I don’t know why my mind conjured memories of Helen and Lowood.

Perhaps it was a reminder of the person I’d become to cope with such misery, to remind me my walls were constructed for a reason. Or perhaps it was to tell myself I was strong even when I felt abandoned, and that I had the power to endure if I had to.

It was two days before I felt well enough to rise, and after I’d showered and dressed, I emerged from my room rather sheepishly. Working my way through the employee quarters, all was silent. Thornfield was now back into a short hibernation before the autumn artist retreat.

Descending to the main gallery, I hesitated when I heard voices echoing in the main gallery.

“The kitchen staff are asking after Jane,” Alice said. “She’s been in bed two days. I hope she’s well soon.”

“Rest is what she needs,” Bessie replied. “Not speculation.”

“But it is good speculation, Bessie!”

“They’re gossiping busybodies,” she declared. “They should leave well enough alone. Grace has done well enough—”

“Jane!” Alice exclaimed, rushing up the stairs to hug me.

Annoyed I’d been discovered just when I was about to hear a clue about the mystery I was desperate to solve, I allowed her to embrace me. I was so embarrassed over my conduct the last week that I didn’t utter a word, nor was I inclined to ask further about Grace Poole and her good work. Alice didn’t seem to notice my mortification and helped me down the remaining steps as if I was so weak I was going to fall.

“Do they all know?” I asked, my cheeks heating.

Alice nodded, understanding I was asking about Edward, and Bessie smiled.

“Don’t you worry about it, Jane,” the maid said. “No one thinks anything of it. They now see the reason for the change in Mr. Rochester these past months. He was a better man when he was with you.”

“If there is a side to be taken, then the entire household is on yours,” Alice chimed in.

“The foolish man,” Bessie huffed. “Some people are too embroiled in the trappings of society to see what’s under their very noses. It doesn’t matter these days, but try telling the rich! It’s like they’re all stuck in the seventeen hundreds!”

“Are you hungry?” Alice asked, shooing away the maid. “Let’s get you something to eat.”

They installed me at a table in the dining room and began fussing over the best thing to make my strength and color return. I sat numbly, my limbs feeling listless after two days in bed, and my heart felt much the same. I’d taken a battering and I would need something a great deal more powerful than food to get me back on my feet. If I knew what it was, I’d be ordering it up by the lorry full.

“A letter came for you this morning,” Alice said, pulling my attention as she lit the candles in front of me as if I were a guest. “Let me get it for you.”

She darted from the room, and I frowned, beginning to wonder who knew I was here and why they would want to send a letter to me. My mind went back to the dreams I’d had whilst ill and the images of Helen and Lowood. I’d hardly been in my right mind as the fever tore through my body, and most of the things I’d dreamed were jumbled at best. Hardly an omen of a strange letter.

Alice was back in a flash and handed me the mysterious letter with a flourish.

I stared at the envelope, my gaze studying the swoops and curls of the letters scribed on the front. I recognized the handwriting, but I was hesitant to pick it up and open it lest it was a trick.

“It’s handwritten,” Alice declared. “Who writes letters by longhand these days?”

“Leave the poor girl in peace,” Bessie scolded her, and to me, she said, “I’ve told the chef you’re here, and he’s getting you some light soup and bread to start. Best not to rush yourself with more than that.”

The maid left after that, but Alice lingered, and I thought about giving her the letter since she was the only one interested in it, but it was a foolish idea. No one should have to read it, but my own sense of right and wrong drove me to pick it up. I would be a hypocrite of the highest order if I continued to hold a grudge against Aunt Sarah, and all the work I’d done to grow as a human being since leaving Lowood would all be for nothing.

With a sigh, I broke the seal and slipped out the single piece of paper within. It was folded once down the middle, and my fingers brushed over the raised lines that indicated Aunt Sarah still had a very heavy hand, even when she only wielded a pen.

Reluctantly, I turned the letter over and wasn’t surprised in the least when I saw how short the note was.

---

Jane,

It is with great sadness that I write you this letter.

Many things have come to pass since your childhood, and I must impart them on you, but it is best done in person. If this letter finds you well or finds you at all, please consider visiting me at Gateshead as soon as you are able.

