So, back when I was in college I took an elective course which was based entirely on the book Jane Eyre. I was a science major, and the class was a pleasant diversion from balancing redox reactions, molecular geometries, and the Krebs cycle. In short, I loved it. The instructor was one of those gauzy, Birks-in-winter hippie types, and for our final project we had to 'create' something based on the book Jane Eyre. I've always secretly loved to write, so this was right up my alley.

I'd never heard of fan fiction at that point, but during the semester we'd read Wide Sargasso Sea which told the story through another viewpoint (Bertha Mason's), and I found the concept fascinating. It was interesting to see Edward Rochester portrayed in an even less sympatyhetic vein than Jane saw him - I mean, she loved him, but even she had to realize that he was kind of a jerk. I don't recall what made me settle on Blanche Ingram, because she was such a throwaway character, but I came to see that Mr Rochester manipulated her the way he manipulated a lot of people.

And yes, I got an 'A.'

The story works out to be, I think, 4 or 5 chapters. It is complete and will be posted as I finish scanning, formatting, and editing everything. (Thank goodness for OCR software, since I've lost the disk. Although it was 1998 when I wrote this so the disk wouldn't do me much good anyway, would it? At least it wasn't a floppy.) Hope you enjoy!


Come Closer, Miss Ingram

We had been in the cottage in -shire for three years when we heard from Mr Rochester again. He was really only a slight acquaintance of ours - his father and mine had been great friends, but both the old men were dead and gone. The dreary grey winter had just begun to melt into dreary grey spring when we received a note from him, informing that he should like us to come to Thornfield for a visit, two or three days hence.

I had not seen Edward Rochester since I was eighteen; our situation had changed somewhat since then. For one, Father had died; for another, Theodore had turned us out of Stonebanks. He hadn't said so, of course; he had said that he supposed we would like a neat little cottage better than tumbledown Stonebanks, and Father's bequest to Mother should be enough for the three of us to live on quite comfortably. He had engaged a cottage for us, some distance away, and we, being ladies, had no choice but to go.

For the last three years Mother had been dressing us up in fine but mended and made-over gowns, and showing us in balls and parties and teas, and trying desperately to maintain the illusion that all was as it had once been. What no one seems to realize is that having a title, and lands, and a crumbling old house, does not assure one's financial security. We had been obliged to sell a large portion of our lands when Father died; by now there was almost nothing left for me, and even less for Mary.

At the mention of Edward Rochester Mother fell into frenzy of excitement: he was the most important visit we had paid in many months. Important to Mother meant unmarried, wealthy, and male, as we knew Mr Rochester to be. Our shabby clothing was mended, our shabby gloves and slippers darned one more time. It was vitally important to make a good impression on Mr Rochester, as Mother did not tell us but we instinctively knew.


It was a two days' journey from -shire to the Leas, where we would be meeting with Mr Rochester and the other members his party. On the morning of the second day, as our carriage sped across the misty country, we passed Stonebanks. My heart leaped as I beheld my former home - rising like a gracious old lady above the morning dew - and in a few moments it had passed out of sight. Mother was asleep, but Mary had seen it. She squeezed my hand and smiled sympathetically.

We had loved Stonebanks - oh, how we had loved it. To our infant eyes its crumbling walls were a marble palace. I had learned to ride in those very fields, with Father, when I was ten years old. All my happy memories, in fact, were there - and now it seemed as if they were lost forever. For a moment I felt as if I could rebel, leap from this coach which rolled steadily towards my fate, and run back to Stonebanks. But Mother stirred, and looked over at me, and I put Stonebanks out of my mind.

In the evening we reached the Leas; by then I had quite forgotten the horrible pang I had felt upon passing Stonebanks. The Leas was as fine a home as I had once hoped to inhabit. Mr Eshton, though he had no title, apparently had more money than poor Father, I thought as entered the cosy drawing-room and looked around the little party assembled there.

Mr and Mrs Eshton were a very handsome couple, though they were quite middle-aged, and their three daughters were exceedingly pretty. Amy was little and fair; Louisa was taller, and her golden hair darker; Elizabeth, the youngest, was perhaps fourteen or fifteen, but if all indications were correct she would someday outshine the others.

Lady Lynn, with whom Mother had been friends before both were married, was there with her two sons. She, like Mother, had been widowed, but with a much greater estate, as I immediately noticed. Her two sons, Henry and Frederick, I had not seen in years; they had grown up in the intervening time. The final members of our party were a Colonel and Mrs Dent. I knew them only slightly, and during the course of events which followed our acquaintance did not increase.

We had scarcely been introduced when Mrs Eshton said slyly, ''There is one more - perhaps you've met him?" and procured from behind a closed door our brother Theodore. I had not seen Tedo in over a year; I was astonished at the change in him. He was only twenty-seven then, but he was getting fat, he who had been so lean and well-formed, and his once keen eyes were becoming dull and bleary. We later learned that he had been engaged in excessive drinking, and gambling away what little remained of Father's money; he was already on a decline that would lead to his death two years later.

But this had not transpired yet; and though he had turned us out, we were very glad to see him. Mother fell upon him with her usual maternal scolding: was he eating well, was he keeping warm, but in a much gentler tone than she used with Mary and me. When Tedo had recovered, he turned to Mary and embraced her warmly. She had always been his especial pet, being seven years his junior.

Mr Rochester was not among those present, but he arrived suddenly after supper that night: he simply walked in unannounced. It was raining when he arrived; my first impression of him after a long time was of a rain-soaked cloak, and great puddles of water dripping onto the Eshtons' expensive carpet. Then there was a hearty round of welcomes and introductions, and while Mr Rochester was mobbed by Eshtons and Lynns it was several minutes before I was finally able to get a good look at his face.

I stood across the room, for I barely knew him, and looked him over critically. I had not seen him in seven years, and he, too, had changed somewhat in the interval. His eyes were a little harder, the set of his jaw a little more resolute, the lines of his face a little grimmer. Edward Rochester had never been handsome, but he was even less so now.

Mr Rochester caught me looking at him, and I quickly turned away, blushing. I would not be so forward as to stare at a man. But I found that his steady, even piercing gaze remained on me for a few minutes more. What kind of a man is this Mr Rochester? I wondered.