Soli Deo gloria
DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Jane Eyre.
Guess who finally got around to reading Jane Eyre, y'all?! (TBH I'm surprised I haven't read it before now; I've been mostly Jane Austen up to this point; I really need to extend my British classics taste more into the Gothic genre.) You know when I get into something, I gotta write fanfiction about it! (I do. I really do. It's like an illness. Help.)
*Jane Rochester's POV (!)*
It became apparent in the course of the years that a reconciliation between Mrs. Fairfax and my dear Edward and me would bring great delight and warmth of affection to all our hearts. I have but wrote only once or twice a letter to Mrs. Fairfax, inquiring about all that is good and polite, about health, life amongst friends, and of our own daily living. Her own letters back to me number but one; polite and civil and natural though it was, it lacked the warm affection and former regard she once had for me. It was concluded by myself and Edward that her heart is not as in one accord with my decisions after I ran away from Thornfield. From further discussion and intuitive thoughts given in regard to her feelings, we surmised that the following events after I was gone had resulted in her cold heart. While I could not remain as I was—perhaps if I had stayed—the astonishing events spelling the wrecked doom of Thornfield Hall and the removal of Mrs. Fairfax from all that she held dear to the charity of friends, could have ended differently. Edward put his hand upon my knee and insisted, gripping and shaking, that not one moment of the events spelling their downfall was of my actions. It was what God intended, and what God intended, Man could not move one inch.
"I always knew that someday, keeping a wife in the attic would bring about some great end," Edward said; that it did there was no doubt; the end of Thornfield Hall; the end of her mad wretched life; the end of his sight; the end of us. "And yet I discover that dismal event as to have been one of the best of my life." He regarded my face, though he could but just see drearily, as through a clouded veil, my form. A twist of old spirit animated his jagged features. "Isn't that awful of me, my Jane?"
I met his eyes, as has always been my habit. "Inarguably."
That made him smile.
Over the course of years, Edward has sent many cordial letters to Mrs. Fairfax. She used to write him faithfully while he was in exile, alone save John and his wife. She thought her letters would bring some cheer to him; he instead found in them a new sense of cruelty. It was not that he lacked the capability to reading her letters with his own eyes, to take in her lacy penmanship and read the feeling of her words and touch the slight ink blots at the ends of the simple, sweet sentences that worked upon his soul; but rather, that these kind words of a former acquaintance were from her instead of me; it was salt upon an open wound to hear the heart-lifting news of a fresh letter in the daily mail, and then to have that hope dashed furiously when it was learned that the letter was not from the one from whom he most wished to hear. It was still more disturbing when after I wrote a letter to her as from Edward (in his dictation and my writing, we find an enjoyable evening in such an activity), her letters as addressed to Mr. Rochester were few and farther in between. "Had her manner, before the fire, been colder to you, Edward?" I asked.
"You no doubt mean, did she no longer think well of me after thinking me wicked enough to lock up a mad wife in the attic and then do all in my ability to make myself wed to another creature completely ignorant of the foul play in which she had a deceivingly innocent part? In short, yes; but she hid it well under a former great respect for me as the master of the household; there was what she must think of me, and what she ought to think of me; two conflicting parts in her. I could expect nothing else from my faithful, moral housekeeper," Edward said, with a good humor.
Edward's words in my handwriting must've made her draw conclusions, such as my being his. Her letters breathed with cool manner and colder affection, which brought great labor to our pains in inviting her as a welcome guest to our Ferndean Manor; my soul craved the reconciliation of my heart to one I had once found dear and, while not entirely near to me, as close as could be. Mrs. Fairfax was one of the first and few of any of my acquaintance to treat me always with great civility as one would treat one seen as equal to oneself; I never felt quite small or plain in her presence; I always felt the resolve to execute my tasks set at me to the best of my ability, which brought great pleasure to me as it strengthened her great approval of me and brought us closer in conversation and spirit. My severing myself from Thornfield Hall was felt keenly in every sense; even as the hole of leaving my beloved Mr. Rochester occupied all of my heart—even as my mind was filled to the brim with that cool, soothing combination of common sense of doing right and having truth in my ways—my heart wandered, just a part of it, after Adele and Mrs. Fairfax. Had my heart been so full for them as to not wish to burden them with hurried, sudden goodbyes that would shake them to their core? I avoided causing such pain to my little friends, and in doing so, had broken down the previous ties which we'd formerly wrought together with fellowship and comfort of each other's presences during the long winter evenings.
