In Mr. Rochester's Perspective

This chapter is dedicated to Laura Schiller, Bonbonnett, Charlotte H, StayerOfJonas and Guest reviewers, thanks for your reviews and encouragement to continue writing. —C.O.L.

The day had gone very well for all of the guests at Thornfield. When the morning business affairs were done, Mr. Rochester invited his younger guests out for an afternoon ride since the weather was pleasantly fair. They rode over the hills until they reached the overlook of Millcote and came back the scenic way through the woods. Blanche spoke boastfully most of the time about her adventures in riding horseback on her family's estate and her dreams of going to the continent to ride in the Black Forest of Deutschland.

Mr. Rochester was polite and kept amusing conversation with Blanche and Mr. Esthon and the twins yet there were places that they passed on the ride like a glen full of clovers and a creek that had turned all white in cascades against the rocks where he wished that his dearest friend at the house could be there to see. He made up his mind to bring her there in the future on a lone ride of only her and himself, thoughts of that improved his mood even more so.

Mrs. Fairfax and the cook staff had outdone themselves this evening with a full course meal of roasted pheasant, mixed vegetables and ginger pudding. Mr. Rochester entertained his guests with stories about traveling in the Turkish countryside. Blanche hinted that she hoped that he would return there again and that she would very much like to see that country herself. The door to the drawing room had been left open to allow for fresh air. Mr. Rochester saw Adele skip past it as she made sly looks at the dining party. Then she was gone in a blur of little feathers and bows. He thought of her governess within that room keeping a watchful eye on the child and wished for a moment that he could excuse himself and join her there before the room became crowded. He missed their evening talks and afternoon walks. Any interaction with his dear friend had been limited to acknowledging nods and passing glances. He made up his mind to speak to her directly somehow tonight, conventionality be damned. The whole party laughed out loud, he had not been paying attention and made to no attempt to appear as though he was amused.

After several minutes of sitting and talking over empty plates with bits of pudding crumbs, the entire party moved on to the drawing room. Mr. Eshton had reminded Mr. Rochester of a comical scene on the ride today when one of twins had lost her hat to a tree limb and they had to ride back up the hill to where she was to get it back for her. They laughed, the poor girl still seemed embarrassed about it as she took a seat next to Mrs. Ingram.

Mr. Rochester took a quick glance as he always did to where Adele's young teacher sat alone at the far side of the room. Jane had quickly looked down at the large tablet across her knees. She held a pencil in her delicate hand, she was drawing. This intrigued her master for he had wanted to watch her hands create a scene every since the first night that he had beheld her peculiar fantasies of art work. In careful glances, he observed her intent focus on her work. He could tell that she was in a world of her own making now. He wanted to bring her back to where he was.

The opportunity to do so presented itself when Blanche announced her desire to hear music and sing. She suggested a song that was popular with the younger generation. Mr. Rochester thought it rather a simple song with no depth to its measure. Then her mother suggested a song from her own generation that varied in melody and required a higher level of vocal skill. It was also meant as a duet. Mr. Rochester jumped at the challenge, he knew that Jane had taken notice in the past when he sang, her eyes would stay on him for the duration of the song. He honestly thought that his voice had improved of late because it was meant only for her.

Blanche's voice was robust and Mr. Rochester was easily able to match it. He surreptitiously watched for Jane's reaction, a look, a deep breath, setting aside her work, there was no change in her demeanor. She seemed to be more drawn into the object on the page. Not once did she look up for she was not affected at all by the song which was meant for her. He sang the last lines with perhaps more force than required although the guests were impressed and clapped with vigor at the finish. Blanche wished to sing another, he pardoned himself away from her. She joined Louisa to look through a song book. He had to know what manner of fantasy had fixated his darling Jane right then.

He approached her with light tread so as not to break her spell—yet. The vision before him of the his firebird in full detail with powerful outstretched wings lifting it away from an entanglement of long grass amazed him. She knew exactly how he felt when relaying that story, she had remembered every detail and more that he had not even imagined. She was making its hidden feathers with the blood red strokes of a pencil. In an instant, she was back in his world, looking up at him with a blank expression, he swore to himself that her unreadable expressions would someday do him in yet he adored them every time.

"Sir, how are you this evening?" She greeted him carefully.

"Enchanted." He noticed more detail within her firebird drawing.

"Miss Ingram has a beautiful voice, much like your own."

If only Jane knew that it was all meant for her, he thought.

"Indeed. So this is what has you completely tonight."

He sat down next her, a familiar soothing comfort entered within him, like reaching a warm fire on a cold winter's night. She continued with her illustration. He was entranced as her fingers formed the earthbound blades of grass beneath the bird.

"You have it, Jane. Even better than I imagined it when I told the story to Adele."

What a pleasant afternoon that he and Jane had shared that day.

"It was she who asked for the drawing. I believe that she liked your story even though she pretended not to." Jane gave her own observation.

"Is it so wrong to believe in a firebird who wishes to escape and be free? To fly away never to return? Well, is it Jane?"

He could see that her character had grown more confident and restless in his absence these past few weeks, and deep within, it scared him.

"I should think it very possible, sir."

"After she has revealed her true nature by the crimson wings that carry her away?"

"She? I have imagined the bird to be a 'he' as I was drawing it."

The firebird of his imagination was clearly inspired by a young woman of independent longings.

"When a gentle creature becomes fearsome in its flight, it will become lost to its beholder in so many ways. Where will it go?"

He had moved in closer to warm his face near that proverbial comforting fire in winter, recalling the night that she saved him from his literal fire. There it was, Jane's incredible look that could peer directly into his spirit without really seeing it, or so it seemed. Her thoughts kept behind a vail of mystery to him, he must have her answer.

"Edward, can you teach Col. Dent to sing our anthem?"

If only he could send all of his guests out of the room.

"In a moment, Blanche."

Mr. Rochester moved back into his winter state of mind already missing the warmth in her that he is naturally drawn to.

"Miss Eyre, I should very much wish to see this drawing at its completion."

"Yes, sir."

"Don't leave, Jane."

He left his honest desire for her to interpret hoping that she would do so correctly. As he rose to leave her, his arm gently lingered past the hand which made the firebird come to life and up the rest of the arm feeling the bend in it before completely releasing her. Blanche may have noticed. She seemed indignant. He did not care if she was. Walking away, he heard three heavy pencil strokes and her lightly muttered comment of "This bird is ready to fly".

His fear of any kind of departures became a fierce determination to satisfy a tension that must soon be released.