by Amity Cross
Edward had been absent, keeping his distance and likely scheming behind closed doors. Alice had confirmed he was still at Thornfield but had been elusive, even at mealtimes. She thought he was sulking over me, but I didn’t want to hear about it.
I was in the office alone, fielding inquiries about a second artist retreat, when the mail was delivered. The arrival of the mailman was always an excitement as he usually brought Alice a load of parcels from her online shopping, but today it was only an assortment of letters for Edward and some junk mail.
Sorting through the pile, I divided it up, discarding the flyers, and when I came across a crisp white envelope with my name printed on the front, my heart skipped a dozen beats. I held it close, thankful I’d been there to receive the mail and not Alice, for the type on the front was emblazoned with my real name. Jane Eyre.
I didn’t know why I wanted to keep it a secret, but I cherished the word that claimed me as belonging to an unknown family above all else. I hadn’t told a soul, not Alice or Bessie, not Georgiana, and especially not Edward. It was something that was mine and mine alone, and until I understood what it meant, it would remain a secret.
Leaning back in my chair, I peered out into the gallery and listened, but I was alone.
Who would be writing me a letter as Jane Eyre? It would either be terrible news or the best thing that’d ever happened to me.
Ripping open the envelope, I slipped out the single sheet of paper within and unfolded it, my fingers shaking.
* * *
Dear Jane Eyre,
* * *
My name is Jason Briggs, a lawyer at Briggs, Farnham, and Associates law firm in Bloomsbury, London.
We’ve received communication from the estate of Sarah Reed as to your whereabouts and wish to set up a meeting to discuss the estate of your late uncle James Eyre. As you are his only living relative, he has named you the singular recipient of his holdings and finances.
I am more than willing to come and meet you as you live so far from London. Please contact me at your earliest convenience, and I will make the necessary arrangements at once.
* * *
Sincerely,
Mr. Jason Briggs
* * *
My late uncle? He’d died?
I clutched the letter against my chest and took a deep breath. From what I’d understood, James Eyre was my only living relative—at least, he was the only one Aunt Sarah had spoken of. James had no children and had wanted to adopt me, and my birth parents had only one child before they died, so it must be true.
If he’d passed, then it meant I was as alone as I’d always been. It was a blow, and I felt my heart twist in disappointment.
Not wasting another minute, I picked up the phone and dialed the number on the letterhead. A female receptionist answered, and when I asked to speak to Mr. Briggs, I was put through immediately as if they’d been expecting my call. It was all a little seamless and made me feel important. It was quite strange to be treated as a VIP.
Mr. Briggs himself had a gruff yet friendly voice and spoke of his relief at finding me very much alive. It seemed he’d been searching for some time, but as I’d been going by Doe, there was no trace of me to be had. We spoke very briefly and made arrangements to meet in the village near Thornfield in two days’ time.
I didn’t care much for the thought of what had been left to me in my uncle’s estate. I merely wished to know more about him. He was gone, but I hoped I could find some of my elusive identity in the clues he’d left behind.
After a lifetime of hoping, the next two days couldn’t go fast enough.
After the phone call, the weather began to storm quite fiercely, but on the morning of the second day—the day I was to meet with the lawyer, Mr. Briggs—things began to clear.
The cloud cover had hung back, allowing some patches of blue to shimmer through the gloom, and the snow had mostly melted away. My life seemed to be full to bursting with omens since I arrived in this untamed countryside, so I took the shards of sunshine and greenery to be a good sign for the meeting to come.
I was still a little too sore to be walking the hour and a half to the village, so I borrowed one of the hotel’s battered cars and wove my way dangerously down the narrow lane, thankful I didn’t meet any other vehicles coming the other way.
When Alice asked after my errand, I fabricated a story about sending some things to my cousin Georgiana and an assortment of odds and ends. She seemed wholly satisfied with this and didn’t fossick for more gossip.
Curiously, Edward had kept his distance since I was forced into involuntary bed rest, and that morning, he’d disappeared from Thornfield, off on some unknown errand of his own. I had no doubt he’d be informed of my wanderings when he returned, but for now, I was free and clear.
The café sat by the train station and next door to the compact Sainsbury’s, so parking was no problem. When I opened the door and stepped in out of the cold, I scanned the little eatery for signs of Mr. Briggs, but I needn’t have worried. Only one customer was present—a middle-aged man of about fifty—and from the look of him, this was the man I’d come to see.
He was sitting side on to the door, and I was able to get a small sense of his looks and temperament before I approached. His hair was clipped short and dusted with a generous helping of gray, and his face was clean-shaven. He wore a dark gray suit with an off-white shirt and what looked to be a red herringbone tie. He was professional and kind looking, so I approached.
“Mr. Briggs?” I asked uncertainly.
He rose to his feet, a wide smile on his face, and extended his hand. “Miss Eyre, I presume.”
Shaking his proffered hand, I nodded. “I am one and the same.”
He let me go and gestured for me to take the seat opposite his. I sat gingerly, wincing slightly as I bumped a bruise against the arm of the chair.
