“Enough!” St John cried, and drew the metal out with tongs, dropping it in the socket. It slid in snugly, until only an inch of incandescent tip showed, little sparks running over the surface, testifying to its heat.
“Mount, Jane,” he thundered in a voice that compelled obedience, “offer yourself to the flame. Take the pain into your body, and emerge whole and wholesome once more.”
Between terror and his command, I had no will left. I moved like an automaton, exactly as he had instructed me, over and over again, as he prepared me for my part, indoctrinating me with his recipe for my redemption, as he saw it. With legs like jelly, whimpering with my fear, I straddled the trestle and put my hands to my vulva. With trembling fingers I felt within the plump outer guardians, for the delicate inner lips, until I could grip them firmly, drawing them apart until I stretched the entrance to the vagina itself, opening myself until I could feel the cool air on the moist membranes inside the entrance. I hesitated a fraction, frozen by fear.
“Hurry Jane!” he barked, “the iron grows cold. Accept it into your body and become pure.”
I could not resist him. His command over me was greater even than my terror, as I felt the heat from the iron scorching the tender membranes poised above it. The nose of the bolt was radiused to help it enter the socket of the lock, and now it was placed to enter me. I bent my knees and sank onto the glowing iron, until it pressed into the opening. For an instant it felt like ice, then the flame lanced through me. I did not scream, but my head went back, my mouth gaped, a weird, thin, high, strangled cry came from my clenched throat. St John would not commence those words that would make me pure, and release me from this tearing agony in my body, until I had lifted my heels from the floor and reached back to grip them with my hands, ensuring that my weight was firmly on the trestle and the iron fully in me. The anguish, and my keening response, continued, all the while St John prayed.
“In the name of the Father and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, Amen,” he intoned, slowly and solemnly.
At the conclusion of this awful Trinity, that seemed to last three anguished centuries, I sprang up off that terrible iron, that had burned me in my most intimate part, and collapsed to the ground, my hands clasped over my wound.
St John addressed no word to me directly.
“See she is closed,” he told Diana, and strode from the room.
My dear sisters, for so I thought of them now, flew to my aid, raising me between them, and assisting me to my bed. They washed my wound, but all was not yet down. Carefully, they inserted a short length of clean straw between the two burnt inner walls, then took silk suture and needle, and closed the opening either side with several neat stitches so that it would grow together there, as it healed, to form a replica of that hymen Mr Brocklehurst had ruptured all those years before. It hurt me much, but the fear had gone, and the pain seemed less when inflicted with so much care and concern by Diana’s loving fingers.
I was in pain for several days, but soon healed cleanly. After a week Diana removed the stitches and, when my monthly flow started, at two weeks from the burning, the value of the aperture left by the straw was proved. By the end of the month I was as well as if nothing had happened, endowed with a new maidenhead, and St John set a date for the wedding and for our departure to the Orient, once, in the marriage bed, he had forced the seal he had so recently and painfully applied.
Return To Thornfield
As the time drew near, I became more and more persuaded that I would not return alive from this venture, that St John would drive me with whip and tongue, as he might a mare or bitch, until no more use could be had of me, and I might be allow to slip away into my rest in some foreign graveyard. Filled with this foreboding of his coming use of me, I wished to make my farewells of all that I had known in England, and especially Thornfield, where my thoughts often strayed, despite the service I had pledged to St John.
Accordingly I set off, a week before I was to make my final vows, taking the stage to a coaching inn, not far from Mr Rochester’s estate. There I asked for news of him, and sorry news it was.
It seemed that, after I had fled, he had gone near mad, looking for me, sending men in all directions, putting advertisements in the county and the London papers, pursuing every lead. His enquiries were brought to an abrupt end by a great fire at Thornfield, that destroyed, not only the house, but its Master as well, or as makes little difference, for he was blind and crippled. I learnt all this from the innkeeper, who had seen the flames rising and gone to give assistance, but could tell me no more of how my Master fared. I set off myself across the fields to view the sorry remains, the great house as blind as its Master, the empty sockets of the windows staring unseeing across a deserted park. In the lodge I found one of the servants, who remembered me, and told me all.