At first, I believed my fervent letters to Mrs. Fairfax begging her presence at our Manor would go unheeded; what must come about to turn the head of that good widow? Did my pen scratch the parchment in vain? Were my hopes unfounded, and as quickly to be dashed as quickly as they were formed? In a like fashion of earlier occurrences, I wrote while Edward dictated; while neither of us possess so much of an iota of charm, really, his manner of speaking was most like a balm to Mrs. Fairfax, and would no doubt be far more welcome than my blunt words. I, however signed it on behalf of both of us; I offered to guide his hand to the ink to sign his own signature, but he shook his head and caught my hand up with his only hand. "You shall sign for both of us, for you are as much a part of my flesh as this old hand is."
So I did thus; and in this task, succeeded. Our two separate parts could not bring about such a meeting; I don't believe God intended it as so. But, in the joining of our efforts, with both our names attached to every heartfelt word written in script, Mrs. Fairfax's heart was moved. She wrote back within two days of having received our letter, announcing her attendance forthwith upon Ferndean within the next fortnight. Such pleasant news quickened my heart and brought great joy and energy and color back into my Edward's face. Clasping my hand tightly with his one, his lips brushed against my knuckles and said, "Once written so by my Jane, how could she not heed the little elfing's commanding call?"
The manor was prepared to be shown in its finest array; when I first came to reside at Ferndean Manor, only a few of the rooms were well kept, as the Manor's master kept no guests, being lost seemingly forever in the mood of loneliness, darkness, and despair. Now, upon my becoming mistress, several rooms were kept up in daily order, even those we did not often enter; it brought to mind the words of dear Mrs. Fairfax, how they used to keep all the rooms, those entered frequently and those not, in working order, for Mr. Rochester, when he came home, didn't like to have a great about about it all. With her old words in mind, I aided and abetted John and his wife in bringing about a freshness to all the rooms of Ferndean Manor. Edward was kept nil about it as long as possible, until the moment he was certain his ears affixed upon me beating upon an old rug, and demanded I immediately stop such menial work.
Ordinarily, I would keep at my chosen tasks, but given the joint plea of my husband's clasping hand and the heaviness of the child growing within me, I conceded to relent from such hard labor.
Despite my bowing out, Ferndean Manor was spick and span the morning John went riding out in the chaise to the stop to pick up Mrs. Fairfax. We feared none but our own could successfully navigate through the great, never-ending tunnel of harsh trees. I would've welcomed the idea of a ride through so pleasant an arch of wood on such a lovely spring day (which England offers very few of), but chose instead to steady my nerves by betaking myself to drawing up an invitation to tea to give to Adele. I had suspicions she will dash headlong off the school grounds and tramp through the woods to shout her answer in excitement when she reads the words 'with Mrs. Fairfax, who is comes this Thursday for a visit', instead of composing a well-written reply in a tranquil manner, as I would have attempted at her age.
While I wrote, Edward stood by the front window, half hidden by the white lacy curtains as he leaned against the glass; he tilted his head so his one eye could perchance took notice of some passing shapes. The white light of sun through the clouded day spread dissipation against the dark of the woods, providing shadows and illumination. Besides his head cocked against the window for his eye, his ear strained for sounds of hooves, of horses snorting, of the chaise clacking against the now pebble-paved drive. He, who could enjoy the senses of life the least, struggled to great lengths to enjoy what he could. No longer sitting in the chair and letting long hours become days, he strove to heed the call of every moment of every day.
He was the first to realize her presence; he, who used to be a step behind everyone else due to his lack of eyesight. He is the first to proclaim into echoes through the house that all must go meet Mrs. Fairfax! I arose from my letter, gave it a final dusting of powder before sealing it with a touch of red wax and the signet ring of the Rochester family. Hand upon my master's elbow, I said, "Let us go meet her."
His face was alight with a genuine love and excitement; the looks creasing his face from something unhandsome and unbecoming warm my heart and endear him. He said, "To see that old widow again makes me more giddy than Adele upon receiving a new dress."
"A giddiness that is usually so unsurpassable," I said, leading him through the carpeted, dark halls of Ferndean to emerge on the front step. John aided Mrs. Fairfax with an offered arm down from the chaise to alight upon the well-pebbled drive. My own eyes adjusted to the sudden illumination of the white light of the sun shining against the grey-white surface of the stone-laden drive. Mrs. Fairfax, small as she is, emerged as highly anticipated as Her Highness the Queen.
