Chapter 3

There was no clamour from the top floor this night, and hoping this would start another period of relative quiet, saving my master the pain of being confronted with his agonizing situation day in, day out, I fell into a pleasant slumber.

But it was not to last, for I had a singularly unpleasant dream. It started out with myself lost on some kind of moor, driving rain soaking my coat, my dress and my bonnet, even my shoes; I was hungry, cold and in terrible agony of the soul, for I had left my master in the middle of the night and I knew would be suffering even as I was suffering myself. Contantly seeing his tortured face before me, feeling his desperate touch upon me, hearing him plead and beg incessantly, I wandered across those cold, wet hills and through soggy valleys for hours, without a hint of my destination and with a growing numbness of body and soul.

Just before I was going to drop with weariness, memories of my master put to rest for a few moments through pure exhaustion, I spied a little house with smoke coming out of the chimney. My last strength sufficed to reach the door, which was standing wide open; from inside, I could hear a baby cry, and I went in quickly to ask shelter of the child's parent.

But there was no-one in the house, except the wailing infant, lying at a safe distance from the blazing fire. Chilled to the bone, I picked up the little baby in its swaddling and sat down in front of the fire, rocking it back and forth until it gurgled contentedly and fell asleep. The fire was a blessing and I relished its warmth, nearly falling asleep myself; until the fire started to smoke unpleasantly, giving off a suffocating stench.

Alarmed by the harsh burn of the fire in my throat, I woke up.

To find myself in my pitch-dark bedroom, smoke tainting the air. A sense of fate crept over me, but it did not overwhelm me, on the contrary, it spurred me into action as nothing ever had before: this was the moment of truth, the moment in which I was destined to save my master from agony and death. Somehow I was certain the woman on the moor had been myself as well, having deserted my master and thereby condemned him to a terrible fate.

There was no time to dress, the air was already foul, the fumes could easily kill a sleeping man, and I did not know where the conflagration was centred; whether Mr Rochester's wife was still out there, roaming the halls in seething anger and mad strength, with just a burning candle as her weapon of revenge or armed with a knife or other dangerous object.

Picking up my ewer as a possible means of defence, but also for its precious content, I marched to my door and with a short prayer I unlocked and opened it, finding the hallway less clogged with smoke than I had feared. This suggested that the smoke originated from above my chamber, which meant the mad woman must have set fire to her own bed before moving downstairs, and I closed my door behind me carefully, listening for sounds.

There were none and strangely, I was not very much afraid, except for my master; I rushed to his room heedless of the danger of meeting his wife on my way there, but his door was still locked, there was no way his face could be mutilated, nor could his bedclothes be on fire. Still, he might yet burn in his bed if I couldn't get him to wake up, there would be no chance to douse him to wakefulness as I had done last time, I couldn't break down the door, he had to unlock it himself.

Heedless of drawing his wife with my racket, I pounded his door, cried out his name.

'For the love of God, Mr Rochester, wake up! The top floor is on fire, wake up!'

There was no reply from his room, but from all around me signs of life were heard. Mrs Fairfax burst into the hall in her dressing gown, hair messed up, face wild.

'Whatever is going on, Miss Eyre? Where is the fire? I smell some smoke, but I see nothing! Where is the master?'

'The fire is upstairs, right above my room, it's already filled up with smoke. The master may be stupefied by smoke, his room is directly below the flames, too. Do you have a key to his room?'

'I have it on my household keyring, it's in my room, I'll get it. You wake Adele and Sophie and send them out!'

Mrs Fairfax was a treasure, I was so bent on my master I would have condemned an innocent child and a blameless maid to a horrible death.

There was no need to wake them, though, my cries of alarm had already taken care of that, and a wild-eyed Sophie ran out of the room as soon as I had opened the unlocked door, proving fear gave incredible strength for frail Sophie was carrying a sleepy Adele on her shoulder and she lost no time but ran straight towards the stairs and safety.

The rest of the staff was housed in a different wing, and I was not going there until my master was awake and safe, but maybe Mrs Fairfax could be persuaded to save them; if indeed they were in danger, for as yet there was only one proven fire, right above my chamber.

Helpless to really do something, I pounded my master's door once more, there was smoke drifting down the hall by now, and I could not see whether that was coming from my room, from the stairs to the third floor, or from my master's room. When Mrs Fairfax returned from her room I would have torn the keys from her elderly and hopelessly slow hand, were it not that there was at least a dozen keys on that ring, and to try them all would cost more time than letting the housekeeper use the right one straight away.

