Jane
The guests came back from the picnic and still Mr. Rochester hadn’t returned. Jane mulled over her conversation with Charlotte. She couldn’t believe her feelings for Rochester had been so obvious. More disheartening was the fact that everyone in the party thought Rochester would propose to Blanche Ingram sooner rather than later.
And the third most disheartening thing was the pressure she now felt to join the ghost-hating Society.
“Five thousand pounds,” Helen said.
Jane was trying to focus on her work with Adele, but Helen’s pacing and frequent outbursts about the money were making it difficult.
Still, she’d rather try to teach Adele than meet up with the guests in the parlor. Mr. Rochester wasn’t back. He would never know that she wasn’t there.
“Do you know what you could do with five thousand pounds?” Helen said.
“Do tell,” Jane whispered. Adele was still conjugating verbs and didn’t hear her.
“You could . . . you could . . . buy all the burlap in the world and then burn it in one big bonfire, which would also keep you so cozy warm.”
Jane couldn’t help smiling.
“Besides that, Mr. Rochester is by no means a sure thing, but five thousand pounds is.”
Jane couldn’t help frowning.
A knock came at the door, and Mrs. Fairfax entered.
“Miss Eyre, I have a rather peculiar request. An old fortune-teller has come to Thornfield. She has entreated that all of the ladies in the house visit her in the master’s study to have their fortunes revealed.”
Jane gave her an incredulous look. “I have no fortune, Mrs. Fairfax, let alone one that could be told.”
“Not yet,” said Helen. “But if you go with Mr. Blackwood—”
“Please, Miss Eyre. She is quite persistent, and you’re the only lady yet to be seen.”
“Why the ladies?” Jane asked.
Mrs. Fairfax ignored the question and made a shooing gesture toward the door.
Jane glanced toward Helen, who shrugged. Perhaps Jane needed something to take her mind off Rochester. And Charlotte. And the Society. And the blasted Ingrams.
“Very well. I will come down at once.”
Mrs. Fairfax led the way to the study, followed by Jane and Helen.
“Well, this is all very exciting,” Helen said. “Perhaps she’ll tell you some glamorous thing that lies in your future. Like five thousand pounds.”
Jane didn’t answer.
When they arrived at the door, they found it closed and locked. “I believe Miss Ingram is finishing up,” Mrs. Fairfax said.
Sure enough, moments later, the latch unhinged and out came Miss Blanche Ingram. Her face was dark, and her frown pronounced.
“Miss Ingram, are you feeling all right?” Mrs. Fairfax inquired.
“I am quite well,” she said in a curt voice. “Only it is unfortunate I wasted away a quarter of an hour listening to nonsense.”
She stomped away to join the others in the library.
Mrs. Fairfax turned toward Jane. “She certainly seems upset by her future. Now, Jane, be certain not to take this fortune-teller’s words to heart. She is almost certainly full of lies.”
“Do not worry, Mrs. Fairfax. I won’t listen.”
Inside the study there hung a tapestry, separating the door half of the room from the window half. A lone chair sat by the drape.
“Ah, the last of the single ladies of the house. Please do sit,” came a gravelly voice from the other side of the tapestry.
Jane sat, and Helen knelt beside her.
“Are you shaking, girl?” the old woman asked.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not afraid.”
“Are you not worried about my supernatural powers?”
“I don’t believe in them,” Jane said.
“You speak most confidently, for someone who hides such a large secret.”
A breath caught in Jane’s throat.
“There now,” the fortune-teller said. “I see this affects you.”
“I don’t have a secret,” Jane said, though her voice quivered.
“I know you’re an orphan.”
Again, Jane took in a breath.
“Wouldn’t you like to sit closer to the fire?” the fortune-teller asked. “I think at Lowood school, you were starved for heat.”
Okay, this was getting ridiculous. And just a touch frightening.
Helen stood and walked through the curtain. What if the fortune-teller truly had skill in the occult and could see Helen?
But Helen returned almost immediately.
“It’s Mr. Rochester!”
Jane raised her eyebrows in question.
“Yes! It’s him. It’s him! I promise.”
“Did you hear me, girl?” The fortune-teller/Mr. Rochester said. Now that Jane was listening for it, she could definitely hear a marked resemblance to the master’s gruff voice.
“I did. Yes, I do appreciate fire, but I’m sure there are very few who don’t. Except maybe Mr. Rochester, who was nearly burned in his sleep a few nights ago.”
There was throat clearing on the other side of the curtain. “And what about this secret of yours?” Rochester asked. “Is there no one you can confide in?”