Sincerely,

Your aunt, Sarah Reed.

---

Swallowing hard, I folded the paper and slid in back into the envelope. My mind wanted to lash out and attack, not able to survive another blow, but I bit back my anger.

“What does it say, Jane?” Alice asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

Without so much as a word, I held the paper aloft and placed the end into the tapered candle before me. The tiny flame flickered and caught, igniting the envelope and devouring it hungrily. Alice’s mouth fell open as I set it onto the empty plate beside me and watched it burn to ash.

I didn’t know how Aunt Sarah found me, but there was no place left in my heart to hear the things she wished to impart on me after all these years. It was a trick, an awful game of cat and mouse, and I would not give her the satisfaction. That part of my life was over, and I was never going back. I wouldn’t allow it.

The soup arrived at that moment, and I dipped the spoon into the liquid and began sipping. I had work to complete, and then the future was mine to behold.

The days went by, and I felt as if I were floating.

I regained my strength, no one looked at me any differently, and things went back to the state they were in before I even laid eyes on the brooding Mr. Rochester. Sometimes, I fancied if I closed my eyes and opened them again, this past summer would all be but a dream, but it wasn’t to be. Edward had marked my very soul, and there was no forgetting him.

I reflected on myself and realized I’d grown in the months I’d been in residence at Thornfield. I still felt as if I was a wanderer on the face of the earth, but I felt less oppressed at the thought of being so small in such a large world. The gaping wounds of the wrongs done to me were much healed, and the flame of resentment was extinguished. I had a firmer trust in myself, and the choices I’d made, though dire at the time, seemed to be now in my best interests. I would settle for nothing less than what any person deserved, which was someone’s complete and utter love. Perhaps Edward would have come to love me, but it would never have been with his full mind, body, and spirit.

I’d forgotten all about Aunt Sarah’s letter and was content to go ahead with the artist retreat and the search for a new position. Knowing it would cause a storm I wasn’t yet strong enough to weather, I hadn’t told Alice or Bessie of my intention to leave Thornfield. I had no answers or direction, only that it was imminent as the next month.

I was alone in reception, pondering this change of circumstance, when I received a visitor. It was so unexpected, and I was bewildered at the sight of the old man who lingered at the desk. He was tall and slightly hunched as if he’d done a great deal of physical labor in his younger years. White hair sat sparsely atop his head, and his watery eyes held a great deal of sparkle when he saw me. There was strength in him still.

“Jane Doe? Is that you?” He looked me over in surprise. “My, how you’ve changed.”

I frowned and rose to my feet, the man all but a stranger to me. I attempted to puzzle him out, my eye wandering over his features, but I couldn’t place him. The fact he knew me was unsettling, but there was nothing at all unsavory about his appearance.

“I daresay you wouldn’t remember me,” he went on. “You were such a wee little thing the last time I saw you, Miss Jane.”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry.”

“Robert Leaven,” he declared, holding out his hand.

At the mention of his name, recognition flooded my mind. I didn’t remember his face, but his name came back to me with startling recollection. He’d worked for Uncle Reed before he died and then for Aunt Sarah in the years following. He was the groundskeeper at Gateshead.

I grasped his hand, a smile on my face, the first to grace it in weeks. “Mr. Leaven. Surely, I do remember you now, but what brings you to Thornfield? Are you seeking work?”

“No, Miss,” he said, shaking his head and my hand. “I’ve come on your Aunt’s request. Truthfully, neither of us were sure you were here at all, but she’s quite desperate to see you. Did you receive her letter?”

“It was delivered last week,” I replied, leaving out the part where I burned it.

When I offered no more explanation, Robert wrung his hands together.

“Come,” I said. “Let’s sit a while.”

Leading the old groundskeeper through the gallery and into the sitting room, I sat him in a quiet corner and arranged tea and some sandwiches to be brought before taking a seat next to him.

“Thank you, Miss. You are too kind,” he said when the spread was laid out on the low table before us.

“Has something dire happened at Gateshead?” I asked. “It’s a long way to come otherwise.”