Still it took ages until she had that door unlocked and I could storm in, bringing my ewer as my most trusted friend.

Smoke stung my eyes as I entered the room and I indeed found my master senseless on the bed. Knowing I'd soon be overwhelmed, too, I did not waste time shouting, slapping or pinching, I merely emptied the ewer over his face as I had done months before, with the same result.

Not exactly the same, though, Mr Rochester sat up, but he did not utter fulminations or curses, he merely coughed deeply and looked around him in bewilderment.

'We need to get out, master, the house is on fire!' I cried, and I took his hand and tried to pull him upright. He was incredibly heavy, much too heavy for me to get any movement into him, but he needed to move now or be caught by the fumes again.

'Get up, Edward, now! Get up or die!'

Now I did slap his face, and that brought the desired effect, he got up, leaning on my shoulder heavily, and together we left the smoky room; I smashed the door shut behind us, hoping to buy us some more time.

Mrs Fairfax was still there, she had not been caught in the smoke, yet, but how could she be so foolish as not to flee?

'Get out of the building, Mrs Fairfax, now! Get Leah and John and his wife if you need to do something useful, but do not stand here to be overcome with smoke. Take the keys!'

'But Grace, what will happen to Grace? She's still up there!'

Mrs Fairfax was distraught, and could not be trusted to do anything right, I would have to bring my master out myself, then go back in and wake the other servants. Mrs Poole I had given up on, she was up there where the fire had started, with a dangerous woman who would not hesitate to attack me on sight. I was not going to risk my life for a woman who was most likely already dead or dying, or in a stupor of intoxication, immobile whichever way, and too heavy for me to carry her.

'I will get Grace, and my wife, Jane; dear Jane, you saved my life again.'

My master had revived a lot in the clearer air of the hall, and now he was planning to go up there! It was foolishness, and he knew it!

'Don't do it, master, come with us, whoever is still up there is lost, with so much smoke in our rooms the fire must be all over the top floor. Please come with us!'

'Dear Jane, I cannot let them die in agony. Let me hold you once more, you bravest of maidens, and then you'll take Mrs Fairfax out, and Leah, and John and his wife. Then stay outside Jane, I want you safe most of all. Promise me!'

I did not promise him anything, but I did hold him for a few seconds, my love, my Edward. If he went up there I'd never see him again. I drew breath for one last plea, but my dear master kissed me, and said with determination, 'Go now, Jane, and I'll meet you outside.'

I could not refuse him, I had been an independent woman for less than a week, I had obeyed him much longer, and I could not let Mrs Fairfax die here while we argued; therefore I dragged her with me as fast as she could move, down the stairs, through the hall, out to the front.

Back in, to the other wing, where the other servants were housed, fortunately on the ground floor. I found their chambers empty, the doors loose and open, someone had already warned them and gotten them out.

In front of the house I found Sophie and Adele, wrapped up in a horse-blanket, someone had brought a whole stack of them and I saw John wrapping Mrs Fairfax in one. Rain was pouring down but no-one seemed to notice. I was happy to accept a blanket myself.

Mrs Poole was also out there, how had she escaped the conflagration? And why was my master still inside if everyone belonging to the house was safe, though exposed to the elements?

By now, a lot of racket from the village proved the fire-crew was on its way.

As if in response, a great howl rose from the top of the building, and together with all the inmates of the house I looked up towards the noise, peering through the downpour. It was Mr Rochester's wife, standing on the battlements of the roof, a precarious balance, a solid shape against the licking flames of the fire, her garment the same white as it had been in my dream but without the spots of blood, and dripping wet.

As we looked at her, she looked down on us and let out another great howl. The others involuntarily took a step back, but I was not afraid of this woman anymore, in my dream she had been eye to eye with me, and threatening me with a knife; this woman was four stories away from me, she could not reach me, though she might want to very badly, for I was certain she knew me and hated me.

And indeed, so great was her hatred of me, that before Mr Rochester was anywhere to be seen, his mad wife went for his supposed mistress' throat. From four stories up. She launched herself at me as she had done with the knife, and this time there was no strong arm to stop her, hair and dress fluttering she came right at me, increasing speed with every storey she passed.

