by Amity Cross
“What can I say, Jane?” he asked. “What do I need to do?”
I allowed my gaze to fall to the floor and began backing away. Shaking my head back and forth, I knew there was nothing anyone could do to make this any better. It was done, and there was no going back.
“I can’t,” I whispered. “I can’t…”
He took a step toward me, and it was enough to snap me out of my daze. Turning, I strode from the library, slamming the door closed behind me, shutting out all the chaos that man had wrought on my life. I locked it away and allowed my entire mind and body to go numb. If I let the pain in, it would be the end of me.
I just…couldn’t.
After all these years walking on the face of the planet, searching and suffering in my quest to find where I belonged and who I was meant to love, the world had finally succeeded in breaking my spirit.
23
I wasn’t hungry or cold.
I wasn’t happy or sad.
I was nothing.
Shuffling numbly through the halls of Thornfield, I made my way back toward the east wing in a daze. I didn’t know if I passed anyone or if I advanced unseen. It was all I could do to put one foot in front of the other.
Of all the misery I’d been through in my life, this was the worst because I’d believed this time would be different.
What was trust? I’d deliberately withheld the news about my uncle, my name, and my fortune. By accusing Edward of such heinous crimes and claiming such betrayal by them, was I the greatest hypocrite of them all?
Rounding a corner, I stumbled as I beheld a woman lingering a half dozen steps before me. I hesitated at the sight of her, knowing Thornfield had no guests currently in residence. Where had she come from? She looked positively…rumpled.
Her long black hair was disheveled and knotted, her eyes all but hidden behind the tangled mess, and she wore an oversized woolen jumper and jeans, her feet bare and dirty. She stared at me for a long moment, and then a devilish smile spread across her lips.
“Who are you?” I demanded, inching backward. “How did you get in here?”
The woman remained silent and began to move toward me, causing fear to rise in my stomach. She wasn’t a ghost, that was quite certain, but I was too afraid to jump to the most obvious conclusion—it was too terrible.
“Miss! Miss, come back!” a voice called from the hallway beyond. A moment later, a familiar figure rounded the corner.
My heart stuttered as I saw it was none other than the mysterious Grace Poole. My gaze met hers, and she paled. She’d been caught, and she knew it.
“Miss, you must come back,” she said soothingly to the woman.
“No, no, no…” she rambled, her eyes rolling.
I was certain the rumpled mess of a woman before me was quite mad, and after the things Edward had just confessed to me in the library, I had no doubt in my mind this was Bertha Mason, and Grace Poole was her carer. It meant she’d been hidden here all along, and Alice and the staff had been covering for her odd comings and goings since the day I arrived.
All at once, my world came crashing down. The strange laughter, the fire, Mason. It had all been Bertha’s doing, and I trembled knowing this creature had been scratching at my door and leading me through the halls at night on wild goose chases. She’d tried to burn Edward alive and had stabbed her own brother! Who else could she have harmed in one of her many escapes? Could she have harmed me?
“Bertha…” I muttered, not knowing how to respond to this new betrayal. Thornfield’s secret had been exposed at last, and it was the worst of the lot. Its grandness overshadowed everything I was and had suffered.
Bertha’s strange eyes fixed upon me at the sound of her name on my lips, clarity seeming to take her. She stared at me through her tangled tresses, and when all was silent, she let out a shriek so full of demons and anguish that I recoiled, my back flattening against the wall.
“Mine!” she cried, foaming at the mouth. “Mine!”
There was a commotion, and all at once, the hallways seemed to be full of people. Bessie appeared behind Grace, her mouth falling open at the sight of the confrontation. Alice came rushing up the stairs, gasping as she saw Bertha pacing like a wild beast before me. Then Edward appeared, and the demon broke loose from her chains.
Bertha shrieked again and turned on him, raking her fingers through the air in an attempt to strike him. She managed to fend him off, and the circle closed in around her. She was cornered, but her temper was raised and her madness in control. There was no telling what she would do if provoked further.