It would appear that the conflagration was started by Bertha, who had escaped her jailor, Grace Poole, once again, and was roaming the house, naked and intent on revenge for the whipping she had had for attacking me. Failing to find me, for I was long gone, she had set fire to the house and then, while men strove to contain it and rescue the contents, she was seen running, still bare and manic, from room to room on the upper floor.
Mr Rochester had torn himself free from those who would restrain him, and rushed into the burning building to try and rescue her, despite the injury she had caused him. He got no further than the hallway when the entire floor above collapsed, carrying her to her death, they found what was left of her the next day. Her would-be rescuer was trapped by a falling beam, which destroyed his left hand, and one eye, damaging the optic nerve so severely that he was blind in the other too.
Helpers extricated him and dragged him clear, and now he lived at one of his other, smaller and more remote, properties, cared for by the groom, John, and his wife Mary, who had been a maid at the Hall. Blessing the fortune that had made me rich and independent, able to buy what services I needed in haste, I hired the innkeeper’s chaise, and a boy to drive it, and set off for the Manor that very hour.
I arrived in the evening, and sent the chaise back to the inn. Entering the Manor, I was greeted by Mary, who wanted all my news, when I only wanted news of him. She had prepared a tray for the Master’s supper, and I took it in her stead. When I came to his door, I knocked and was bidden enter. My heart leapt at the loved voice. I brought the tray to where he sat, slumped in his chair where he could feel the fire.
“Thank you, Mary,” he said, “set it on the table. I have no appetite at present.”
“But you must eat,” I said, “you must restore your strength and health.”
He started upright, amazed.
“Who’s that,” he cried. “Mary is that you?”
“Mary is busy, so I brought your tray myself,” I said.
He clasped his hands to his poor blind face.
“I go mad,” he cried, “now I do not just think of her every minute, but I hear her voice as well.”
“And why should you not,” I asked, “since I am here?”
Again he groaned.
“It is a delusion. I am demented.”
“It is no delusion, Sir,” I assured him. “Here. See.” I unbuttoned the bodice of my travelling habit and placed his one good hand inside, folding his fingers on my breast, his thumb pressing the hard erectile nipple, “do you not recognise its feel? Or, perhaps, this is more familiar, you used it often enough, though usually with a rod in your hand,” and I reached under my skirts to drop my drawers, moving his hand to grasp the roundness of my buttocks.
He thrust his face into my soft hairy nest, now uncovered, pressing his lips to those lips of mine that nestled there.
“Jane. Jane,” he murmured, his voice muted by the muff he nuzzled. “It is you, I know your scent, your taste. Stay with me a while. Do not leave me yet.”
“I will never leave you, Sir,” I replied. “You are my Master, and my place is at your feet.”
Renewal
Happy though I
was to have become my Master’s bride, and enjoy the delights to be found in his arms, the sweet total surrender of letting a man take possession of one’s body, opening it, thrusting deep, penetrating and ploughing it to his, and therefore to my, pleasure, there was a snake in our Eden.
With my dear husband’s eyes unable to distinguish more than a slight difference of daylight and darkness, I must do everything for him; select his clothes, help him to dress, aid him with his ablutions, cut his food, put his glass near his hand. All this service I gladly gave, and guided him on his walks about the estate, telling him how everything did, being his window on the world, my eyes his eyes, though what they saw could only be conveyed in words.
I would read for him the papers that concerned the let farms, the tenancies of the cottages and a thousand other matters of business but, though it was a service, it also became, first, a responsibility, next, a position almost of authority, a condition so dangerous to the female nature and which, by reason of Mr Rochester’s infirmity, could not be neutralised by a Master’s rod.
