This is a mix of Jane Eyre and Wide Sargasso Sea. As in, all the conversation/speech is from Jane Eyre and the themes from Wide Sagasso Sea (it's prequel). Disclaimer: I don't own any characters or either books.
There was no fondness between them-no. No kindness or tenderness, kinship or understanding. No, there was distance- a cold, cruel indifferent distaste. He loathed her and she, she represented everything that he did despise. His past, he wanted to smoother her in her bed sheets, cage her and torment her- like a fragile bird. His Marionette, his doll to break and ensemble- and he did, with her fractured identity she faded with time and with it- so did her youth. She came to hate him. She came to loath him, with fibre of her raging spirit. A candle flame that refused to bow to the wind, flickering as it stole her warmth, herself, screeching for her to bend. She did not-she refused. But his ice hurt her, cold apathy that could not fuel her candle. He was spiteful, petty not many would believe, but she saw him without the curtains, under the bed sheets, in the moonlight and through the darkness. His love for money, it was what he pursued. Silly man, foolish boy. When will he discover that every penny he horded could never buy, what he desired nor ever hide, his frivolous past. She loved him, once. Maybe, he did her.
'Say die, and I will die. Say die, and watch me die.'
They stride through the gallery of Thorn field, proceeded to the third storey. The gentle clip of dainty shoes, and the wide clatter of four males whom marked their presence in the chilly corridor. Their guide leading the others with furious pacing steps as he dragged her by her hand, commanding them into the tapestried room- then he paused.
'You know this place. She bit and stabbed you here' he remarked.
Apathy in his eyes as wrenched the cloth, that hang on the wall. The heavy cloth crumbled, and with it, the willow figure of girl, dressed in a white evening gown- a lovers tale, it cried. The heavy sound of rust as he twisted his metal key, and swung the door wide. With a stiff hand, beckoned them into the dim lit room.
'Good-Morrow, Mrs Poole!' was brusque pleasantry 'How are you? And how is your charge to-day?' it was a sharp-cut inquiry ,one that had a ring of worn familiarity in it's tone.
'We're tolerable, sir, I thank you.' a women, the servant as identified by plain grey dress and clean white apron , replied. She removed the cauldron of boiling white sores ,from behind a ironclad fender and wiped her hands, carelessly upon her apron. 'Rather snappish, but not 'rageous' The fire was the only source of light and every occupant focussed upon the cool flame that licked the ashes. The darkness that was only hitched by a single flicker of flame would sometimes spat , as it if in rage. There was but a few logs remaining on the hearth, and he callously reached and threw but a single one in. It was only gradually , but when their eyes adjusted that they became aware of another resident in the room, and only for the low whisper that called
'Oh, there is a fall, a waterfall by the edge of life
And there, oh there, the river hums
A sweet ,oh sweet lullaby-
That the rain sings, to lull it's love to sleep.'
There, in the deepest corner of the room, where light dared not venture, sat a women curled within a wooden chair. Her dark locks hair tumbled in chaos about her pale white gown and her fingers gently stroked it, rhymatically to the soft tune she half-hummed and sang. Her knee's tucked under her, sprayed the fabric around her and cradled her in a blanket of white.
'Bertha.' he called-
'A gentle hush, a tender embrace
and she will slumber through the pain
Heartbreak and wrong, the tears that fall-
The rain lulls it's love to sleep'
-she did not turn , she fingers twirling her wild locks contently, with a sighing breathe. He stepped forward, and it echoed his presence omnisciently, 'Bertha' he called once again.
She paused her song for a moment, the silence was swept with the darkness; then silently she turned, her bare feet touched the ground and the white cloth fluttered around her legs then settled like a cloud. She raised her large glazed eyes, pretty dark-framed lashes. Empty wide-eyed black iris and sighed.
'Bertha, Bertha he calls, why?' her wild crock curls shifted as she stood to her feet and her fingers twisted in her gown, like a child. For she looked like a doll, a marionette, as she stood in white in the dim-lit room.
'Can you not know my name,' she murmured, breathless as air 'No, he knows. He must have forgotten.' to herself as one would with thoughts. She stepped lightly, the soft pad of flesh and stone whispered like a ghost, the white rustle of cloth as she walked to the fire. It coloured her flesh, pale like ivory of a china doll, but with a dying tan as if once the skin had blushed bronze, once.
'Leave me' she muttered and she knelt in the ashes that dusted the fireside, her gown smudged in the soft powder. She did not seem to notice the four other guests, or did not pay any heed to their intrusion. She ignored the subtle, disproval tutt of the servant as she drew fingers patterns in the ash.
But he would not be ignored, he took three powerful strides towards her -'Bertha' the name cracked around the room like a firebolt. She turned and there, a glint in her eyes, a spark of recognition that flamed her dark eyes. A dark smile that drew cruelly on her sweetly curved lips-
'Of course , on this of all nights, you must be Bertha'
'Ah! sir, she sees you!' the servant squalled, her hands bunched feverishly her skirt 'You better not stay' -already her up straight arms made to usher the unusual group to the door, but he raised his hand to halted her.
'Only a few moments, Grace: you must allow me a few moments.' his eyes flashed cold but never left the figure by the fire. There in his eyes, flickered adulterate loathing, tightly wrapped behind icy indifference but his muscles subtly shifted and his mouth turned, and pressed into a thin line. The uneasy servant bit her lip, then cried.