“You cunning beast!” he exclaimed. “Leave her be!”
She laughed, each peel descending further and further into pure insanity, and she uncovered her hand from the sleeve of her jumper. The hand that had been hidden until now for a precise reason. Metal glinted in the light, and I drew in a sharp breath as I beheld the weapon clutched in her fingers. It had a familiarity about it that shocked me to my very core.
The knife…
My gaze snapped to Bertha’s, and she laughed manically, her eyes blazing with unbridled rage.
“You know it, don’t you? You know it!” She laughed once more before lunging at me with the blade held high.
“Jane!” Alice shrieked.
Edward dove forward as I attempted to twist out of the way, but I was trapped against the wall with nowhere to go. At that moment, everything fell away, and all I could see was Bertha and the knife coming straight at me. Nothing else mattered other than living or dying, and I wasn’t sure which one would claim me. It was entirely out of my control.
The knife slammed into my chest, and then she pulled it out and struck again before Edward wound his arms around her waist and pulled her away. She shrieked, thrashing against him, and the bloodied weapon fell to the floor with a dull thud.
I stood there for what felt like an eternity, my back to the wall, my chest not hurting one bit. The whole scene felt like a strange dream that had happened to someone else, but then my senses started to flare. All at once, I was overcome with blistering agony, and I fell to the floor with a cry.
“Restrain her!” Edward bellowed to someone. Then his voice was over me. “Jane… Jane!”
I stared at the ceiling, my wits all over the place. The pain was terrible, and I could hardly find the words to describe how excruciating it was. Burning, throbbing, nauseating… I could feel blood oozing from the wound and soaking my shirt. I could feel it trickling over my shoulder to where it was staining the two-hundred-year-old rug below me. My ears buzzed, and my head spun as my sight began to fail me.
The knife had slid into my flesh so easily. Once, twice… That it was so easy to cause such violence was shocking.
There were voices all around and more pain as hands covered the stab wounds in my chest and applied pressure.
To be murdered by Edward’s mad ex-wife on the day that should have been the happiest of them all. It was the ultimate twist of fate.
The ceiling began to fade into darkness as a tear slipped from my eye. Air bubbled in my chest as I laughed at the irony. Perhaps Bertha was the sanest out of all of us. What a thought!
Jane Doe was never meant to be happy. Her lifetime had been about suffering and forever would it be so. Jane Doe was meant to die trying.
24
I was floating in an ocean of nothing. No light touched its waters, and no thoughts or memories penetrated its waves.
Memory was the furthest thing from my mind. The fear and loathing of my last moments of wakefulness were of no consequence. I simply didn’t care.
Who knew nothing could be so peaceful.
When light finally pierced through the veil, it was bright and crisp. Sounds and smells began to register—electric beeps, voices, and the sickly scent of disinfectant. When I opened my eyes fully, I saw a stark ceiling. It wasn’t the warm tones of Thornfield with its fine chestnut paneling and its vast array of oil paintings, nor was it the simple roof of my room with its h
and-carved cornices and cream paint.
It was a hospital and definitely not heaven. Heaven wouldn’t hurt as much as this.
“Oh, Jane.”
A hand clutched mine, and I lifted my heavy eyelids to find the source of the voice. Alice sat next to the bed, her expression full of relief. She looked just as bad as I felt, and I wondered how long I’d been there. Confused, I shivered, my bare arms feeling cold.
“Here,” she said, retrieving a blanket. Laying it gently over me, she resumed her spot next to the bed.
Blinking in an attempt to remove the haze of whatever sedative the doctors had given me, I studied the room around me. The walls were pale blue, the floor was covered in a matching shade of linoleum squares, the window was dark signaling it was night outside, fluorescent lights hummed overhead, and there was a dark lump lingering behind Alice. I glanced at the body crumpled in the little armchair and squinted.
