Jane
“There’s a letter for you,” Mrs. Fairfax said at breakfast.
“For me?” Jane said. Charlotte and Mr. Blackwood had only just left Thornfield, and Jane couldn’t imagine anyone else sending her a letter.
Mrs. Fairfax pushed it across the table toward Jane, who opened it with curiosity.
It was from Bessie, Jane’s nursemaid from Aunt Reed’s house.
Dear Miss Eyre,
Your aunt Reed has taken ill and is confined to her bed. She has requested to see you. Please make haste, as her time on this earth shan’t be long.
Jane frowned.
“Is everything all right, Miss Eyre?” Mrs. Fairfax inquired.
“No. It is my aunt. She is dying and has requested to see me.”
“Oh, I am sorry. You shall pack your things at once. Eliza!” A kitchen maid entered. “Please help Miss Eyre pack her things.”
“But can you spare me for such a trip?” Jane asked.
“We can and we will,” Mrs. Fairfax said.
“I thank you. But I will not need Eliza’s help. My belongings are few.”
“Very well,” Mrs. Fairfax said.
Jane lowered her gaze. “I will, however, need some money. I have not yet received my wages.”
“You must take that up with the master,” Mrs. Fairfax said, returning her attention to the morning’s post.
“Right,” Jane muttered, not looking forward to such an uncomfortable conversation.
She returned to her bedchamber to pack her meager belongings.
Helen was not quiet with her feelings about the trip. “Your aunt Reed doesn’t deserve to spit in the same room as you.”
“She’s probably rather dehydrated, and will not be spitting at all,” Jane said.
“Nevertheless, I’m glad you are leaving Thornfield Hall, and Mr. Rochester. He is not a good man.”
Jane frowned. “You don’t know that.”
“He’s deceitful.”
“We can’t be sure.”
“Fortune-teller. Bloody man. Screams from behind the door.” Helen ticked these off on her fingers.
“Okay, maybe he has, on occasion, not been fully forthcoming with the truth. . . .” Jane had to admit the ghost had a point.
When she went to approach Mr. Rochester about her wages, she found him in the drawing room, speaking in hushed tones, with Blanche Ingram. Jane felt a pang in her chest.
“Does that servant want you?” Miss Ingram said.
Mr. Rochester glanced up and when he saw it was Jane he excused himself immediately, leaving Miss Ingram frowning behind him.
“What is it, Jane?”
“I have to leave.”
“What?” He didn’t bother hiding the disappointment in his voice. “Do not tell me that whole business with the Eshtons has changed your mind about staying here.”
“No. I have a sick aunt. She has asked to see me.” Jane pulled the letter out of her pocket and handed it to him.
He took it and glanced it over and handed it back. “This is the aunt that cast you off and sent you to Lowood?”
“Yes. I will not deny a dying woman her request. I should only be gone a week or so.”
“A whole week or so?” He sighed and let his head drop. “If you must, you must.”
“One more thing,” Jane said, feeling incredibly awkward. “I have no money. You haven’t paid me.”
“I haven’t paid you? But isn’t that one of the things my staff says about me, that I pay in a timely fashion?” He smiled and her heart went boom. “How much do I owe you?”
She lowered her voice. “Fifteen pounds.”
He pulled out his wallet and dug through its contents. “Here’s fifty.”
“I can’t take fifty!”
He rolled his eyes and then looked through his wallet. “Then I only have ten.”
“That will do, sir. But you still owe me five,” Jane said with a smile.
“Then promise me, Jane, you will not spend one more minute than you have to with your awful aunt.” He took her hand, and Jane saw Blanche Ingram look away. “Promise me you’ll come back for your five pounds.”
“I promise,” Jane said in a breathless whisper.
“He didn’t have five more pounds?” Helen said incredulously. They were in the carriage making the trip to Aunt Reed’s, and Helen could not get over the fact that he hadn’t paid her all of her wages.
“I’m sure he does, just not on him at the time.”
“You know what’s better than five more pounds? Five thousand more pounds.”
