous moods.
My hand trembled as I turned the doorknob, and my nerves almost shattered completely as I entered the lion’s den. Out of habit, I closed the door behind me, and it made the space shrink until all I could focus on was him. The sound of the television faded, the walls of books and paintings were nothing but blurs in my peripheral vision, and the world ceased to be.
When his gaze beheld me, he made a curious grimace and then asked, “What can I do for you, Jane?”
His voice was not of Edward, my lover, but the lilt of Mr. Rochester, the businessman. It was as if a thick wall of professionalism had forced its way between us, and even though I’d asked for it, the pain was insurmountable.
“I wish to ask for a leave of absence,” I replied simply, thinking it best to reply in kind.
“A leave of absence?” he echoed. “What to do?”
“My aunt is ill, and I have been asked to go see her before she passes,” I said, folding my hands in front of me to stop them shaking. “I wish to leave tomorrow morning.”
He set down his pen and regarded me, his gaze lingering on my hands before returning to my face in full. He did not look pleased, but he rarely did.
“Who is the woman?” he asked, affronted. “I didn’t think you knew anyone other than yourself.”
Ignoring his petulant tone, I replied, “Georgiana is my cousin.”
His head rose at this, and a scowl distorted his features. “Cousin? I thought you had no living relatives? Have you lied to me, Jane?”
“Not at all. I have always been honest in the fact I have no living full-blood relations, none that I know of, and any family that remains is by marriage only, and they did not want to know me.”
“And this Georgiana is one of the latter?”
“She is my aunt’s daughter.”
“The same aunt who shipped you off to an institution for delinquent children? Lowood?”
I never thought for an instant Edward would remember the scant few things I’d told him about my past, and I hesitated. Not that I’d purposely withheld more from him, he’d simply never asked. I suppose he’d been too interested in my body.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Why?”
“Because I was poor, burdensome, and she disliked me.”
“And now she is ill and wishes to see you? I daresay she has some ulterior motive.” He narrowed his eyes, measuring my mettle. “And you would go knowing this?”
“If you know anything about me, sir, it’s that I would do—”
“Anything that was right,” he finished for me.
“Yes.”
“And the old man who came to see you. I suppose he was requesting the same thing as your cousin?” When I nodded, he went on, “Then their plot depends on it.”
“Why must they plot?” I asked, my annoyance rising at his argumentative state. “Perhaps she only wants closure on her death bed. Who am I to deny an old, feeble woman?”
“An old, feeble woman who abused you,” he shot back, looking quite put out by it.
My scowl deepened, and my hold over my temper began to slip. “If you will not give me your permission, then consider this meeting notice of immediate termination of my employment.”
“You’re that determined to see the old bat?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
“I am.”
Edward sighed and rose to his feet. Rounding the desk, he paced back and forth a few times, positioning himself between the door and me. I’d thought to get away from here cleanly, but it looked as if I would stay until he was quite done talking at me.
He ran his hand over his face and scratched at his chin, his brow darkening as he brooded over something, which seemed to unsettle him. Once, I would have asked, but now I only remained silent, waiting for him to reveal it or not.
“Promise me you’ll only stay a week,” he murmured.
“I cannot,” I replied, startled by his humble tone.
“Cannot or will not?” he asked. “They are two different things, Jane.”
He moved closer, and I steeled myself. “I cannot promise you. I will be gone for as long as I am needed.”
Edward snorted, his lip curling. “Defiant to the last.”
“I am a free human being,” I replied, my voice lowering to a rasp. “I am no longer employed at Thornfield, and I have not been yours for months. We have all moved on, sir.”
“I suppose we have,” he returned. “Though some time remains where I can look upon you as a free man, Jane, and I will have it. Besides, I have not accepted your resignation. I won’t allow it.”
“There you go again, claiming dominance and power over everything you touch,” I whispered, even though I was thankful for the wage continued employment would bring.
“Promise me one thing, Jane,” he said, and his voice held such a strong note of reverence, I inclined my head.
“What is it?”
“Do not search out employment. Let me find you a suitable position that is respectable of your talents and pays well. Allow me to help you with this, and I shall leave you be. Your wish to move on, clear and free, will be granted.”
I shivered under the weight of his gaze and glanced away, knowing all our goodbyes were nothing compared to this one. My heart beat so furiously it was the only thing I could hear, and my throat was burned so raw with constricted emotion it was the only thing I could feel. The air had a weight of finality to it that drove an axe into my heart.
“Goodbye,” I croaked, stepping around him.
His hand shot out and grasped my forearm, stopping me from fleeing. “So you’ll do no more than say goodbye?”