“No. Not really,” Jane said, wondering what secret Rochester was referring to. Surely he didn’t know she could see ghosts.
“What do you think of this party of guests here at Thornfield? I think there is one in the party who does occupy your thoughts, isn’t there? Someone you might have feelings for?” Mr. Rochester nudged.
Jane couldn’t deny the fact that it was his face, lately, that had dominated her thoughts.
It was a good thing Mr. Rochester couldn’t see her, or hear her racing heartbeat. “No one’s face, in particular. Although Mrs. Fairfax always looks pleasant.”
“But what of the master of the house? What do you think of him?”
Jane knew better than to mine her own heart for this answer. She thought back to Mrs. Fairfax’s description that first day. “He is a good master. Loyal. Pays his staff in a timely fashion, though he owes me fifteen pounds that I have yet to see. But that’s between you and me.”
Mr. Rochester coughed a few times. “But what of the master’s character?”
“I’ll leave his character description to the woman who’s captured his heart.” She paused for dramatic effect. “Miss Ingram, of course,” Jane continued. “I believe their engagement is as good as settled. So I intend to advertise for a new place of employment.”
The curtain flew to the side, and out stepped Mr. Rochester. “You are not leaving!”
Jane frowned. “Mr. Rochester, I knew it was you.”
“Hah!” he cried. “You are a witch.”
Jane rolled her eyes. “I’ve no intention of going anywhere until necessary. But, sir, pretending to be a fortune-teller to get me to talk?”
Rochester opened his mouth as if to argue, but then shook his head and smiled. “No, you are right, Jane. It is not fair. But how else am I to find out what’s going on in your mind?”
Helen stomped her foot and the end table near her rattled. “Can’t he simply ask you? Converse with you? Acknowledge you in certain company? There are a million things he could’ve done to figure out what was going on!”
“I would do anything to know what you are thinking,” Mr. Rochester said.
Jane blushed. Why would someone like Mr. Rochester care what was inside the head of a lowly servant? She was at a loss for words. What was she to say? The silence dragged on.
Helen knew exactly what to say. “Never in any Jane Austen novel did the love interest pretend to be a fortune-teller,” Helen said. “Why would someone do that? Jane, you must confront him.”
Jane was having a difficult time ignoring her friend. Surely they couldn’t expect any real person to compete with Mr. Darcy.
“Did you know there is another visitor to Thornfield?” she blurted.
“No,” he said. “Who is it?”
“He says he’s an old friend. A Mr. Mason.”
Mr. Rochester’s expression remained blank. “I see. You may go.”
Jane frowned.
“I must attend to my new guest.”
Jane walked stiffly to the door.
“And I expect you in the drawing room.”
“Yes, sir,” Jane said.
“Well, that was strange,” Helen said. “Even you must admit it.”
Jane nodded slowly. “I admit it.”
The two of them went to the drawing room, where Jane took a seat next to Adele, partially hidden behind a panel.
Yes, for the umpteenth time, someone is hiding behind a panel. Apparently in pre-Victorian England, there were panels everywhere, and people hid behind them. Frequently. From what we could discover during our thorough research of the subject, panels were advertised by how well someone might hide behind one.
So, Jane was sitting behind a panel, as usual, when Mr. Blackwood entered.
“Mr. Blackwood!” Helen exclaimed, waving. “Hi! Do you have employment for a ghost? I can be most useful.”
Jane shot her a confused look and said, “Sit down, dear.”
Helen dropped to the floor. Before Jane could question Helen about her sudden enthusiasm for Mr. Blackwood, Mr. Rochester threw open the drawing room door and strode inside.
“I am sorry for my absence, my esteemed guests. The storm kept me.”
Mr. Mason crossed the room, his hand extended. “Rochester, my dear fellow.”
Mr. Rochester’s eyes narrowed and he took the tiniest step back. “Mr. Mason.”
Mr. Mason hesitated at the cold reception, and the two men stiffly shook hands.
“Very well,” Mr. Rochester said. “I understand you all had fortunes told. I can’t wait to hear about it, but for now, dinner is ready. If you’ll follow me.”
He held his elbow toward Miss Ingram, and she took the offered arm, a little less enthusiastically than she had in the past, Jane thought. She and Adele watched as the party went, two by two, out of the drawing room. Mr. Blackwood and Charlotte made the final pair, and both of them looked over their shoulders at Jane as they exited.
Helen watched them leave and then shook her head. “Five thousand pounds.”