She thanked John, pleasure growing on her wrinkled old face, as she stepped down from the chaise. This brief distraction allowed me the window of time to examine her face afore she looked upon us. The small-featured face with the pursed smile and kind eyes and crows-feet were as familiar as my own hands. Her wardrobe hadn't changed in design or effect. The years' separation had done nothing to change the appearance of my dear Mrs. Fairfax, except perhaps aged her a little. Despite the calamities and disasters of the years past that separated the paths brought together of the many people joined under Thornfield's singular roof, none had changed the inimitable Mrs. Fairfax. There was a comfort in the old and comforting remaining untouched by life's harsh molds.
"How does she look, my Jane? Much changed? I'd hate for that; I don't want to change my vision of her," Edward said next to me.
"She is as unchanged as the winds that whistle through the old forest, which does nothing but grow a little older and richer as the years pass," I replied.
That same smile illumined my master's face. That answer satisfied him to the highest degree.
Mrs. Fairfax's eyes now flickered over to us; the spasm of surprise startled her aback; she knew, of course, of Edward's marriage to me, but to see it so suddenly appearing in front of her, of me, the once governess of whom she was a devoted companion, now upon the strong arm of her moody, spontaneous, changeable master, was a shock to such a system as she had.
"Mrs. Fairfax," Edward said in a jovial voice, that of a host welcoming his guest, and yet, unfamiliar to hear from his voice; he was not so welcoming in his party including the bright and dreary Ms. Blanche Ingram; here was a man genuinely happy for such a beloved guest to agree to rejoice with them at their own little house they'd made become a home. I held his stump while he offered her his one hand, a smile curling at his lips.
Edward could not perceive the tears flooding Mrs. Fairfax's eyes, for which I was exceedingly grateful. She was suddenly struck; the quick shock of seeing two estimable yet unlikely persons of her acquaintance in such an unfamiliar, intimate hold together gave way to seeing her old reckless, dauntless master rendered so helpless. That must have been one of her sole solaces to her being sent away; to no longer see a wild, roving animal, beautiful in its adventuresome, untamed spirit, brought to stay in such a damaged cage, wounded as it paced its secluded cell. I hoped that we would be able to assuage her fears over the course of her visit and show her that he was indeed not so pitiable as he first appeared.
She swallowed the lump no doubt growing unavoidable in her throat and offered a trembling hand as she strove past John. "Mr. Rochester," she said, taking up his hand. Her eyes passed over to me. She said, "Jane."
Even now, she could not call me Mrs. Rochester. I found myself not displeased by this. Jane was who I was when we were friends, and I hope to remain Jane to her still.
"Mrs. Fairfax," I said, taking her hand in mine. It shook a little; age and shock shone through, however she tried to keep it restrained from my eyes. Yet she knew however much she could hide from Edward, my discerning eyes could perceive. "It is delightful to see you once more."
"The pleasure is shared between us, dear Jane," Mrs. Fairfax said. A slight smile spread across her features. Despite her cold reserve, just the sight of two dear old friends was enough to unnerve her former pretensions. I smiled.
Edward insisted upon guiding Mrs. Fairfax into the house. She took up his arm a little warily, her eyes never straying from his face. She seemed intent upon searching it earnestly. It was a mixture of contrasts, from the ugly lines creasing his eyes and the black bushiness of his harsh eyebrows usually so furrowed in anger or frustration, to the gentle bend of his smile and the look of joy shading over his lost eyes. The look upon her own face spoke of worry and hope, and great sadness and loss. To see her old master brought so low; and perhaps shame also, that she let herself, one of the most loyal creatures that I know, to let herself be ordered far away, leaving him a friendless, angry, hopeless creature, alone in his own dark world.
I allowed her this time of introspection and searching as between her eyes and his knowledge of the layout of Ferndean, they entered the house, bound for the parlor. I alone remained to give orders to John about the house, the chaise, and her luggage, which was fortunately all brought along on its roof and back. This allowed me an allotment of time of thought afore I next engaged in a conversation with Mrs. Fairfax.