The carriage bumped and jostled along the road, and in the few hours it took to get to Aunt Reed’s, Helen wondered about Mr. Rochester’s shortchanging of her wages no fewer than seven times.
At her aunt’s house, Bessie met Jane at the door. “I’m so glad you are come, Miss Eyre. My, how you have grown into an elegant lady! Not quite a beauty, but never mind that. You have come just in time. She’s already died once, just before she sent for you. I fear the next time, her death will be permanent.”
She ushered Jane immediately to the bedchamber, where her aunt’s frail figure barely formed a lump in the mattress. A tall translucent man stood beside her, watching her. It was the ghost of Jane’s uncle.
Helen ducked behind Jane.
“Who’s that?” came a gravelly voice from the bed.
“It’s Jane Eyre,” Jane said. “You sent for me, Aunt Reed.”
“Jane Eyre. I hated that willful ungrateful child.”
Helen snorted indignantly and stepped forward.
The ghost of Uncle Reed shook his head and spoke to the lump under the sheets. “That is not what we discussed, my dear.”
Aunt Reed turned away from him. Oh, Jane realized. She can see him now. Her short bout with death had turned her into a seer. This should be interesting.
“Aunt, I am Jane Eyre. You sent for me.”
Aunt Reed eyed her up and down. “You are Jane Eyre. And I can see you’ve brought one of your heathen friends.”
Helen looked right and left. “Is she talking about me?” She rolled up the ghostly sleeve of her ghostly dress. “Are you talking about me?”
“Quiet, dear,” Jane said. “Aunt Reed, how can I be of service?”
She coughed and wheezed. “I am supposed to confess and make amends before I die.”
“What do you wish to confess?”
Aunt Reed stubbornly pressed her lips together, and Uncle Reed poked her under her ribs. She flinched.
“I promised your uncle I would take care of you. And love you. I didn’t.”
“I know. I already knew that, Aunt.”
“And . . .” Uncle Reed prompted.
“And . . .” She said the next bit as if it were one word. One four-letter word. “Ibelieveyouaboutseeingghosts.”
She winced, as if it were physically painful to admit such a thing.
“Thank you, Aunt.” Jane made a move to leave, but her ghost uncle cleared his throat.
“One more thing,” her aunt said. She gestured to her desk, on top of which was a letter. “Three years ago, I received a message from an uncle you never knew existed. He had asked for your whereabouts. He wanted you to live with him. Wanted you to inherit his fortune. I wrote back to him and told him you were dead.”
“What?” Jane said.
“I am the reason you did not inherit his twenty thousand pounds.”
“What??” Helen said.
But Jane wasn’t preoccupied with the money part. “I have another uncle?” she said. “I have family and you kept him from me?”
“Yes. I couldn’t stand seeing you happy.”
Uncle Reed bowed his head. “I am sorry for you, Jane.”
For a moment, Jane was angry. And really, given the revelation, she should’ve stayed angry. Family: it was the only thing she’d ever longed for, and now to learn she could have had it?
“Twenty thousand pounds?” Helen said. “You could’ve had twenty thousand pounds?” She took a few steps toward the bed. “No, we will never forgive you!”
“Helen, please,” Jane said.
Because the truth was, she felt sorry for her aunt. To harbor such hatred. To house it inside her heart, and protect it with such passion that it ate her alive.
“I forgive you,” Jane said.
“What??” Helen exclaimed.
“If I didn’t forgive her, I would end up as wasted away as she is now,” Jane said to Helen.
Uncle Reed let out a sigh of relief. Then he looked at Jane’s face, as if seeing her for the first time. “Jane Eyre, you are a sight to behold. To have gone from such a plain child . . .”
“I love you, Uncle,” Jane said. “I hope you can move on, now that this is done.”
Uncle Reed nodded. “Take care, dear niece.”
She wet a cloth in the basin next to Aunt Reed’s bed, and then placed it on her forehead. “Sleep well, Aunt. And know that I hold no ill will for you.”
Jane and Helen walked out, leaving her uncle to take leave of his wife on his own.
When they returned to Thornfield, the remaining guests had all left. Jane thought perhaps Mr. Rochester would be gone as well, but Mrs. Fairfax said he was in residence.