Despite the gruesomeness of the whole scene, the certainty she would smash to a bloody death on the flagstones of the courtyard, I was not afraid at all, but merely fascinated with the shape hurtling towards me.

When it became clear she would indeed strike me down in a heartbeat or two, I deliberately took a few steps backwards, her fate was sealed but I was not going to let her take me with her. I still had a destiny to fulfil, I had to save the man I loved, my dear Edward.

Even before Mrs Edward Rochester, né Bertha Mason, fell to her death on the cold hard stone of Thornfield's courtyard, I was on my way back in, there was no doubt left in me, this was my task, the reason I had not fled my master after he had betrayed me, and urged me to lower myself for him.

The large entrance-hall was still free of smoke, the stairs weren't dangerous yet. But the hallway to both our bedrooms had gotten much worse, not as bad as the bedrooms but it was no longer safe to be there, and I coughed as I ran its entire length towards the door hidden behind the tapestry. I tore it from the wall and flung it from me, anger at Mr Rochester's foolishness giving me strength. Why? Why had he wanted to save his wife at the cost of his own life? She was dead now anyway, nothing could have saved her.

Running was no longer possible, nothing could survive here for long, the smoke was thick and it hurt my throat. Still I moved on doggedly, and when I had reached the top I cried out once, 'Master, your wife has jumped and Grace Poole is safe! Come out now!'

I paid for that with a veritable attack of coughing, but it was not for nothing, for from the blanket of smoke in front of me, my beloved's shape was released.

He embraced me, and I felt a need to excuse myself for not doing as he had told me, but he whispered hoarsely, 'Don't talk, my dear Jane, we'll need our breath to get out. Come.'

I wanted to take his hand, but he shied back from my touch, and only now I could see he was badly burned in various places, most notably in his face, and likely the hand I had wanted to take.

That first flight of stairs was narrow and pretty easy to traverse, even in thick smoke, but once we got out of that the hallway broadened, and it got hard to find the right way.

My master was not well, he coughed a lot, and he could not keep up with me; I tried his other hand, and he let me take that, therefore I guessed it was unharmed. He followed me past my own room, now most likely a blazing inferno; the smoke was thicker here and sparks were flying.

There was not much time left, somehow I was sure of that, I could hear crackling noises from the right side of the hall where our rooms were, I guessed the fire was about to break through the walls towards the hall, or maybe the roof over our heads was at the point of collapse.

My Edward, here at the brink of death I allowed myself to call him that, was progressing ever slower, he had little breath left in him, and he must have hurt more than a little, but I was ruthless and pulled him ahead as firmly as I could, hoping he wouldn't stumble and fall.

But my determination seemed to give him some extra strength, and we made our way more quickly now, soon we were past the point where there were burning rooms over our head, then we reached the stairs and we were outside.

My master collapsed, and by now I was heaving for breath myself.

The fresh air did nothing to revive me, the last thing I remembered was everything starting to spin, and then a nothingness.

When I woke up, my throat hurt. I was lying in a spotless bed in a room I did not recognise, the furniture was old-fashioned but whole and clean, and the room was empty of all people but me. With a shock I remembered last night, the fire, Mr Rochester, out cold with burns all over.

My exclamation of fear for my beloved ended in a fit of coughing, and someone entered the room instantly, a handsome man with dark hair and friendly brown eyes whom I recognised as Mr Carter, the surgeon.

'Miss Eyre, you're awake! Try not to talk, your throat and lungs are burned, they will take time to heal. You're a real hero, saving your master and many of the servants. What is it, Miss Eyre? I can see you're dying to speak, keep it short, then.'

'My master, how is he?'

'I will not hide the truth from you, Miss Eyre, for you have proven to be a strong sort of person. Mr Rochester is in the room next to this one, he is alive and conscious, but his lungs are in a worse state than yours, and he has extensive burns. He will need to be kept quiet for weeks, maybe even months, and the burns will scar, even if they don't infect they'll cause him a lot of pain.'

'Can I see him?'

'Generally, I would say no, you need rest, he needs his rest, but I cannot refuse such a hero anything, and he shouldn't talk, but looks in dire need of something. I guess it may be you. Can you stand?'

I could, rather well, actually. Beside the hurt in my throat and a slight lack of breath I felt fine. The doctor supported me to another room next to mine, with a large four-poster bed in the same style as my smaller one, in which I soon discerned the bulky shape of my beloved master, seemingly fast asleep.