He frowned and asked, “Are you well, Miss Eyre?”
“I am,” I replied. “I took a tumble last week, and I am a little bruised, but I’m well.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.” He turned to the waitress and ordered a pot of tea for us to share.
“I must say, I’m very eager to hear what you have to say, Mr. Briggs. What can you tell me about my uncle?” I asked as he began pulling out an assortment of folders and papers from his leather satchel.
He smiled. “You’re very keen.”
“I’ve not had the chance to know any of my family on my father’s side,” I said. “I’m very excited to know I had an uncle.”
His expression crumbled slightly. “I’m sorry to say he passed ten years ago,” he explained. “We have been searching for you ever since, but it has been quite difficult.”
My heart sank. Ten years ago? It was the same time as Aunt Sarah’s letter, and it had led me to believe he knew he was dying and sought to right a wrong before he passed.
Where was I then? Ten years ago, I was a student at Lowood, and my friend Helen had been alive. If I’d known of him then, perhaps I could have helped her live. It was all a little too late, and I was reluctant to partake in what had been bequeathed to me.
“All that time ago?” I asked as the waitress returned with the tea.
Mr. Briggs waited until the woman had set out the cups, saucers, and pot, and had departed. Then he took it upon himself to pour us both a dram of the homely liquid before answering.
“He sought you out in the months before he passed but was unable to find your whereabouts,” he explained, offering me a few little packages of sugar, of which I took two. “I was great friends with your uncle, and he asked that I see to finding you and to maintain things until the day I could hand them over to you personally. You’ll find everything in order, right down to the last penny. Time has only made his investments grow. You’ll be quite pleased.”
He rifled through his pile of folders and let out an ‘ah-ha’ when he found the one he was looking for.
“I’m sure it’s fine, Mr. Briggs.” I barely looked at t
he papers he handed to me before setting them aside. This was all quite a shock, and it was only just beginning to settle in.
“You don’t want to know how much you’re worth?” he asked, watching me closely. “Or what property is yours to reside in? I can walk you through all of it.”
I glanced at the tea, then at him before asking quite robotically, “How much am I worth?”
“Ten million pounds,” he declared. “Along with the deeds to six houses in three different countries, a prosperous textile factory in Leeds, several thousand shares in emerging technologies, and an investment plan which will see you living off the interest for the remainder of your days. Miss Eyre, you are set for life.”
My head began to spin, my heart raced, and my skin started to prickle as shock set in. I was an heiress? One of the wealthy? I felt rather faint and not at all sure this was real. Raising my hand, I pinched myself. Hard. How else was one meant to react to the irrevocable change to one’s circumstances?
This fortune now made me eligible for Edward’s hand. If it were mere finances that hindered our union, now there were no barriers, but it wasn’t money or class lines that drove us apart. If he were going to come back to me, it would be because of pure, untainted love. It would be because of who I was, not the money in my bank account.
“It must be a shock to you,” Mr. Briggs said kindly. “To go from thinking you had no family to having an uncle who gave you his life’s work all in one day.”
“What was he like?” I asked, the question bursting forth from someplace unknown.
“He was a good man. His fortune was self-made. He wasn’t born to it. In fact, the Eyre’s were no one of any concern. No titles granted by the Queen or traceable family lineage. Just a normal family going about their business. After your parents died, it seemed to light a fire under James. That was when he began to make something of himself.”
“Why didn’t he adopt me when I was a baby? Why was I thrust upon the Reeds?”
“He would have, believe me, Miss, but your mother’s family blocked his every attempt. Your parents’ marriage wasn’t a welcome one, and your uncle, John Reed, was determined to see you raised with him and not in squalor as he put it.”
“And then he died,” I muttered.
Mr. Briggs nodded. “Not long after the accident, you just ceased to be.”
I wasn’t surprised since my name and all knowledge of my father’s family had been taken from me. I hardly believed the story could be so cruel until I knew the whole of it. My life had been stripped away over a feud between the rich and the poor. It seemed the cycle would never end.
“I would have wished to know him, had I the chance,” I said. “I grew up thinking I was quite alone, and I only learned of his existence a few months ago. It is a shock, indeed. Truthfully, I do not care about the money, though it is welcome, and I’m sure I can do much good with it. I… I merely wished to know where I came from.”
“We all do,” he said kindly. “It’s the greatest question humanity has ever asked. Where and why?”
16
When I arrived back at Thornfield, it seemed different yet again.
Every time I departed, something monumental shifted in my life, each instance besting the last even though they came with a blow. Aunt Sarah demanded my presence before she died, though she gave me my name. Then Mr. Briggs delivered me a fortune, but my uncle was no longer among the living.
Now I was Jane Eyre, heiress. What a curious creature!
Before taking my leave of the café, I’d signed a plethora of papers, and then Mr. Briggs had departed for London on the very next train, promising to call me when all funds and assets were transferred and accessible. He’d shaken my hand and told me I could call him for advice anytime I wished.
Never again would I see a zero pound balance on my account.
Never again would I have to search for employment.
Never again would I go hungry and cold.