As the months passed, my unhappiness increased. On a dreadful day, I caught myself putting him aside, as I scanned the rent roll for discrepancies, telling him to wait while I completed the list. He appeared not to notice my disrespect, and unfeminine behaviour, waiting patiently until I declared the list accurate and satisfactory, but I went to bed that night full of remorse, seeking to make up for my unforgivable behaviour by an even greater tenderness to him, and even more complete giving of myself to his hard body, but the poison in my conscience would not cease its burning. At last I begged leave of my Master to go on a visit of a few weeks.
“What! Do you tire of me so soon that you would rush up to town to sample its delights?” he cried. “I would be hard put to it to remain calm with you away.”
I could not endure his reproaches, and told him all my fears. In particular, how my necessary usurpation of authority was not conducive to a female’s health of mind, and the unhappiness it brought me without the corrective influence he would have once exercised, searing my flesh to make whole my mind.
“And how will leaving me cure your sickness?” he enquired more kindly, but still with an underlying anxiety that cut me to the bone.
I explained. I would send for Diana and Mary, who might serve him as well as I, though I hoped they would not take my place in his bed or, if they must, for his necessary comfort, they might try and treat it purely as an act of charity, and not conceive a continuing taste for it. His wants made sure of, I would take me to Lowood, where I would commit myself to their knowledgeable hands, to be broken of my growing selfness, and made aware of my proper station as wife and companion.
“May I have your permission to essay this?” I asked humbly, “I would not be away longer than a month. I would make it less, but my plan involves some considerable preparation, before the final cathartic consummation.”
“So long as you come back to me unscathed, you may do as you wish,” he generously allowed.
“I cannot guarantee to come back unscarred,” I said, “for I have been too long without the necessary discipline of the rod, and only the most severe and searching application is likely to be effective. I shall tell them they must do nothing to cripple me but, beyond that, they must be told that there is no limit to what may be done to me. I have grown too strong-willed for mild measures, and only the harshest and strongest treatments will suffice, for I must be broken utterly, if I am to be made whole again after, but I will advise them that I must be left able to serve you fully, and my body must not be so impaired as to limit your pleasure in it.”
With this he pronounced himself content, and I was given permission to write to the Superintendent at Lowood, explaining my requirements, and offering a suitable fee for my keep and treatment. Matters were soon settled, the more easily since the Summer vacation was upon us, and the staff and servants would be available, nor would the presence of an adult in the establishment disturb the pupils.
A week later, Diana and Mary arrived. It was soon settled that they should fill my Master’s lack of me by sharing his bed alternately, Diana as the eldest, going first, each tending to his wants that night, and the following day, before the other relieved her of her duty.
In some strange way I was more reassured to have the two of them parcel out the duty in this way, than have either look to his wants on her own. That same day I left for Lowood.
I had conveyed the generality of my requirements before hand by correspondence, but much remained to be settled. Miss Temple sat me in her study, called for tea and scones and, after a little of that polite enquiry that is a necessary prelude to proper conversation, asked me to lay out the exact nature of my problem, the precise details of its proposed cure, and the limits that should be observed.
With no more ado, I laid out my plan, while she made neat notes on a little pad.
“My problem is simple,” I explained, “but so deep rooted that the curing of it will take time and effort, which is why I have come to you. I am grown confident, self-reliant, and capable of governing the estate without the aid and guidance of a man. These might be accounted virtues, if I was still subject to a decent discipline, a Master’s rod on my buttocks, his strap across my palm, his crop across my shoulders, so that, at all times, I had no doubt of his authority, and the care and support it promised. But my own dear Master is prevented by infirmity from carrying out this duty, and I have become disused to the healing power of the whip on female flesh, making her nature whole, where self-will has corroded it. I see nothing for it but to be broken entirely, so that I may be set right.”
Miss Temple sighed, as she poured more tea. “Oh, that more women could see their needs and faults so clearly, and the means to correct them. What precisely do you have in mind?”