But as soon as we crossed the threshold his eyes flew open and he tried to cry out. Hardly any sound came out of his poor throat and Dr Carter berated my dearly beloved master in a friendly tone, 'Mr Rochester, you really should not try to speak. Your lungs and throat need rest, or you will stay infirm for a long time.'

I wanted to hold my master and hug him, but didn't dare, not merely because of the bandages that undoubtedly covered terrible burns, but also because the surgeon was still standing there, watching our every move. But the instant that thought crossed my mind, the dear man turned away and walked towards the door, saying, 'I'll leave you by yourselves for a few moments, but remember, no talking!'

This time it was my turn to sit on the bed beside my master, and he gave me his good hand to hold. The other one was bandaged, as was at least half his face, and most of the rest of his head. I couldn't see his body, he was covered with a clean sheet, and where he was not bandaged, his black hair had been shaved off, a few smaller burns visible between the stubble.

He was in pain, I could see that from the glazed look in his one visible eye, and he did not even try to speak, instead he let his face speak for him. Relief and intense love softened the sharpened features of pain.

'I'm quite well, sir. Did they tell you your wife died? And that the rest escaped unhurt, even Mrs Poole?'

He nodded sadly.

'You could not have saved her, dear master. No, don't speak, it will keep. I love you.'

When a quick look found the room still empty, I kissed him on his lips, and was glad to see him relish my sign of affection. I wished nothing more than to stay with him, but after twenty minutes of just being together in silence his eyes started to droop, and the surgeon came in. Had he been watching us?

'It's time for you to get some sleep as well, Miss Eyre, your lungs have suffered, too. You've been very good, talking very little, keeping him from talking. You may see him again as often as you wish and can handle physically; Mrs Fairfax has hired a male nurse on my recommendation, to take care of Mr Rochester, your master will need to stay inactive and undergo regular treatments to keep his burns from going bad. He may not leave the bed for at least a week, but more likely two. Of course I will be visiting regularly.'

I did not want to leave my master, I wanted to be there for him when he woke up, I wanted to watch him sleep, to soothe him when he was in pain, hold his undamaged hand and tell him everything would be all right; but I could not, I had no right to him, he had been widowed in the most gruesome way possible not even a whole day ago.

As I obediently followed Mr Carter back to my own room, my clouded mind was still stuck in the old routine: hide your love for your master or you will become his mistress and lose your freedom. But Mr Carter was a young doctor from Millcote, a blooming industrial town, a new age had already begun and he was part of it; he worked towards a goal and anything that could help him achieve it, he would use.

'Mr Rochester needs to be kept calm, Miss Eyre,' he said to me, 'and he will be in a lot of pain for weeks. He is not the kind to submit to mere staff, which is keeping me from my duties elsewhere; I'm afraid he'll disobey my instructions and talk or leave his bed as soon as I am gone from his side, doing himself irreparable harm. With your permission I'll have the nurse watch your master and wake you if he needs your help to soothe his patient. Mr Rochester seems to obey you instantly.'

Yes, please! I'd sleep so much easier if I knew my dear master would not have to spend a waking minute without me by his bedside.

'Your nurse may wake me as soon as Mr Rochester shows signs of pain or waking up. I don't want my master to be alone, or in distress, but you are right, I need sleep, too.'

And so that day, for a new day it was, a typical fall day with rain beating the window, was mostly to be spent sleeping, by myself and Mr Rochester both. Yet how lucky we had both been to see it, we could so easily have died. And with the friendly surgeon tucking me in with surprising gentleness, I was soon lost to sleep.

For three days I saw no-one but my master and the hired attendant, a plain, pleasant man in his thirties who introduced himself as Miller. Mr Carter did step by to check up on Mr Rochester, but the nurse was obviously capable of working autonomously; he did not take orders from Mr Carter as far as I could tell, they seemed to discuss the matters at hand as equals.

Mrs Fairfax, Adele, the servants, they were all kept well away from their master, who would indeed have hated for his staff to see him in his sorry state.

Though I was as good as recovered after one day of resting, Mr Carter practically begged me to stay close, for as expected, my master was a troublesome patient. He was not well enough to take care of himself, but clearly not weak enough to let anyone take care of him with any semblance of grace. Anyone but me, that is.