My world had expanded and exploded all at once, and every one of the things I wished to see and explore were now mine to behold. I could do anything, but it was a shame the one thing I wanted could not be bought.
The very same night when I returned to Thornfield, I sat among the staff at dinner, and I beheld a surge of strength like I’d never felt before. I was no longer bound to a man, circumstance, or employment. I needn’t cower before Edward Rochester nor Blanche Ingram, for I was now strong enough to stand on my own two feet without fear of toppling over.
That was how I came to the conclusion the library was the place for me even though it held so many painful memories of passion long past. Deep down, I knew I was tempting fate by lingering here, but still, I came as I now bore the armor that would protect me.
Even though I’d given back the key to the locked cabinets, I was still free to pull a tome from the one accessible shelf, so that was what I did. Perched on the window seat, I thumbed through the pages, my mind still spinning. My eyes skimmed the words but could not absorb them, so I turned toward the grounds and the horizon. The sky was brilliant this evening, and the final lingering touches of light gave the sky a muted bluish tone, the horizon greenish yellow. Strange but it was apt for Thornfield.
“Did you enjoy your day in the village, Jane?”
I sighed at the sound of Edward’s voice and set the book down. He never said hello.
“You can never surprise me anymore,” I replied, turning my gaze out the window instead of toward him. “Have you installed a tracking device on my person? Should I be searching for mysterious lumps about my body?”
“I see you are feeling better,” he replied with amusement. “Your wit is still sharp as a knife.”
“I am well, apart from a few fading bruises. How are you? Are you drunk this evening?”
“Not at all. I have learned my lesson.”
Silence opened between us, the air heavy with so many things left unsaid.
I began to feel like a hypocrite after the day’s events, especially considering the grief I’d given Edward in the past. I had my own secret now, but it wasn’t a devil like his. No, my secret was an angel in disguise. I had a name and a fortune, and I kept it hidden, lest it influence the love I wished him to give freely.
Was I now the cruel one? No, perhaps I was only cautious.
“You have changed, Jane,” he murmured, causing me to look upon him.
“How so?” I asked, studying his familiar features.
After all we had been through, the sight of his handsome face excited me still. He stood a handful of paces away from me and I rued the day he learned to tread so silently, but I could not bring myself to scold him any further. The expression on his face was soft and inviting—a complete departure from the Edward Rochester of yore.
“You’re stronger somehow,” he replied. “You seem more sure of the things you say, and there is power in the way you hold yourself.”
I lowered my gaze. Had my change in circumstance marked me so plainly? I suppose it had.
“Jane, I know you must abhor me for letting that woman into Thornfield, but would you humor me and talk a while?”
My gaze darted up and met his. “You think I hate you? I do not.”
Edward’s brow creased, and he stepped closer. “You don’t? You would be well within your rights.”
I shook my head, unable to form the right words to explain how much I didn’t hate him. Truthfully, I didn’t know what I felt. It wasn’t as clear-cut as it had once been.
“Jane…”
He was lost for words, and it was so uncharacteristic I found myself turning toward him. Standing, I closed the space between us, my gaze fixed firmly upon his.
“Now you must tell me every thought in your head,” I murmured. “Just as you wished me to tell you mine. I must know them.”
“Such strong conviction you have,” he replied. “Do you stand so firm in your belief of my potential you linger when you should run?”
I scoffed, tilting my head to th
e side. “All this time, you’ve tricked me into remaining despite your circumstances, and you choose now to warn me away? You, sir, are quite mad.”
“You know I cannot speak plainly.”
“No, you cannot. Nor can you act it.”
He lowered his head. “I am a fool, Jane.”
I hesitated, his admission yet another thing to add to the list of that day’s strange happenings.
“I went about it all wrong,” he said. “I asked you to risk it all while I risked nothing. I demanded you make sacrifices so I could have it all my own way. I have many barriers, of that you are correct, but I cannot remove them all. Not all at once. It is a terrible habit, my closeness, and it will take time.”
Apparently, in the days he’d been absent and I’d been off inheriting millions, he’d been doing some soul-searching of his own.
“What are you asking me?” I whispered, perplexed.
“Let me… Let me try to make things better.” His eyes were ablaze with fire, his desire completely apparent. “Jane… I am asking you to give me another chance. I am your humble servant.”
I stared at him, hardly believing he was offering to make concessions. In all my wildest dreams, I’d never thought Edward would relinquish his power for me. Not Jane Eyre, heiress, but Jane Doe, nobody.
He took my silence to mean I wasn’t interested, and his speech continued. “I saw you lying on the ground, twisted and bleeding… It triggered a change in me. It was as if the fog in my mind lifted and all was clear. I knew I’d made a grave mistake allowing you to walk away that day on the moor, but I reacted badly. I turned to the worst possible person, and I regret it. I should have conceded when you asked. I don’t know how to repair the damage, Jane, so you need to tell me what to do. I have never been loved before, nor have I loved in return.”
I drew in a shaky breath, my hands trembling and my knees weakening. Knowing all the things I did, I knew it would be smart to cut and run, but love was nonsensical when it came to making life-altering decisions.