Instantly, I recognized Edward. He was fast asleep, still wearing his suit from the wedding, but this time, there were added bloodstains with the creases. Was it my blood?
“He’s been here since they brought you in,” Alice murmured.
“Where is she?” I asked, my voice sounding worse for wear.
“Never you mind about that,” she replied. “Just focus on resting. A day or two and you’ll be able to go home.”
“Home?” I muttered. “Where is home?”
Alice frowned and patted my hand. “Why, Thornfield of course.”
I glanced at Edward, unable to focus on what I was feeling. My mind was muddied, and my entire body throbbed from head to toe.
“Where…” I began again, but I was unable to finish my question.
“You’re at the hospital in York,” Alice explained. “They brought you here because of your injuries. You had to have surgery.”
I did? That explained why I felt so disorientated.
“The doctors were afraid the knife had punctured your heart,” she went on. “Luckily, it only nicked the outside, and it won’t cause any lasting damage. The same with your lung, though there was a bit of blood in it, but they said it’s all fixed now. You were very lucky, Jane.”
A punctured heart? I closed my eyes, willing the dark ocean to come back.
“Where is she?” I asked again. “Where is Bertha?”
Alice didn’t reply, and the silence stretched between us. I knew she was still there. Her hand was wrapped around mine under the blanket. She was trembling.
“I’m sorry, Jane,” she whispered. “I didn’t know she was his wife. I didn’t know. I would have warned you if I did. Please don’t hate me.”
I didn’t have the strength to console her, so I allowed her to weep softly, unable to offer my forgiveness.
It seemed we were all taken for fools.
I slept an entire day before I was alert enough to speak clearly.
The following day, I was treated to a visit from a familiar face, and I was finally able to discuss my prognosis with someone impartial. I wasn’t entirely surprised to see Dr. Carter all the way in York, a good fifty or so miles from Thornfield and the little village which sat above it. I assumed Edward had paid him handsomely to attend me, desperate to keep the circumstances of his ex-wife under wraps.
“Dr. Carter,” I said. “I would like to say this is a surprise, but considering how I came to be here…”
He smiled wryly, his eyes full of sadness. “I could say the same to you, Miss.” He busied himself checking my chart and running through some questions pertaining to how my shoulder and chest were feeling before speaking frankly. “Jane, you seem to be an intelligent young woman.”
“I will stop you there, Dr. Carter,” I said. “I feel I can speak plainly with you, knowing you understand the situation at hand. You’ve been privy to the secrets there over the years, of that I am certain without you saying so. As you can see, the truth of the darkness at Thornfield has been revealed to me in the most violent way. You needn’t worry about me and my continued health. I believe I have learned my lesson.”
He smiled, and as his featured changed, I realized it was the first time I’d seen him look happy.
“I’m glad,” he said, understanding my meaning. “No need to worry. Doctor-patient confidentiality.”
The door opened at that precise moment, and Edward strode in, forcing the smile to fade from my face, and I held my tongue.
“Carter,” Edward said briskly, greeting the old doctor dismissively.
The doctor offered me another reassuring smile before retreating from the room, leaving me alone with the last person on earth whose presence I wished to suffer. It was ironic how love could soothe and harm all at the same time.
Edward watched me with a keen eye before sitting beside the bed, folding his tall frame into a tiny chair. I remained silent, having nothing to say. He was waiting for me to do something, but there was nothing to be done.
“You have nothing to say to me?” he finally asked, staring at me. “No harsh words? No yelling or crying? You lay there quietly, wounded and in pain because of the secrets I have kept, yet you regard me with…nothing?”
I stared at him, trying to puzzle out the situation. I thought I’d known the man I’d fallen in love with. I thought I’d understood his intent, his heart, and his soul, but how could I when he didn’t seem to understand himself at all? His life had been about duty and concealment.
“Why?” I asked.