From the moment Mr Carter left to see his other patients the very first time, signing the immediate care for Mr Rochester over to the hired nurse, that very capable man nonetheless did not hesitate to fetch me whenever Mr Rochester woke up; my master was sure to want to leave his bed, or ask details of what had happened, or object to any treatment the surgeon and Miller thought necessary.

But Mr Rochester never got the chance, for as soon as I entered the room, his poor, damaged face would light up and he'd calm down; I would soothe his frustrations, and facilitate his treatments, he would lie back against his pillows and let me be in charge.

During treatment I could assess the damage the fire had done in every gruesome and painful detail. There was a large burn all over the left side of his face, including the lid of his left eye. It was excruciatingly painful and usually covered with a clean bandage, as were the burns scattered over the rest of his head, where his raven hair had been shaven. His left hand was burned as badly, which made the treatments so important, for if the burns were to go bad, he might lose the use of that hand, or even the hand itself.

After the first day, which I spent sleeping, I took to sitting on my master's bed, constantly by his side. It was no hardship for me to be close to him, and he was much calmer with my constant presence. I would have preferred to sleep next to him as well, but I dared not offer. Though intensely glad to have me around, he did not seem about to ask me to marry him, and I still valued my dignity and decency.

Whenever I dared to offer him an intimacy, a kiss, or a gentle stroking of some unhurt part of his face, or his hand, or the black stubble growing back in, he relished my touch, but he did not return my affection. I cannot deny this hurt me, to have the object of my dearest, most tender affection so close and no longer burdened by an unwanted marriage, and still to receive no encouragement, no offer for my hand, if he hadn't been in such a painful and potentially dangerous condition I would have seriously considered leaving him for a few weeks.

But as it was, I could not, I could not let Miller cope by himself; he was very precise and very thorough, but he was of a sensitive nature, and even in his current state Mr Rochester would have run right over the poor fellow. My master would have left his bed, gone outside to assess the damage to his house, ordered a work-crew to repair the fire-ravaged wing before winter set in. He would not have let the competent but gentle nurse hurt him really badly twice a day to clean the burns thoroughly, then bandage them afresh.

In my hands Mr Rochester still melted, he would obey me without question and hold my hand and bite a clean cloth while his burns were treated. I could not bear to see the horrid burns all over the man I loved, so I concentrated on his person instead. My master's face would turn black with rage, or distort in agony, a frightening spectacle even for me, but I knew he could never hurt me, I knew I was safe. I wouldn't have vouched for Miller's continued health without my presence, my master's wild nature seemed closer than ever, strengthened by his inability to speak.

For me, my master would suffer himself to be washed, he would even use the chamberpot to spare himself the walk; he had to avoid exertion because his lungs were still in a bad way, he had trouble breathing and had been warned against talking or coughing.

A week went by in which I spent my time either sleeping in my own room, or caring for Mr Rochester in his chamber. I took my meals with him, coaxing him to eat the bland stuffs Miller judged safe for him to swallow; I read to him, since he couldn't hold a book yet with his burned left hand, and by now I was allowed to talk again, my situation having improved quickly.

I ached to hold him and kiss him, but the only moments he sought my closeness were in the presence of the nurse, those moments when he really needed the solace of my touch to bear the hurt, or maybe he was merely afraid to do something to the hired help if not distracted by my gentle touch.

Though afraid of rejection I ached to ask him why he was so distant, why he had stopped holding me once the worst of the pain had receded. But after that first time, when he called out my name in joy of seeing me alive, no words had passed his lips, not to ask how things were in the house, not to vent his anger or his pain, not to whisper endearments to me, though he had been so free with them at a time when they were forbidden. It was getting harder and harder not to show my growing dejection at his distant attitude.

Then after one week, the surgeon pronounced him out of immediate danger. The burns were closed far enough to no longer need such a rigorous regime of cleaning, though they were by no means healed or painless. Mr Rochester was allowed to get up and use the privy and wash and groom himself, and best of all, he could speak again, but with moderation.

I helped him dress, and he sat on the bed to receive the chief of police from Millcote, who confirmed his wife's death a suicide. There had been plenty of witnesses who had seen her jump.

The chief of the fire-brigade followed, he told Mr Rochester how there had been several fires on the top floor of the house, but none below. With the help of the driving rain of autumn they had managed to save most of the house, though the roof, the top floor and his and my room below that would need extensive repairs.