“Firstly, this over proud spirit must be humbled. You must set me to the most degrading tasks in your establishment, kept in the starkest of surroundings, the solitary cells might suffice when not actually engaged in labour, and fed on a corresponding diet; bread and water, or perhaps kitchen scraps, would do. I should serve thus, with daily punishments, for ten days or more, for I have a will most unbecoming in a woman, and nothing less will even soften it. You must aggravate and prolong the treatment if you do not detect any returning humility in me. After this first preparation, you may proceed to those excruciating torments that were such a memorable feature of detention here.”
“And still are,” confirmed my hostess, passing me one of her delicately fluffy scones, “it is always so amusing to watch the little darlings faces, as they squirm on their carrots, or fidget after a session on the wedge.”
“And so must I,” I confirmed with conviction, though my heart was pounding, and my belly nauseous at the thought of the physic I was prescribing myself, “but not for ten, or even thirty minutes at a time. You must mount me on those penitential seats of learning until I scream, faint, or beg for mercy, and then show me none. Give way to my pleas, and I shall live to err another day. You must leave me whimpering and breached, my resistance shattered.”
I could scarce speak as I uttered this dreadful doom upon myself, but struggled on in strangled tones, “it would be as well that you spared my buttocks at this point, so that they may recover to a less ravaged state for the final act. If a whipping is felt expedient, my back and hands will still be available.”
“And then?” Miss Temple left the question hanging in the air, her teacup raised half way to her lips, one delicately curved eyebrow arched in interrogation.
“And then you must flog me to the blood and beyond. A flogging to put all others that have been, here at Lowood, in the shade. There is no limit set to what you may inflict save only, that any scars I carry be not visible in the ordinary way, and there is no risk of my being crippled in the long term, such that my service to my Master be impaired in any way. It is accepted that, for some weeks, perhaps a month or two, I might not be able to move without halting, but there must be nothing to d
iminish Mr Rochester’s pleasure in my body, once the first injuries have healed.”
“I think that is all quite clear,” Miss Temple said, putting aside her notepad, “Will you have another scone? No? Then shall we begin. Kindly stand, and remove your clothes.”
I set aside my bone china cup, and rose at her bidding. My fingers went to my hem, and I pulled my pearl silk gown over my head. The strings at my waist loosened, my petticoats descended to the floor with a whirr of silk and taffeta. I bent and scooped them up, laying them carefully on the chair, where now lay my gown. Next the tight lace of my corset. My fingers fumbled for a moment, though I tried to hide my mounting agitation, then the tension round my hips, and under my breasts, eased, and the stiff confection of whalebone, steel and satin, eased away.
As I folded it, too, on the chair, I felt my slightly heavy dugs swing loose, enjoying their unrestrained freedom. Soon they felt cool as well as loose, as my shift rose over my head, and the air caressed my swelling bosoms, their thick teats, already aroused, hardening further, at the evidence of their exposure, and their vulnerability to the torments promised them.
With nothing left to do above my waist, my hands now went to my drawers, untying the bright ribbons that held them, so that they too, slid down over my thighs, until I could stoop and lift them off the floor. I went on one knee, and then the other, to unbutton the little polished boots in black leather, whose heels helped raise my slightly inadequate stature to a more becoming height, then I rose again, to stand on one leg at a time as I peeled off the stockings of black silk that were all the covering left to me.
Now I stood quite bare before Miss Temple. Her tone, indeed her whole manner, changed abruptly.
“Go to the cupboard, Jane, and fetch the best rod. You should have a taste before you are taken away.”
I needed no telling what cupboard, or which might be the ‘best’ rod. How many times had I fetched it, either for my own correction, or that of a pupil I was in charge of. I opened the door and made my selection. A heavy smooth length of some oriental jungle plant; the type introduced by Mr Brocklehurst at a time when he considered the already severe discipline of the school should be tightened up by a couple of turns of the cruel screw that governed it. There had been screams from even the hardiest of the fair delinquents who came to suffer it, and it was held in much awe. They were not alone. I felt sick in my belly as, naked, I crossed the room and offered the rod to Miss Temple in the approved manner, dipping to one knee and proffering it on the palms of both outstretched hands.
Jane and Her Master Page 18