I would like to see her thoughts as clearly as I can read my own and my Edward's; I long for our old intimacy, though my common sense quite clearly tells me that that is quite impossible to have instantly. It is something that must be worked for; I had gained it quite from the start of my first day as governess of Thornfield. Mrs. Fairfax warmed me to her heart almost instantaneously; our friendship was good, wholesome, and quick. All the events between my almost-wedding day to this very day have wrought a previously unknown divide into our friendship. She knows not what to think of me; while there is no doubt that she disapproves greatly of the great tragedy and horror I brought upon Thornfield by my sudden running away in the night, of the great anguish I bequeathed onto the breast of my master; it was a great evil, yes, but she also would know it to be the greater evil to have waved away the immutable facts of his marriage under the table and become his mistress. I am looked down upon for having caused so much trouble upon the loving, suffering heart of my Edward, but I would never be able to look her in the eye, or be beheld in her eyes, if I had suffered myself to lower myself, just to make him happy.
John's orders were given for her baggage to be brought to her room; I followed his footsteps into the soft halls and rejoined Edward and Mrs. Fairfax in our parlor. He seated her upon a beautiful chair; she perched in it like a tiny bird; her eyes was of enormous size as they ate up every detail of the room; so this was where Mr. Rochester had resided all these years. And yet not long would they linger upon the mahogany and brightly-kindled fire as they quickly latched themselves upon me and mine once more. Her eyes, wide as Adele's childish own, could seemingly not take in the couple before her as reality; surely we were an apparition of spirits, or perhaps such a lifelike dream out of which she could not awaken herself. Yet her conversation, stammering at first, held firm and resonate. Edward perhaps could not observe through the medium of speech her bewildered expression, and could speak to her as kindly and quick and intimately as if years had not caused a great separation to spring up between them in miles and conversation. He ran down old paths of conversation as on light and dashing feet; his laugh was quick and oft, springing up suddenly as to cause a sudden startlement to spring Mrs. Fairfax into a state of shaken nerves. I provided a cool contrast between them; they each leapt onto different ends of the spectrum, while I remained as in the middle, a cooling balm to both of their different excitements. I provided temperament to Edward's often excited tones of speech, and also a great source of comfort and tranquillity to Mrs. Fairfax's disturbed nerves. For this, despite her coolness, I recognized that old friend we both knew well: gratitude.
There was little time to speak with her alone, in intimate tones, as we used to. I escorted her to her room myself; that allowed no such opportunity of speech, as she begged leave to rest after her long journey; I knew the journey was long and exhausting, yes, but here it served as but as an excuse to sit awhile by herself and recover her wits, those same wits the sight of Edward, a living dead man, and myself, had scattered to scary foreign places.
Days passed in this similar fashion: Mrs. Fairfax joined Edward and me for meals; often, I could catch her between slips of polite inquiry and talk of old days silently observing my and Edward's interactions; how I would guide his groping hand to where his glass was; how I would murmur in his ear how the morning looked, how what sunbeams could drove rivets through the thick forest roof; how the turf was asunder under a mist of fresh dew; how the curves of the road gave in to encroaching banks. When we spent our evenings together cozily with a lit fire that drove warmth straight to our hearts, she sat and knitted or otherwise occupied her hands, and listened rather more than spoke as Edward and I either spoke of old and new times, or as I read aloud a passage of chapter from some favorite book we've shared together. I recalled looking up once to see a crimson blush overtake her face as she turned away; Edward, silently listening, had tenderly laid the palm of his one hand over my abdomen, as to feel the kicking, persistent existence of one he thought he'd never know.
In the days that followed, Adele came to visit. Mrs. Fairfax beamed; the girl had grown into a young woman, of the same age I was when I became a teacher at Lowood. She'd matured as I had, but still remained that inherent French heritage; she was a young lady, quick and light, and delightful to the eye. She enjoyed the company of Mrs. Fairfax just as much of old John and his wife; oft the two could be found in that kitchen; Mrs. Fairfax was ever a housekeeper, and liked looking over the account books with me, and examining all the unused guest rooms of Ferndean Manor just as she'd done at Thornfield Hall. She emerged and said, "Spotless and ready at a moment's notice, just as usual."
I was unsure as to Mrs. Fairfax's true thoughts for some time; she was aloft, and sometimes quiet, as if thoughtful or fearful of her own thoughts. She enjoyed Adele's company, even as she observed her; no longer was the child there; there stood a young lady when she'd been but a button of a brat a moment ago. She was shorter in speech to Edward and me; she looked older; years wore on her and appeared on her as they did on Adele more so than on Edward and me. Time wore on her as the weeks went by.