After that, my master was tired, though he had said but little.

But still he insisted on seeing Mrs Fairfax as she reported on the state of affairs in the house. Mrs Poole had stayed until after the internment of Mrs Rochester's remains, after which she had left for her own house. Her job at Thornfield had come to an end. Adele and Sophie, and Mrs Fairfax herself, now had a room in the same wing as where we were lodged, but on a different floor, to give the master his rest. For the other servants, nothing much had changed.

Everything in our rooms had burned, furniture, clothing, personal effects, there was nothing left. I was glad my portfolio and drawing-materials were kept in the library, nothing else I possessed had value to me, though I needed some decent clothes badly.

Mrs Fairfax could see that Mr Rochester was not well and she took her leave rather quickly, certain to speak to the master again soon now he was out of danger. Before she left the room, she embraced me and whispered, 'I'm so glad you're all right, Miss Eyre; you saved my life and the master's. Please come down sometimes, Adele misses you, and I want to make an appointment with the seamstress for you.'

She was such a good lady, with a loving heart and still always practical.

After she was gone, my master had no energy left in him. He was heaving for breath, his face spoke his agony clearly, and there was something else torturing him. My resentment of the last few days melted and I sat on the bed next to him and helped him to lie down on his pillow.

'Do you want me to call Miller to help you undress, sir?' I asked.

He shook his head, apparently he hadn't kept from speaking by will alone, it must hurt to speak. Still he managed a few words, but they did sound decidedly husky.

'Will you hold me, Jane?'

There was nothing I wanted to do more, so I prepared to sit close to him and have his head in my lap, stroke his hair, and his unhurt cheek. But then he looked at me with a plea in his eyes; not like that, he wanted me to really hold him, and since that was what I wanted to do even more, I didn't think, but laid down beside him and took him in my arms altogether.

By now, I knew exactly where the burns were, on his body as well, so I avoided touching those spots, and held him against me as if this was our last time together. Tears threatened, and I let them fall, I had been brave for a long time, I just couldn't anymore.

'Oh my poor, dear Jane, this last week has been so hard on you.'

He still sounded husky, but not as if talking hurt. More as if he was affected, very much so.

This time it wasn't me giving comfort to a man in agony, he was holding me, and I snuggled against him and indulged in a good cry.

'Thank you so much for saving my life, Janet, and for everything you did for me this week. I have not been a good patient, I know, I have given you a very hard time. But I'm nearly better now, and then you can finally do what your heart tells you to, be free, and live you own life.'

That didn't help. Why didn't he just tell me he loved me, and asked me to marry him, so we could be together forever? Didn't he want someone as his wife who had at some time browbeat him into eating sick people's food? Had I crushed his love for me by forcing him to accept the surgeon's instructions? What had I done wrong to make him stop loving me? How could such passion as he had felt for me be quenched?

I buried my face in his shirt and coat, and let him pet me and soothe me.

'It's not as bad as you think, Jane.'

His voice was mild, loving.

'You think you love me a great deal, but you've never met any other gentleman besides me. And I'm old, Jane, you deserve someone better, you're young, and rich, you can do better than a scarred old man who wheezes when he has to climb a stairs.

Carter tells me it will get better, but what if it doesn't? I knew I'd be hideously maimed, Jane, I felt the pain of those burns right there, in my face. But I never saw the real damage until a few hours ago, when I dressed myself and looked in the mirror. It was even worse than I imagined.'

Was that it? Was that all the reason he had been withdrawing himself from me for the whole week? That he would be scarred? That he might not regain his former strength?

All this pain, because he wanted to be handsome and thought I should think the same way?

How would I ever get it into his great, big, thick-skulled head that I had a right to make my own decisions? I'd make him suffer for a change!

For a few moments, he must have thought his reasoning effective, for my tears dried instantly, and I lifted my head to look at him really well. To me he seemed still the same man, unforgiving, stern, not handsome, no. But neither was I, and I didn't think myself unworthy of love because of that. I deserved Mr Rochester's love, and he deserved mine. And inside that unyielding figure of a man so much had changed. His had already been a loving heart, and a faithful soul, but he had been so used to have his way. No more, he who had once held total sway over me, had bent to my will, several times a day, as he would not have for any other living creature. No, the apparel of Edward Fairfax Rochester might have been blighted, the innermost part of him was more suitable to be a loving husband than ever before. He was mine, as he would soon find out.

