by Amity Cross
“Who is that?” the old woman asked.
“Jane,” I replied. “Do you remember asking for me, Aunt?”
She peered at me as if she were trying to recall. “I know those eyes,” she said with a snarl. “Those are Eyre eyes.”
I frowned, wondering what strange story her mind had conjured this time. Moving from the window, I sat in the chair beside her bed.
“Fifteen years,” she said. “I haven’t seen you since the day you left for Lowood.”
I nodded.
“You have truly come?” she asked, her hand searching for mine.
“I have.” I allowed her to hold onto me, my gaze sitting upon her cold, withered hand. Her mind seemed present today, and I readied myself to hear the words she wanted to tell me in person.
“I’m very ill,” she said, her voice weakening. “No doubt, Georgiana has told you the whole story?”
“Yes, she has.”
“Then there is naught much else for me to explain.” She let my hand go and waved to the dresser drawer beside the bed. “There’s a letter in there. Will you retrieve it?”
I obeyed her direction like an automaton and found the letter quite easily. It was the only item in the drawer.
“Read it,” she commanded.
With shaking fingers, I opened the envelope and slid out the folded paper. Upon opening it, I found it was very short.
* * *
To Sarah Reed,
* * *
Would you have the decency to send me my niece’s name and address, and tell me how she is?
It has been some years since we last spoke, not since the passing of your late husband. This letter will cause you some discourse as I have built a great fortune in the meantime and currently reside in Madeira. I wish to know the young girl as I have had no family of my own. As the daughter of my late brother, she is my last living relative, and I wish to adopt and bestow upon her all I have earned.
I hope you will allow the past to lie calmly and forward me her information as soon as you are able.
* * *
Sincerely,
James Eyre.
Madeira, Portugal.
* * *
“Jane Eyre,” Aunt Sarah rasped. “That is who you are.”
Eyre.
I closed my eyes as it settled in my thoughts and sank into my very being. My name was Jane Eyre.
My name. I’d craved it my entire life, to know where I’d come from and who I belonged to, if anyone. Now it was before me, and I didn’t know what to do.
I was Jane Eyre.
“When did you receive this letter?” I asked, hardly daring to look upon her face.
“Ten years ago.”
“Ten years?” My eyes flew open. Was this her chance for a final blow to my spirit?
“You were just a baby,” she whispered. “A defenseless little baby, and I hated you. You are the spitting image of your father, did you know?”
I shook my head. “How would I know? I’ve never seen his picture.”
“I know you hate me, Jane,” she said. “You are well within your rights.”
“Dear Aunt,” I said, my heart heavy with the burden my past had placed on me. “Perhaps I should be angry, but I am more passionate than vindictive. I would have loved you if you would have let me, and I tried on many occasions. Many wrongs were done, but neither of us can change them. What’s done is done.”
“Jane…” She grasped my hand desperately.
“Love me or hate me, I no longer care,” I said. “You have my forgiveness, and what you do with it is entirely up to you.”
She glared at me, distraught at my words even though I’d given her what she wished. Forgiveness.
Rising, I slipped the letter into my back pocket and then offered her some water. She turned from me, almost spilling the entire contents of the cup over herself. When I fixed her blankets, she shrank away from my touch, and finally, I removed myself from the room, leaving her to rest alone.
Poor woman, I thought to myself. Perhaps it was too late to change. After a lifetime of hating, she must despise me on her deathbed, too. There was nothing to be done about it—I could neither love nor hate her—so I withdrew to the sitting room.
The next morning, Georgiana came to tell me Sarah Reed died calmly in her sleep during the night. That same morning, I assisted my cousin with the preparations for the funeral as we waited for the ambulance to come and withdraw my aunt’s body. We lingered at the door as the vehicle departed, now familiar as cousins and friends, and her mother was borne away.
Neither of us spoke as snow began to fall, the flakes settling on the lawn and clinging to our hair and coats. Everything was still and close, the reality of living heavy on our minds.
It was a strange and solemn day.
12
Christmas came and went, and the New Year was rung in, but I didn’t return to Thornfield until the middle of January.
Georgiana laid her mother to rest the week before the holiday, so I remained until she was settled and the estate proceedings underway. She was quite alone despite having Mr. Leaven, Violetta, and the other household staff in residence.
I was left nothing in Aunt Sarah’s will, but it didn’t surprise or worry me one iota. I wanted nothing from her other than her love, but in lieu, she’d given me back my identity. To me, that was the greatest gift she could have bestowed.
Everything went to Georgiana, and I was glad. She’d uprooted her life and put her career on hold to care for her ailing mother. She was the only one left to carry on the Reed legacy, and it would fare much better in her hands than it would ever have in her late brother John’s.
As the train carried me closer and closer to Thornfield, my anxiety began to rise. I’d thought of Edward often, but I was glad to have had the separation from him and the hotel. I felt I could see things clearly now that I’d had the time to think on them without the burden of the mysterious house all around, but I would soon cross its threshold, and I wasn’t sure what I would find.
Almost two months had passed, four since I was initially meant to depart, and when I finally alighted at the train station, I felt the ominous presence even from here.