'Take care then, sir!-for God's sake, take care!' it rang like a gallows order and called unrest upon the remaining company. The priest shovelled to the door as did the gentlemen next to him, beads of sweat dotting his forehead, but silent they remained. The slight women smiled, coyly brushed her hair, her eyes swallowing his gaze with equal fire and hissed through her teeth; then purposefully dismissed him, eyeing her visitors with dull curiosity and rose once again to her feet. Ash rising like dust around her figure. The servant hastened near, her hands reaching -
'Keep out of the way,' he ordered, thrusting her firmly aside: 'she has no knife now, I suppose, and I'm on my guard.' there was a wild passion in his eyes, wild that gleamed with something that could not be named. A bloody light in the gloom that focussed solely upon her, and she lit up with his stare. She gave solitary giggle, more of a hiccup but for the amusement in her eyes.
'One never knows what she has, sir; she is so cunning; it is not in mortal discretion to fathom her craft,' the servant hastily explained, her eyes darting between him and her mistress like rain sprays, dancing.
'We had better leave her,' whispered the gentlemen near the priest.
'Go to the devil' he snapped , his eyes dauntlessly watching hers keenly.
'Ware' exclaimed the servant, her arms flung out as if to catch her in mid-flight as she dashed forward, black hair streamed, her eyes focussed beyond the company. Light. She was like a dancing blaze, swift and daring as she ran, he caught her hand and yanked her to him. Like a ragged doll, her limbs snagged and ensnared as she struggled. Her wrists were encircled, as she twisted and spun with strength that could not have been her own. Her legs kicked the air, her own gown betraying her and enveloped her in a cage. Her fingers lashed from his and with a triumph cry, wrapped around his thick neck but, to no avail. He encased her within him and once again seized her arms, twisted it behind her that rung a yelp from her. 'Let go!' she hissed, teeth flashing in a snarl ,snapping her jaws threateningly but he ignored her. Swiftly manhandling her into the wooden chair, she resisted and her arms becoming more frantic, more wild in her attempts, more wrath in her yells, more her fury and resentment in her dark eyes as she struggled from the cord that now bound her to the chair. More cord was produced from the servant, whom wore a pinched look as he secured her to the unyielding wood. She jerked in her woven snare then she still. A muffled choke and her fiery eyes dimmed, as the realisation of her bound limbs became definite. With a half cry she dropped her head, her tangled dark curls hid her face and took a hitched shuddering breath. Just as well, for the veiled haunted gaze struck another in the room. He firmly shook her shoulder and when she did not respond ,he turned bitterly desolate to his spectators. All whom had withdrawn from the flurry of movement.
'That is MY WIFE," said he. "Such is the sole conjugal embrace I am ever to know-such are the endearments which are to solace my leisure hours! And THIS is what I wished to have' His hands gripped another's shoulder. The same hands that had gripped and wrestled with the other, bound to the her rigid to the chair. The bride dressed in white, a veil misting her face, her face pale with fright and silence. But her dark hair was coiled neatly behind her, her gown was yet to be stained, not smudged in ashes and crinkles. Her grey eyes were clear as it was alive ,wide with emotion and warmth, not empty as the others. But she was real, no ghost or phantom of her imagination. Jane could reach up to her and touch her cheek- and she was bound, restrained, suppressed within a wire cage. This was a women, a married women. His wife. 'this young girl, who stands so grave and quiet at the mouth of hell, looking collectedly at the gambols of a demon, I wanted her just as a change after that fierce ragout. Wood and Briggs, look at the difference! Compare these clear eyes with the red balls yonder-this face with that mask-this form with that bulk; then judge me, priest of the gospel and man of the law, and remember with what judgment ye judge ye shall be judged! Off with you now. I must shut up my prize.'
'Wait-' came the cry. The dark head had once again lifted and now was fixed coherently upon a gentlemen, her lips were rubbed red, she must have chewed them 'Richard, please' she whispered. The gentlemen did not react but glanced at her husband. And he beckoned to the door, pointing 'If you please,' immediately the servant bustled, gathering them all to withdraw.
'No. Richard! Don't you recognise me.' disbelieve coloured her plead. The struggles began anew, she jerked almost hysterically in her seat, trying to tear herself from her bounds. 'Richard, I need you-don't leave-' but he had already departed with the others and the only cry that could be heard was-'-it's me, Antionette. Don't leave me here in the cold' outside in the light, the tapestry lay ridden upon the floor but now it proved to have a different calling, a lonesome tale. The bride crouched and skimmed the designs with her fingers, the dust staining the bottom of her wedding dress and she ached for her. The lonely figure that stood amongst the night sky and when he finally stepped out from the room- he twisted the lock viciously, the key safely pocketed within his breast pocket.
Could she but hear it, faintly but she was sure she did, the soft song the captured women had sung, like a exotic wild bird. The song of a madwomen. A lunatic, surely ,in the attic.
Oh, there is a fall, a waterfall by the edge of life
And there, oh there, the river hums
A sweet ,oh sweet lullaby-
That the rain sings, to lull it's love to sleep.
A gentle hush, a tender embrace
and she will slumber through the pain
Heartbreak and wrong, the tears that fall-
The rain lulls it's love to sleep.
Hushed asleep, as she's rocked by the stream
The rain lovingly croons it's love ,asleep
And away, away she will float
Far from her misery hurt, to the fall
Oh, the waterfall, by the edge of her dreams
Sang by the rain, the shimmers of peace.
The rain lulls it's love to sleep…..
'She was staring at the distant sea. She was silence itself.
Sing Antoinette. I can hear you now.'