He really hated his own looks, that much was clear, for he wilted under my steady gaze; it broke my heart but I was not going to show him that. We were going to be married, and I was going to be very happy, as happy as he would be once he realised I didn't care what he looked like on the outside. But for now, I was going to show him he did not get to decide for me anymore; he was no longer my master, I was an independent, wealthy woman, and I was going to enter our marriage as an equal.

Still looking him straight in the eye, I took hold of his jaws, as I had done before, firm on the unscathed side, careful on the burned cheek. And then I kissed him as he had kissed me only once before, on the night after our false marriage-ceremony, when he begged me to live with him in sin, and I didn't have the will to resist anymore.

Stunned, he answered that kiss, indeed gave himself up to me as he had learned to do, fire awakening slowly in the depths of those dark orbs, so precious to me that I had risked my decency and my freedom to preserve them. And when the passion in them had reached a certain point, and I had to break off that kiss for fear of starving his suffering lungs of air, I released his jaws, sat up beside him, and dryly posed him a question.

'Since you seem reasonably able to talk, Edward, will you tell me what happened? Did you find your wife, did she flee from you, were you still debilitated by the smoke when you went up there?'

He did not understand, did not understand at all. Suddenly I called him by his Christian name, and asked to tell a story when I had just kissed him like never before? What did it mean?

He did not demand an explanation as he would have a week ago. Did he understand intuitively that our roles had changed? That he could no longer demand of me? Or was he still too weak to protest? Only time would tell. For now, he gave in to my will, but he must have understood some of my game for he did not hesitate to lay his head in my lap; nor did he refuse to relish my stroking of his stubble both of cheek and head as he talked.

'When I went upstairs, I was not entirely sane, the smoke had affected me or I would have left the house with the both of you. But for whatever reason I felt responsible for Mrs Poole and for Bertha, somehow I knew you would be fine. You are so strong, Jane, I never doubted you would get everyone else out and save yourself. I did underestimate you, for I expected you to obey me and stay outside; which I'm glad you didn't, or I would have died horribly, or have been hurt much worse.'

Here, he had to catch his breath for a few moments, and I wondered whether I was asking too much of him. But he continued, if slower, and less eloquent.

'I went up, got lost in the smoke, couldn't find anyone, not even an exit. Part of the support of the roof collapsed and hit me, burning my face and hand, and other places.

I never saw Bertha and knew it was pointless to be there, when you called out. Reaching you was difficult, I couldn't see, I couldn't breathe, everything hurt. But I managed, and you got me out. Thank you, Jane, for saving my life once again.'

'Can you afford to rebuild?'

'The question is, do I want to? The curse of Thornfield is removed, but will I have a reason to stay here? Shouldn't I just board the place up and move to London? So many bad memories attached to the house; don't you hate the very sight of it, Jane? You've been miserable here.'

'But I've been very happy here, too, Edward. Haven't you? Don't you want to make new, better memories here?'

Again, he was puzzled by my reply. What did I mean, did I want him to stay here with me, or did I want him to stay by himself, hide out in the country?

'You're right, society will taunt me now, I'm blighted, they respected my name, and my fortune, but barely. Maybe I should stay here. I do have some good memories here. Riding together. Will you keep riding, Jane?'

I almost felt sorry for him, but I was not going to budge and profess my love again, he knew I loved him, and if he chose to distrust me, that was his problem to solve. I kept my answer purposely vague.

'I certainly plan to.'

'You can afford it now.'

This was getting him nowhere, not without asking the only pertinent question. He changed tactics, became personal.

'Do my scars bother you, Jane?'

That was a really tough question for him to ask. How could he love such a plain woman, and worry about his own looks? I would never understand the workings of my dear Edward's mind. I liked the fact that he wasn't handsome, it made me feel less lacking, somehow.

'Yes, Edward, I hate to see you suffering. Every time I see those scars I will be reminded of your pain when they were still burns; I will see Miller clean them while you nearly bite your tongue in agony, unable to scream to let the pain out.'

This entire process was tiring him out, he was not going to ask; he would let me care for him until he was better, and then I'd have to leave, for I could not be his dependant anymore. I could no longer obey his orders, and besides, I was wealthy, I no longer had to work for a living.

'But that is not what I meant, Jane.'

My dear Edward swallowed hugely, and came right out with it.