It was bitterly cold, the wind had picked up, but the rain held, and I found myself forgoing a taxi and walking, just as I had when I first arrived. It was neither a homecoming nor a beginning, and as I trudged along the lane with my duffel bag slung over my shoulder, I pondered the meaning of my lonely journey.
As I had the night I’d first met Edward on the road, I slowed my pace, drinking in the changed landscape around me, reluctant to return to the site of such passion and torment. Winter had truly taken hold over the moor, the cloud-laden sky stretched from horizon to horizon, the air heavy with premonition. Whether it heralded the arrival of more snow or the greeting I’d receive at the hotel, it was unclear.
I lingered at the gate and then trudged along the driveway, studying the bare branches of the oaks, which lined the graveled path. Skeleton fingers.
How would I see this place now I knew my name? Jane Eyre. I scarcely knew who she was.
Finally, I could put off my arrival no more, and I stood on the stoop underneath the eave, the main entrance before me. With a sigh, I pushed the heavy door inward and crossed the threshold of Thornfield at long last.
“You.”
I stared up the main staircase and swallowed a ball of anxiety when I laid eyes on the last person I thought I’d have to face. Blanche Ingram.
She was just as I remembered her—tall, flawless, styled jet-black hair, and impeccable clothes. She was the image of female refinement—her perfection beautiful—but it was ruined by her selfish heart and sour disposition. I stared at her in shock, but from the look on her face, she was expecting me.
“I was wondering when you would show your face,” Blanche said, snarling. “For it was when, not if.”
I didn’t trust myself to speak, lest it was in anger, and I wasn’t about to give her any
ammunition she could fire in the war which was on the brink of breaking out.
I was frozen to the spot, my heart beating fiercely, as she descended the stairs, her piercing blue eyes fixed firmly on her target. Confrontation was not my strong suit, so I’d much rather avoid it. Edward had been a special case, and his ability to get under my skin in the most pleasurable way was a testament to how much I’d come to care for him. I liked to spar with him, but Blanche? I’d much rather run in the opposite direction.
She stood before me, her gaze drinking in my wild and travel-worn appearance and smirked. She’d obviously found me wanting, but after a lifetime of being squashed down and beaten, it didn’t do much to hurt my feelings.
“Tell me, how many times have you had him since he returned to this awful house?” She looked me over, her lips curling as if she couldn’t believe any man would find me attractive at all. “Once? Twice? More than that?”
“Not at all,” I replied. “I have respect for myself.”
“You? Respect yourself?” She laughed, thinking my words the ultimate jest. “Did you actually have hope he would see you as more than a plaything? Did you think he would marry you? Wake up, poor girl. People like you don’t belong with people like us.”
I remained silent because deep down, I feared she was right. Knowing my name changed nothing.
“He is to be my husband,” she snapped. “Mine. If you so much as look at him, it’ll be the last thing you ever hope to do, peasant girl.”
Her threat hit home with a sharp thwack, my body tightening with tension. I had no doubt she would follow through if she had any inkling Edward and I were conversing. I hoped she’d told him as such because it was he who kept seeking me out, not the other way around. Why must the poor always be accused of seeking out the affections of the rich? Why couldn’t a wealthy man truly love a woman who had nothing? Real life was more complicated than that, no matter how much one wished it to be something else. Simplicity in love only lay in the realm of fairy tales.
“Is there a tongue in your head?” Blanche barked, her eyes flashing with anger.
“Do what you like, Blanche,” I said, my ire outweighing my fear of confrontation. “I stopped seeing Edward long before you came back into the picture. That man has a foul disposition, a delightful penchant for all sorts of emotional pain, and so many secrets I don’t even know where to begin. You might be satisfied with his good looks and deep pockets and forgo loving him at all for it, but I was not. Good luck to you!”
Picking up my bag, I edged around her and kept walking, my boots thudding up the stairs.
“Don’t you walk away from me!” she shrieked after me, her voice rising like the agitated wail of a banshee.
The moment I was out of sight, the last shred of strength I’d been grasping slipped out of my hands and was gone.
I’d ended Edward’s and my affair, and he’d been tempting me at every turn since he’d arrived unannounced, but I hadn’t let go, not entirely. He’d instilled hope in my heart—hope he would suddenly be able to overcome his demons and truly love me—and it was the cruelest thing of all. There was no hope for us.
Even as I thought it, I began to doubt my own actions. Did I have any right to feel as bereft I did?
As if I didn’t have enough pain to deal with, Blanche being here was a mortal blow. It was real now, the marriage, and there was nothing I could do to change it.
I would not yield, and neither would he.
I’d made my bed. Now all that was left was to lie in it.
I returned to my room and immediately began pulling my meager belongings out of the trunk and dumping them onto the bed.
Folding clothes, I placed them into my bag, not even bothering to unpack from my previous journey. I’d picked up a few new things courtesy of Georgiana—including a mobile phone—which made my tiny bag overflow. In a fit of passion, I began throwing out old clothes, flinging them across the room.
It was one thing having to suffer Edward’s presence but to look upon Blanche Ingram? I’d have to witness their casual touches, their kisses, and endearments, all while I was withering away inside. It was pure torture.