“But I don’t expect him to be here for long,” she said over tea. “I believe there to be a proposal very soon. Ingram Park is a day’s ride, and I am sure the master will be taking great pains to make the trip very soon and very often.”
Jane frowned.
“What’s the matter, dear? You’ve hardly touched your biscuit.”
That evening, Mr. Rochester found Jane in the library.
“Miss Eyre. It’s about time you came back to us. What kept you?”
“I’ve been gone three days,” Jane said. She literally could not have returned any sooner.
“It’s too long. Come, let’s go for a walk. It’s a lovely evening.”
They went to the garden, and Jane decided once and for all she could no longer take the not knowing. She could handle anything—Aunt Reed, her lost uncle, she could even handle Mr. Rochester getting married—but she could no longer handle the not knowing.
Helen pointed her finger at Rochester. “Are you going to marry Miss Ingram, yes or no?”
Jane signaled Helen to be quiet. But the ghost had a point.
“Sir,” Jane began. “I am wondering about my future at this estate, and I hate to be indelicate, but should I advertise for a new governess position?”
Mr. Rochester stopped under a tree, the long branches of which blanketed the grass in shade.
“Jane, you know I am soon to be married.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a velvet pouch. He opened the drawstrings and took out a pearl necklace. “These are to be a gift for the future Mrs. Rochester. What do you think?”
Jane frowned, trying to imagine the necklace on Blanche Ingram. “They will suit her bird-neck—I mean, they will suit her very well.” Because everything suited the likes of Blanche Ingram very well. “I guess I will advertise.”
Mr. Rochester grunted. “Miss Eyre, listen to me. I believe there is a string below your rib, and it stretches across class and age to me, and it is attached beneath my rib. And if you find another suitable position, and leave me, you will pull it out. And I will bleed.”
“What do you mean?” Jane said.
“It sounds rather obvious, and slightly disgusting,” Helen said. “He’ll bleed.”
Mr. Rochester placed his hands on her shoulders. “Jane, I do not wish to marry Miss Ingram.”
Jane glanced up. “Excuse me?”
“I wish to marry you.”
Helen gasped. “What?”
Mr. Rochester grabbed Jane’s hand. “Say yes, Jane. Say you will have me.”
“No,” Helen said. She made a move to grab Jane’s other hand, but of course her hand passed right through Jane’s. “Please, Jane, my oldest and dearest friend. Please don’t answer right away.”
Jane looked frantically from Mr. Rochester to Helen, back to Mr. Rochester, and back to Helen. He was everything she’d ever dreamed about. Tall. Dark. Brooding. But he also had a penchant for lying, and making Jane think she was crazy, and not telling her the full story.
“Please, Jane,” Helen said. “For me. Say you need time to think.”
He was handsome and charming, and Mrs. Fairfax did say his bursts of anger were often not often.
But Mr. Blackwood and Charlotte had doubted his good intentions and questioned his very nature.
As much as Jane believed herself to be in love with Mr. Rochester, a little time to think surely couldn’t hurt. “Sir, I will consider your proposal.”
Rochester looked incredulous. “What?” He squeezed her hand. “Jane, I have never been more earnest about anything in my life. Say you believe me.”
Jane tried to wrestle free, but his grip tightened. (Yeah, we know. *shudder*) “Please, sir, may I have the night to gather myself and my thoughts?”
Rochester sighed deeply through his nostrils. His voice became an angry growl. “Bloody hell, Jane. It would’ve been so much easier if you’d just said yes.”
He grabbed the strand of pearls, and before she could move away, he threw it over her head and around her neck.
Here, dear reader, is where your faithful narrators must step away from Jane’s mind, for the pearls were a talisman that held a spirit. And that spirit now inhabited Jane’s body. Which meant Jane’s spirit was squeezed to the side in a most uncomfortable and frustrating (for Jane) manner.
“My dearest,” Mr. Rochester said. “We shall marry in a fortnight.”
Alt-Jane looked at him, her smile wide. “I cannot wait.”