“It is enough considering our past,” I replied, tensing at his touch.
“Very well,” was his reply. “Though it is very distant considering the ways I’ve known you, Jane.”
“You taunt me,” I replied harshly. “You cannot speak these things to me when you now belong to Blanche Ingram. It is neither fair nor right.”
His eyes narrowed in a glare as he let me go and stepped away from the door.
“Then goodbye,” he declared.
I departed Thornfield the next morning with Georgiana by my side, and I never laid eyes o
n Edward after my request was granted. I didn’t expect to, but he still held a strange power over me I wished he would relinquish.
We caught the eight a.m. train from the village station, and thus, I was plucked from the claws of Thornfield. What I was going to find at the end of the line was unknown, but I would face it with as much mettle as I could muster.
I was no longer poor little plain Jane Doe but a strong woman with a hard heart and a newfound respect for her person. Edward Rochester had seen to that.
11
Georgiana and I reached Gateshead at five p.m. on December first.
The sun had long set as winter was in control of England and her lands, and the wind was bitter and full of ice, the promise of snow heavy on the horizon. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to wake in the morning and find a meter of snow had fallen.
It wasn’t quite as grand as Thornfield, nor was its grounds as vast, but Gateshead was a manor house with a long winding history of its own. It sat on the outskirts of Greater London, mere miles from the outermost tube stations that linked the country to the city.
We entered the house via the kitchens, and when we entered the sitting room, Robert Leaven and another woman I didn’t recognize greeted us. Our coats and bags were taken and set to the side, and we were doted upon like ladies of station in the old days.
“Miss Jane!” Mr. Leaven exclaimed, taking my hands. “I’m glad to see you. Your hands are like ice. Come, sit by the radiator and warm yourself. Miss Georgiana, come.” He fussed over us like an old nursemaid, turning up the dial on the wall to blast more heat into the room.
“Are you hungry?” he went on. “I can call Violetta and have her make you something.”
I glanced at Georgiana and she said, “Violetta is the cook. We still keep staff on to run the household even though it’s only mother and me. There is another maid, who you have just seen, and also Mr. Leaven and another man to help keep the grounds. In summer, the house has been open to visitors for the National Trust, and they bequeath staff on open-house days, but we have kept it closed since mother became ill.”
We were served a hot dinner and regaled each other with stories as we ate. Georgiana had been living in London, working, studying, and partying when her mother became ill. She’d had many boyfriends and several offers of marriage that she’d turned down. She was neither ready nor willing to settle, and it was refreshing to hear it, knowing Aunt Sarah would have pressured her to wed some rich fellow of noble stock like she was breeding pedigree racehorses.
My story wasn’t quite as spectacular, but I told her all I could, leaving out the events of the last year and all mention of Edward Rochester and the damage he’d wrought on my heart. My cousin and I were two different sides of the same coin.
She asked if I was happy, and I answered as well as I could since my own life was also in transition. I would leave Thornfield soon, but I was unsure as to where I would sojourn. Georgiana was scandalized I didn’t keep a mobile phone or any social media profiles and took it upon herself to help me find the perfect device so we could keep in contact once I left.
I studied everything I could see, trying to recall the Gateshead of my childhood. Some things had certainly changed, the walls had been painted, and the rugs had been changed, but overall, it was exactly as I remembered. The same paintings hung on the walls, the rooms had the same air about them, and even the chandelier in the dining room sparkled the same way.
I slept in the guest room that night, and it was a sight better than the cot I was given as a child in the old servants quarters. Truthfully, being at Gateshead as I was now unsettled me, and I couldn’t fall asleep easily even though I was exhausted from our journey and a whole evening of talking. Being welcomed into this place with a warm heart wasn’t something I associated with these walls.
Fifteen years ago, I’d left Gateshead as a burden, my heart raw and bleeding, departing for an unknown place that was to be a waking nightmare. Now I returned to it with my prospects completely unknown, my insides battered and bruised, and my soul aching just as much as it did then.
What had I learned in all those years? Had I grown? I scarcely knew, but I suppose many things had changed even as doubt remained.
The next morning, I went to see Aunt Sarah.
Georgiana said she was in her old bedroom, the one she’d always occupied when I was a child, and I found it with no trouble. I didn’t need to be guided through the house at any stage yet, and I remembered Gateshead as if I was resident in it as recently as last week.
As I eased open the door, I wondered if I would remember my aunt when I finally entered her room and looked upon her face. I recalled her likeness completely, though so much time had passed. Surely she was as much changed as I.