He’d led me to believe he still harbored feelings for me even as he allowed me to think his impending marriage was mere rumor. He begged me to stay, then begged me to come back as soon as I was able, but was it only so I could see them together? Was he sending me a message that I was no longer wanted or needed?
The irrational questions continued to fly around in my mind as I packed, and they only served to fuel my hysteria and heartache. Grasping a jumper, I shook it out intending to fold it anew but stilled as I realized what I was holding, and my passionate packing ground to a halt.
This…it belonged to the very man I loved and hated—if those two emotions were even possible to feel at the same time.
I curled my hands around the jumper and held it close, letting the scent of Edward’s cologne wash over my senses. It had the faint odor of smoke about it, and the memory of the night I came across the end of his bed ablaze came to mind.
The laughter, which had led me on a chase through the halls, the smoke, and the terrible fear at the sight of the flames that licked at Edward’s feet…I’d never forget it. In the aftermath, he’d pulled this very jumper over my head to keep me warm, and I’d kept it ever since.
It was just one thing in a long string of mysteries I’d never be privy to, and I began to wonder if he’d shared them with Blanche. I closed my eyes and bowed my head, my cheek brushing against the fabric.
Thornfield’s ghosts may have quieted, but my memory of them had not.
Taking a deep breath, I gathered myself and closed off my heart. I must return the key to the library, discard the jumper, and make arrangements to leave Thornfield as soon as possible. All ties, associations, and memories must be cut off entirely. I must forget all of it. I must start anew.
Gathering the gifts, I powered through the winding hallways, my stride purposeful. I must have strength and not waver from my path.
The library was dark, but I never expected it to be alight, not with Blanche in residence. I imagined they were off someplace enjoying one another’s company immensely. The thought made me ill as I crossed the room. I intended to set the jumper and the key on the table beside Edward’s usual chair, but just as I was about to discard them, movement made me still.
“You were gone more than a week,” a voice said in the darkness.
Stilling, I closed my eyes and whispered a prayer. I wasn’t a religious person, but I’d spoken so many words to an unknown God I was beginning to hope he or she was listening.
Setting the jumper and key on the table, I curled my hands into fists to stop them from trembling.
“You need to leave,” I said without turning. “I’m only returning some things. I don’t mean to linger.”
“Do as you wish, Jane,” Edward replied. “I granted you free reign of this place.”
“You need to be with your fiancée. Not drinking yourself into a stupor in the dark.”
“You know me well,” he said, the sound of crystal clinking on crystal echoing through the room. “And despite my better judgment, here I stand.”
“Your better judgment?” I echoed. “Will the insults ever cease?”
I turned, intending to escape the madness, but he was before me, his eyes wild with a storm darker than I’d ever seen.
He grasped my arm, his eyes ablaze with lust and alcohol, and my body sparked. I wanted him, there was no doubt, but not like this. Never like this. We were two souls on a dangerous path of destruction if this continued. All I could foresee was retribution in its purest form.
He belonged to another, but this didn’t seem to stop Edward. He pulled me against his chest, his hard body molding against mine, and he was upon me. His lips collided with my mouth, his tongue dove greedily, and all I could taste was whiskey. My body responded to his desperate ministrations, wanting nothing more than to relax into his touch and s
uccumb to the will of his primal instinct, but my mind screamed at me to escape before the world crashed down around us.
Desperately, I pushed against his chest with the flats of my palms and tore my mouth from his. “No! You cannot!”
“Jane.” He fell to his knees, my name a plea on his lips. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pressed his cheek against my stomach, cradling me tightly against him.
I lifted my hands and held them away from him as emotion surged through my body. Tears welled in my eyes and began to spill unchecked down my cheeks as fear overtook me. He was drunk and inconsolable. The strong man I’d come to know was all but gone in his desperation.
“You are so small I could crush you in my hands, but what good would it do?” He moaned, his fingers tightening against my skin. “You have a cage about you, and no matter what I do, no matter how I reach, I cannot get to you, you savage, beautiful creature! If I tear the bars away, you will only run, and then you will be lost to me… It is you, your spirit… It is your wild spirit I want. I only sought to protect you!”
Even as he clutched my waist, I felt the ghost of his hands around my neck. During our final passionate encounter, he’d wrapped his palms around me and dug his fingertips into my flesh, constricting my windpipe. He’d combined pleasure and pain as a manifestation of the secrets he held, and it was the final and most terrible nail in the coffin of our failed relationship. I loved him, but it would never work, not while he was closed to me.
“God, help me,” I murmured, forcing his arms away from my body.
The moment I was free, I fled from the library, leaving Edward on the floor. I knew not if he followed or if he remained behind. I didn’t stop to look as I all but ran through the halls, seeking respite and sanctuary.
When I came to the east wing and collapsed against my door, I fumbled with the knob and all but fell inside as I was granted access. I turned the lock and leaned against the wall, my heart racing and my breathing shallow as my anxiety rose. I was alone, but the dark corners of my tiny room seemed to close in upon me, taunting me with their secrets, little demons chattering their triumph at my defeat.