It was only after several weeks, when Mrs. Fairfax had become a regular part of our household, and it started to creep upon her mind that her visit must soon come to an end, and she be thrust out from Ferndean's cozy homelike house, that I found her true thoughts open to air. Edward and I had long ago discussed it; and, generous of heart he was, he immediately, with a generosity inherent and yet speaking well of him, offered the approval of my asking Mrs. Fairfax to remain a permanent resident of Ferndean Manor. "She's fit right back in here as she did in Thornfield. She's a part of our lives as much as any of these walls." He gave me a softer look as his unseeing eye fell short, past my eyes, securing themselves on what he was sure was my extending abdomen. "And so soon your confinement must start. Wouldn't it be a relief to your mind, and most importantly to mine, that someone else could run the house properly while you are waylaid in bed?" His tone was beset with a ringing, palpable anxiety.
So this invitation was extended to Mrs. Fairfax; she stared, her eyes boring upon my face, without speaking for so long, that I felt as if I had uttered some word of offense; I assured her that she was the most welcome of any guests we'd yet entertained in our little hidden home, and we knew it was not a social setting by any means, and would be quiet and quite boring and low activity, and unfortunately not of the same comfort of the settings of rich Thornfield, and surely she would be of greater value to us than we were to her, we as a quiet couple, living quietly in our day-to-day lives.
I feared that I rambled far longer than I usually do, and felt quick to check my quick, rambling tongue. Only when I restrained my reinless mouth could Mrs. Fairfax, tears growing in her eyes, burst, "My dear Jane," (and she had been calling me Mrs. Rochester this whole while, a cold stiff name still odd and foreign to me as it is to her, after our first meeting), opening her heart for the first time since before my almost-wedding day, "I cannot tell you what thing of priceless value you have heaped into my lap. I could think of nothing better. I apologize earnestly if I have appeared cold and aloft these past weeks; I confess, to my own embarrassment, that I came with ill feelings, quite against my will; it was only the promise of seeing Adele once more that drove me to say 'yes'. I am ashamed to say that I thought sorely of the master of what he almost put you through, despite my polite letters of correspondence beforehand not bringing this to light; I held it against him quite some time; then, I felt you weak to take him back as soon as he was available. But I was reprimanded severely by just sitting long in your presence. It is quite obvious that you have forgiven him long ago, and been nothing but great good to him. You have tamed the beast without compromising yourself in the slightest; you have rather availed yourself of the love and happiness if only you could have long ago. I felt too ashamed of my behavior after the fire; I admit, I was glad to go forth from Mr. Rochester; I thought him a wild beast, wild with the agony of his loss of you and now of his sight. I feared him past saving. For these weeks, I have felt great deep shame as I have observed you two together now. It is clear that you love each other very much, and are nothing but good to each other. I fear you will now rescind on your offer, now that you see Alice Fairfax in her true light, but I could never accept such an offer without first letting you into the truth of all my thoughts."
I grasped her frail old hands; a smile creased my face. "None of your thoughts but are as natural and as become you, however wrong they proved you later," I told her. "Edward and I would never rescind our offer to such an old friend as you. It still stands."
Mrs. Fairfax burst into tears and I held her in my arms in a warm embrace. When I related all these events later to Edward, he smiled. "Good old Mrs. Fairfax," he said. "Can we have ever expected anything less? Though, I say it is some great relief to have my old housekeeper back."
"Have I not proved a competent one?" I said.
"Well, yes," he said, "but I will like that your attention will no longer be spread over so many duties. Perchance time together with me can take up some of the free time you have now gained," he said; if his one eye wasn't so clouded, I could perchance find a mischievous gleam in it.
Adele thrilled upon hearing the news and Mrs. Fairfax sent a letter addressing the house of her friends thanking them for all their invaluable kindnesses to her, but begging for them to sent the rest of her luggage. It arrived just in time for my time of bedrest to begin. Edward watched her faint form as it left our bedchambers and turned back to me. "It is good to have her back," he said, genuinely.
I smiled. Her presence back in our home and her warm intimacy of close friendship were priceless gifts now in our possession; a feeling of great comfort and satisfaction washed over me. "It is indeed wonderful to have Mrs. Fairfax back."
E+J are so cute XD.
Thanks for reading! Review?