I saw her immediately as did she when she saw movement at her side. There was an assortment of medical equipment at the head of the bed, but I scarcely noticed what each was or what it was for. The room had a sickly scent about it even though the curtains had been drawn open to let in the gray but bright light from outside. All I could focus on was Aunt Sarah.
She was stern, harsh, and judgmental as always, her pointed features wrinkled, and her hair dusted with gray. How often had she cast those darkened eyes on me in hate as a child? Too often to count, I was afraid. Recollections of punishments and incarcerations lifted to the surface of my mind as I beheld her and she beheld me.
“Is that Jane?” she asked, her voice nothing but a low rasp.
“Yes, Aunt,” I replied, surprised to find I was not afraid of her. “It is Jane as requested.”
“Jane?” Her mind seemed to have become muddled, and she no longer recognized me. “I had so much trouble with that child. Such a burden to be left on me! She caused me so much annoyance every single minute of every day. Her solitary ways, her strange eyes always watching, and her sudden fits of temper! She became so violent I had to send her away. They said the headmaster at that school abused his students, and a girl died because of his neglect. I wished she’d been the one, but she wasn’t. She lived, the wretch!”
“Why do you hate her?” I asked, knowing I wouldn’t like the answer, but I couldn’t stop myself from asking.
“I disliked her mother. She was my husband’s only sister, and he doted on her more than he did me. He was the only one in his family who did not oppose it when she married that charlatan. He was poor and conniving, and no one liked him, not at all! When news came of their deaths, he cried like a baby for weeks. Their child was in the car with them, did you know?” I nodded, but she didn’t notice. “When John sent for the baby, I tried to convince him to let it go to an orphanage, but he wouldn’t listen. I hated it from the first time I set eyes on the thing. All it would do was cry and cry! I hated it, and he treated it as his own. If I’d known it would grow into such an ungrateful child, I would have cast it out sooner, but John died and made me promise to care for it.” She scowled fiercely and turned her face from mine.
I didn’t know what to do or say, so I sat there and allowed her to rant and say her piece, no matter how hurtful it was to me. She was an elderly lady on her deathbed, and I was afraid if I excited her further, she would expire on the spot.
Rising to my feet, I straightened her blankets and made sure her cup of water was full before turning to leave.
“Wait!” she croaked. “Don’t let John come here.”
“John?” I asked, hesitating at her bedside.
“My son! Don’t let him come. He asks for money all the time, and I have none left to give him. He threatens me continuously with violence and his own death, and I cannot bear it anymore. How can I help him? I am done.”
Georgiana appeared at the door, drawn by her mother’s raised voice.
“I think I better leave her now,” I said to her.
“Come,” my cousin murmured, gesturing for me to leave the room. “She’ll settle once we’re all gone.”
Once the door was closed and we were alone, I began to wonder on Aunt Sarah’s d
eclining health.
“Is she always like that?” I asked as we returned to the sitting room.
Georgiana nodded. “It’s becoming more frequent. The doctors said the stroke damaged the parts of her brain that control memory and emotional response. She can be quite unpredictable some days.”
“There’s nothing to be done?”
“Nothing. The only thing we can do is make her comfortable.”
“It must be a terrible burden to bear. I didn’t understand.”
She smiled as we sat beside the fireplace. “It is what it is.”
I hadn’t wanted to revisit my past, let alone look upon its face, but I’d promised, so here I was. The true test was still to come as whatever Aunt Sarah wanted to tell me was still very much unsaid. What could she possibly have to say to me after all this time?
I went and saw Aunt Sarah again the next day.
It was a wet and windy afternoon. The rain beat strongly against the windows, and the heat from the radiators fogged the panes of glass. Outside, I could see the trees swaying to and fro in the gale, and I fancied I could see sleet beginning to form among the heavy drops of water.
Turning, I gazed down at Aunt Sarah who was peering at me curiously. She looked frailer to me than she had the day before, the gray light from the gathering storm outside casting a look of the hereafter about her face. I wondered where she would go once she’d passed, but I suppose I wouldn’t know or understand until it was my time.
In pondering the great mystery of the next life, I found myself thinking of Helen and her last words to me that night she lay dying in her bed at Lowood. She believed she wasn’t meant for this world, not yet, but all I could see at that moment was my failure to save her. She didn’t die because she wasn’t ready to live, not at all. She’d died because she’d been neglected. If reincarnation was indeed real, I believed Helen Burns was reborn that very night.
I met Aunt Sarah’s gaze and held it, wondering where she would go, and if she’d walk this earth again. I could speculate all I wished. The decision wouldn’t be up to me.