“Why?” he echoed. “Passionate hate is better than silence. This… I don’t want to break the one thing most precious to me.”
“But you have. If I am so precious, then you would have told me it all long before we stood at that altar.”
“If I’d known you… If I’d known…”
“How could you?”
“You weren’t meant to be so successful,” he said, almost wailing. “Thornfield sat empty for a reason, and you were brought in to keep up pretenses.”
I stared at him, not understanding. “You wanted Thornfield to languish? I don’t understand… Because of Bertha?”
“You kept digging where you weren’t supposed to,” he went on, not seeming to hear my words. “You kept working diligently to fill up the rooms with your bloody artist retreat!”
I winced as pain throbbed through my shoulder. Of all the preposterous things to be accused of!
“You lie and manipulate, Edward,” I snapped, shifting in the bed. “You have not told me the entire truth. After all the pain you have caused, you still hide behind your fabrications. How am I to forgive you now that I lay here? I cannot.”
He sighed, letting his head fall into his hands, his fingers spearing into his hair.
“What will it take for you to be honest with me?” I prodded.
“I hid her at Thornfield after my father gave it to me,” he declared, his voice wavering. “She has been there for the last five years with Grace Poole as her sole carer.”
“After all this time, why not move her someplace where she could be cared for without harming innocent people?”
“I hid her in different houses at first, but it never quite worked out,” he replied. “Someone always found her.”
“Why hide her at all? Was her affliction so shameful?”
“After my brother died, my father tried to have her killed,” he went on. “I couldn’t let him harm her. She was out of her mind quite literally. None of it was her fault. Bertha was a pawn in their game just as much as I had been. Her family made attempts to find her after finding out what my father had done, but it wasn’t until Thornfield was mine that I found the perfect place for her to hide.”
I sighed. “Why not send her back to her family?”
“The family who had sold her into a loveless marriage? They would have done worse to her than my father. You may think me a cruel and heartless man after all I have done to you, Jane, but I could not find it in myself to cause her more suffering. I hate her for the things she has done, it is true, but I couldn’t allow her to
die.”
He was a paradox indeed. He said one thing but then did another. He claimed to hate yet strived to protect the object of his loathing. Edward Rochester was the ultimate chameleon, and I didn’t know if I would ever know the whole man, even if I spent my entire life observing him in his natural habitat.
“You keep speaking of your brother. How did he die?”
“Rowland,” he whispered. “His name was Rowland, and Bertha killed him.”
Dear God… How much more wretched could this tale become?
“She’d hidden a knife…” he went on. “He’d come to see me, and she…”
That was why his father had attempted to murder her—for revenge. Bertha’s family came after Edward’s because of it.
“And your father?”
“They didn’t get to him,” he replied. “It was a heart attack. My mother passed long before any of this happened. Rowland was the only casualty of Bertha’s madness.”
“Not the only casualty,” I said coolly. “I lie here. You were almost burned alive, and Mason…” I sighed, my energy beginning to falter. “It is already unforgivable, but it could have been so much worse. It can get worse, Edward. Are Thornfield and one woman to care for her really enough for someone of her state of mind? She resides in a hotel. There are so many things wrong with that, I cannot…”
“Jane, I never intended to do you harm. You must believe me. You are safe! Bertha will not harm you again, and the Masons will not bother us.”
I trembled, my head beginning to ache.
“Had I known you would be the one to ensnare my heart, I would never have allowed you to set foot in that house,” he said. “Had I known, I would not have ordered Alice and the staff to keep Bertha’s existence from you. By the time I realized how much I cared for you, it was too late to go back and right the wrongs. Jane, please say you will remain with me. You will not stay at Thornfield, that I promise you. I will take you away someplace else. Anywhere you desire. I’ll close Thornfield forever and leave Grace there to look after the demon. I’ll pay her whatever she desires, and she can have the run of the place. Bertha can remain there, the hateful devil. Let her try to burn me alive and murder innocent people then!”