“Aye, for sure, a lot has happened this past year,” he said, picking up his cup of tea and sipping. “Master John has caused all kinds of worries.”

“My cousin John?”

The groundskeeper nodded and proceeded to explain. “He gave himself up to awful ways these past few years. He fell in with a bad crowd and ruined his health and his fortune.”

Remembering my cousin’s mean temperament and penchant for striking women, including myself, I wasn’t entirely surprised by this revelation.

“He is no longer with us I’m sorry to say,” Robert went on. “He committed suicide.”

I allowed the shock of his statement to settle before asking, “When? Why?”

“A year ago,” he replied. “He developed quite the gambling problem in the years leading up to it. He squandered his trust fund, spent his entire fortune, and almost drove your aunt to ruin. She bailed him out several times, and when she finally refused to give him any more money, he took matters into his own hands.”

I lowered my gaze, beginning to feel terrible. I’d burned her letter and cast her aside as she’d cast me—an eye for an eye—but I now regretted it.

“Your aunt took it badly I’m afraid. She’d been in ill health for quite some time and had become rather frail. John’s problems had caused her quite a bit of stress, and she worried about falling into ruin and poverty because of it. The news of his passing was such a shock it brought on a stroke, and it’s only in the past few months she’s regained some of her strength. Her mind was affected, and her memory lapses. It comes and goes, but the doctor says she’s not got much time left. Perhaps six months to a year, they suppose, but no one can ever tell for sure.”

I was struck dumb by the turn of events and didn’t know how to proceed.

“She’s been asking for you, Miss Jane. Every day for two months.”

“Where is my other cousin, Georgiana?” I inquired, hesitant to embroil myself in a promise I wasn’t sure I could keep.

“She returned from London after Mr. John’s passing. She’s been in residence with her mother ever since.”

I nodded, pleased to hear it. I remembered Georgiana to be quiet and dutiful, her golden hair, blue eyes, and pale features setting her apart from everyone around her. She was her father’s daughter, and if any of the Reed’s were to look similar to me, then it was my cousin.

I suppose she’d gone off to London the moment she was able and became the life of the party. She was such a beauty as a child, I assumed she’d only grown more so as a woman, and I could see her with a different man on her arm every night of the week. It was a wonder she’d returned to Gateshead at all and hadn’t installed Aunt Sarah into a care facility of some sort. Didn’t she have a rich fiancé or husband already?

“So will you come, Miss Jane?” Robert asked.

I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Robert, but I cannot. You know the things she put me through as a child, and when I was taken to Lowood, there was worse, and I cannot return knowing it.”

He lowered his gaze, disappointment clear in his old brow. “Aye, I know.”

“I’ve made peace with my past, and I vowed never to return to it. I can only go forward.”

“I understand, Miss Jane.” He rose to his feet, leaving the sandwiches mostly untouched. “I will deliver your message to Mrs. Reed and say you are unable to come.”

I nodded and gestured to the food. “If you intend to leave right away, I can have these wrapped for you.”

“I’m sorry I could not speak for you back then, Miss Jane,” he said. “I regret it all these years later.”

“None of it was your fault,” I replied, the melancholy of our reunion beginning to wear me down.

“It is nice to see you so well and grown up. You’ve done well for yourself.”

“I’m glad to see you’ve kept in good health,” I returned.

“You won’t reconsider?” he asked again, and I declined. He was persistent, but I couldn’t find it within myself to acquiesce.

He had to make the return journey to Gateshead that same day, so I arranged him a taxi down to the village and saw him off at the main entrance.

As the car bore him away, sandwiches and all, I thought about Aunt Sarah and her strange request to see me. Surely, she sought some kind of closure and forgiveness in her last months on this earth, for there was no other reason I could think of. I wanted nothing to do with her estate, nor would I accept a single penny even if it were offered, not that it would be.

Sighing as the car moved down the drive, turned into the lane, and was finally out of sight, I went back to reception, my mind still uneasy.

If all the books I’d read in Thornfield’s library were to be believed, forgiveness was one of the greatest forms of love, and I wasn’t sure I was strong enough to impart it on Aunt Sarah.

I would not go.