Author's Note: Um, heheh. Wow. Jane Eyre fanfiction is something I've never written before, and I'm a little nervous. It's probably my favorite book of all time, and I don't know if I feel quite qualified to write fanfiction for it. I've written it in my own style while trying to stick to the canon of the book as well as possible. This is probably going to be a series of little pieces of the Masons' lives before (and possibly after) Bertha went mad. When I read Jane Eyre for the second time, I was struck by how concerned for his sister Richard Mason was, and I've come to appreciate him as a character. That's why I'm writing this- to explore their bond before and after Bertha's marriage and descent into madness. They're fascinating, and I think they can be seen in a sympathetic light without treating Mr. Rochester as a less than sympathetic character. I'm hoping this is an accurate portrayal; feel free to nudge me if I get any of the details wrong.
Bertha was a light sleeper. It was the sound of her father's quiet voice in the hall and the footsteps of the doctors that had woken her. She was fully alert once her mother began screaming. She tried to go back to sleep after the screaming faded, but the air was hot and heavy, and her bed was uncomfortable. She eventually gave up on sleeping, and lay awake listening to the sounds of insects and the chickens in the yard.
These sounds were soon accompanied by light, careful footsteps, and every so often a little choked sob. The footsteps and the sobbing came closer and closer, until it was just inside her room. Bertha concluded that it was one of her brothers, probably Richard. The owner of the sobbing approached her bed, and she sat up.
"Dick," she said, and it was not a question. Her eyes were accustomed to the dark, and she could see that it was he.
"They've taken Mother," he whispered, and repressed another little cry. The sobs became more frequent, and Bertha could tell that he was having trouble keeping them in. At last he began to truly cry, and she motioned for him to sit beside her.
"Don't cry," she said. It was a command, but she gave it gently, and she gave it out of the desire to console her brother. "I'm not crying, and I'm a little girl."
"How can you not cry?" he moaned, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "Mother is gone, and Peter never speaks, and it's just you and I and Father, and how are we going to stop him from sending us all away?"
"Don't be silly," Bertha chided. "You and I are going to be fine, and if Father sends us away, it will be to someplace nice, with people who will bring us up better than he could."
"I don't trust him," Richard whimpered. "He sent Mother away somewhere bad."
"Mother is a madwoman. Father sent her to a madhouse. He would never send us to madhouses, Dick, because you and I are not mad."
"But-" Richard protested. He was unable to finish his thought, and he threw himself into Bertha's arms and wailed louder than ever.
Bertha embraced him, but she scolded him still. "Aren't you ashamed of yourself for crying? You're supposed to be strong." Richard did nothing to defend his dignity except cease his tears.