'What I meant is, do my scars disgust you? Can you bear to look at me like this?'

And very faintly the most important question but one, 'Can you still love me?'

Of course I was going to give him relief, but not just yet. He was tired, but not exhausted, and I had not given him even one reason to doubt me. So I looked at him, I studied his face for a long time, every feature was so dear to me that I had unwittingly sketched him from memory while at Gateshead. The burn scar was already part of that, though his shaven head with the black stubble still gave me a little tug on my heart-strings each time I saw it.

Nor could I resist it this time, I just had to reach out and stroke the tightly packed short hairs on the top of his head. Then my hand followed the contours of his skull down, carefully avoiding the still-sensitive burns, healed over but not yet scars, not really.

'I can, Edward. Both look at you and love you. You have no idea how much I love you, or you wouldn't doubt me.'

'I'm sorry, Jane, I should have had the faith in you that you have always given me. Despite my surliness, my mean games, my betrayal. I hope it is not too late for me to finally start trusting you with my life. And to start earning your trust in me. Jane, will you marry me?'

'I will, dear Edward, with all my heart. I want nothing but to be with you, I have never been happier than spending the summer with you and I don't want that to end. But Edward...'

He looked up at my serious tone.

'..I will not obey you anymore, so we will fight.'

That gained me a tight embrace, too tight for the state of him, and a passionate kiss.

I dare confess that we did indulge in some indecencies then, Miller generally came in only at certain times, he still seemed a bit afraid of Edward's moods, and no-one else ever entered that room unannounced.

We did nothing truly bad, my beloved was in no state to work up a real passion, and since we had decided we'd get a special licence as soon as Edward was well enough to go to town, we wouldn't have to wait long to finally be able to seal our love. I was not going to enter a church in a wedding-dress again for any amount of money; I guess it was no different for him, our marriage was going to be a mere formality, since our souls had been one from the start.

But at that very moment, I wanted nothing more than lie on my beloved's chest, enveloped in his strong arms; kiss and nuzzle his throat and relish that exciting, secret scent I didn't exactly remember, but couldn't seem to forget either. Edward was mostly very calm, his passion did not flare up, he seemed to be enjoying his ultimate triumph over fate and misfortune.

'So you're not going to call me Mr Rochester or master ever again?'

He asked this with humour, as if it pleased him. I didn't feel like talking at all, I was so nice and comfortable and lazy; but talking still cost him an effort, so I decided I had to make an effort myself.

'I am not. Does that bother you? I'll call you beloved, darling, sweetheart, my dear, any number of pet names. But I am no longer yours to command, and those titles give you power over me.'

'It does not bother me at all, I've been waiting for years for someone to call my bluff, but no-one ever did. I knew you were the best chance I had, but your dependence on me prevented your growth. I am very thankful to your uncle John for making you your own woman. I can see now why you'd want your cousins to have that, though you've never met.

Do they know you cannot visit for a while? For you'll not leave me until I'm totally cured, will you? I'm still in pain, you see, I cannot bear it without your support.'

He obviously meant that, the very idea affected him, and I decided to tease him a little, I was his, there was no need for melancholy anymore.

'I wouldn't dare leave you here by yourself, you'd boss poor Miller half to death, and then your burns would go bad after all, and your lungs would inflame, and I'd return to an invalid. No, I'm going to protect my catch, maybe I'll take you with me, make it our honeymoon. I've always wanted to see London, and I'm certain you know the best spots.'

'And the worst, dear Jane.'

But I could see he was glad I was staying, and so was I.

'I'll write them, I'm sure they'll understand. Do the burns hurt? Or are your lungs bothering you still?'

'Both, my love, but as long as you are with me, pain is nothing. Tomorrow, we're going to... I'm sorry, let me rephrase. I plan to inspect the damage the fire did, tomorrow, to get an idea what is needed to get us a roof over our heads before winter truly sets in. Do you care to join me? I wish to make us a whole new bedroom where our old rooms used to be.'

'So we're staying?'

'Dear Jane, we can go anywhere you like. London, Scotland, though I assure you it's generally nasty and wet, France, Italy, Germany, even the Indies. But personally, I'd like to take your advice and make a lot of happy memories here, first. Do you think it can be done in winter?'

'I do, and I'm coming with you tomorrow. Mostly to keep an eye on you, but I have wondered how bad the damage is.'