Disclaimer: I own nothing, neither Once Upon a Time or Jane Eyre. There are a few lines borrowed directly from either the book or the movies.
In truth I never imagined that my life would take the path it did. Having grown up under less than promising circumstances it is a true wonder I made it as far as teaching. My life did not start out as an unhappy one, I never considered mine to be an unfortunate lot, although others have informed me that it is a tale of woe. I have never thought of it thus. Despite this feeling, I do occasionally wonder how I would have been altered if these events unfolded differently. If it still would have led me to him…
I am getting ahead of myself.
My mother passed in childbirth. I was always struck by the irony that to bring life into this world my mother had to sacrifice her own. As I've grown older I see it less as irony and more as a trade in the eyes of the Lord. While the heavenly Father saw it a fair exchange, my earthly father did not. He spent the last of his years in a drunken haze, mourning my mother and cursing my existence. He was constantly of the opinion that if I had been a boy none of it would have happened. A boy would have strength enough of his own to leave mother enough to survive.
It was a dreadful notion to have growing up, that you stole your mother's strength and robbed your father of his will to live. However, I was thoroughly punished for these actions and feel as those penance has long since been paid. After father's death I was sent to live with my uncle and his family. While my uncle was a kindly man, death soon took him as well, leaving me quite alone with his wife. Aunt Malvina, a cruel woman who bore nothing for me but hatred. I am ashamed to admit I returned the sentiment. And the same for her ghastly children.
"Little bell." Came the taunt of cousin Humbert. I suppose if I had been named Humbert I would have become a bully as well. My breath caught as he crept past my hiding place, a book on English Ornithology still clutched to my chest. It was uncle's book, not Humbert's and I had every right to read it. Though he disagreed and was keen to remind me as much.
"Come now little bell, I shan't ring you too hard. Come out, come out." His voice moved further down the hall. Securing myself behind the curtains, tucked in the corner of the window seat was proving to be a wise choice. Or so I thought.
The gasp escaped me before I could stop it. For a moment I worried that the noise would attract my cousin's attention, when in reality it was prompted by Humbert suddenly pulling back the curtain that hid me. His play sword held firmly at my throat. I never felt such dislike for a person, until he pulled the book from my hands.
"This is my book! If I say you may not read it then you may NOT read it!" He warned, his tone low and threatening. A disturbing sound to come from a 12 year old. He was 3 years older than me, though his size was greater than these meager years of difference. He towered over me in height, I could not begin to figure out the advantage in weight. However, that would never stopped me when properly provoked. My stature may be small, were I described in a book I may be listed as the petite heroine, with pale skin and dark locks. My aunt so despised my hair, she tried to force out the curl, however her efforts were met with stubbornness. So instead I was forced to always wear braids and buns, to keep the treasure concealed. My only true beauty according to my old nurse. The only thing fitting my namesake.
"It was uncle's book and he always allowed me to read from his library." I challenged, standing up on the window seat so that I might have some advantage over my brute of a relative.
"Well he's dead, as the man of the house it is mine and I shall do with it as I please."
"You aren't going to read it!"
"No, I shall find a better use for it." With that he tossed his sword aside. I was so distracted by the clank of metal hitting the floor that I didn't realize he was swinging the book through the air, finally making contact with my head. The force of the blow knocked me into the wall. At once I felt a throb of pain and a cold trickle of blood making its journey down the side of my face. Something with in me snapped.
Despite my blurring vision and the feeling that the room was spinning, I launched myself at my cousin, knocking him to the floor. His arms covered his face, but it did not deter me from hitting him. None of my blows seemed to actually land anywhere that damage may be done. In all honesty I was far too frail to hurt him, but that did not curb the rage within me. Even as I was pulled off of him.
"Lock her downstairs." I heard my aunt's voice break through the sound of blood rushing in my ears.
"NO!" I screamed, "No! It's his fault! His!"
I could faintly hear my cousin concocting a tale of how I jumped out from behind the curtain and attacked him. Liars. All of them. My aunt for her lies to care for me, Humbert for the falsehoods of his attack. I hated them all, but more than anything I hated being locked downstairs.
I screamed and thrashed as the maids struggled to pull me along.
"Please! No! Please!" I wailed, but to no end. The heavy wooden door squeaked open, without opening my eyes I knew I was being forced into the lone chair in the cell. It was once a room for storing preserves, but now it was used as a chamber to punish me. There was a small window that let in precious little light but a fair amount of cold air. I refused to open my eyes until the door locked and I heard the turn of the key.
Alone.
The blood had made it's way down my face, coloring the curve of my neck and reaching my shoulder, leaving a streak staining my dress. The room felt smaller than usual. My stomach tensed, feeling as though it were in my throat, I could not stop the spinning. Nothing could.
"Let me out! Let me out of here, please!" I screamed, stumbling to the door and banging against it until my fists bled. With no other option left I ran full speed at the door, my head making contact with the wood. The first hit didn't do the trick but the second was hard enough to render me unconscious.
Silence.
I lay, not moving, on the cold stone floor of the cell. Surely this must be hell.
"Belle French." Mr. Glass circled me where I stood in the drawing room. I had been placed on a footstool so that he could inspect me. "Do you know what hell is?"
"A pit of fire below the earth, where the wicked are sent for their sins." I answered. Although I knew the truth. Hell was a cold cell in the basement where children were left broken and bleeding, punishment for merely existing. Were I to describe a wicked man I would offer a description of Mr. Glass or Aunt Malvina.
Sidney Glass, a clergyman and headmaster for Westland School for Girls. I would come to know him as a cruel and unfeeling man, an inclination I had upon our first meeting in the drawing room and came to recognize an indisputable truth as time went on. He was a tall, slender man, a slight tan to his skin from years of missionary work around the world. I can only imagine what foreign peoples must think of the English with Mr. Glass as our representative.
"Should you wish to go to hell, Miss French?"
"No, sir."
"How do you propose you avoid the journey?"
"Keep in good health, avoid death as one might avoid a plague."
"She is impertinent." Mr. Glass observed to my aunt who wore an expression of false concern.
"Nothing that strict discipline could not fix. I have tried to care for the girl, loved her as my own. But she will not be swayed. I believe a demon to dwell within that innocent form."
I bit my tongue, partially to keep from contradicting my aunt and also to keep the look of disgust from my face as Mr. Glass took a long, lingering appraisal of my form. I found myself longing for home, any home, just as long I was not in my aunt's house or in the presence of Mr. Glass ever again. Of course that was not to be the case.
"Very well, I shall take her. Worry not, the girl shall be cured of this demon." Mr. Glass announced, nodding to Aunt Malvina and taking his leave of the room.
"Climb down from there, you'll stain the fabric." She ordered the moment we were alone. I did as I was told, turning my own severe stare to my Aunt. She lounged across the chaise as if some sort of cat.
"I shall not lie." She quirked an eyebrow at my statement. "I shall not lie and say that I will miss you. I shan't. Everyone will know that you are the liar, that you have failed to keep the promise you made to uncle as he died. That you neglected and bullied me, that you allowed your children to abuse me as if I were a poorly behaved pet. You shall live with the guilt that you have broken your word and cast me off to strangers. Goodbye, aunt."
I did not wait for a reply. My few belongings were packed and I found myself being led away by Mr. Glass. We would journey that night, arriving at Westland as the sun rose over the land. My eyes fell upon the massive stone structure. I could tell that it would be as cold inside as it appeared outside. This would be an unhappy place, but I would bear it. What else could I do? Such an unfortunate creature as myself would have no other options.
"Our first lesson shall be in discipline." Mr. Glass announced as he walked me toward the front door. It was clear, my first day would not be an easy one. Nor the next day, or the day after that.