I am caught! Too late! Too late!
Startled, I remembered my place. I cleared my throat, dashed my tears and attempted to leave his tight embrace, but Mr. Rochester would not release me.
"Is it you? I can scarcely believe it is really you. I searched for day..." he rambled, drifting into incoherence, grasping at me tighter.
"It is I, sir," I stated, firmly – comfortingly, I hoped.
"Are you well? How have you been? Where have you been?" he demanded, his eyes becoming wilder. His grasping hands were clammy and I felt his forehead – it was burning hot.
"I have been well, though, I daresay, you are not. You're shaking and burning up. You've over exerted yourself too quickly. Sit down."
I led him to his chair. He sat down, but clung to my hand like a frightened child.
"Let me go, sir – only for a moment," I reassured him. "I'm going to stoke the fire, then call Leah for a glass of water. You've had enough brandy. Are you hungry? I shall ask for some supper as well, if you like."
"Leah is not here, Jane," he said. "Nor Mrs. Fairfax, or a great deal of the servants."
I turned in concern from stirring the ashes on the hearth. Had they all left after she had been revealed? I felt the weight of my own abandonment grow heavier.
"Adele?" I asked, timidly, not wanting to ask about his – her, yet.
"At school – sent as was planned to be after the wed– " he stopped.
"Who is here?"
"It is only George and Mary now – and Grace," he added, bitingly.
He had no one. I had left him with no one.
"I will call for Mary, sir – you must have something."
Before he could protest, I rang for a servant and Mary appeared. She was not a little surprised to see me, I suppose, but did not remark on it and presently returned with my request of water and a small supper.
Mr. Rochester and I enjoyed most of the meal in a cordial silence. He asked me about my absence repeatedly, and I gave up a brief answer – I had been staying with family.
"But you have no family, Jane," he stated, raising his brow in surprise. I told him I had found them – not elaborating on how, I did not wish to cause him more distress and pain – and described Diana, Mary and St. John and the tale of our discovered connection.
"And yet you leave this family to come back to a foolish old man, who resides in a ruined household, with only a few servants and a lunatic?" he said with a sad smile. "You would leave behind such friends?"
I did not know how I would or could help – only that something had brought me back to Thornfield and that I could not leave until I had figured out why I felt compelled to return. I could stay, as a helpmate and housekeeper, until I figured out what that was. I saw an opening to make my proposition – one that, if it wasn't the answer, would at least put me near him for the present.
"I should like to be near another friend," I replied.
Grace does not hold me forever and I run. I run back to her and will make her listen. I hope I am not too late!
"Sir, you cannot care for all this yourself," I said, placing a hand on his shoulder in comfort.
"It is my cross to bear – we were all born to strive and endure, were we not?" he said, repeating words I had told him at our last meeting, not with a little bitterness.
"Friends can help each other to strive and endure," I argued, not ready to give into his despair.
"Help how, Jane? As a nursemaid to a lunatic?" he spat out venomously.
This was the second time he had spoken of her thus. I felt it was not right.
"You should not hate not her so, sir," I said, turning from him. "She cannot help being mad."
He did not reply.
"She does not deserve blame," I said again, staring into the fire. "She should not be despised."
"I have missed you, Jane," I heard him say in a broken whisper.
I turned to him from where I had been staring at the fire in silence for some time. The resigned grief and despair I saw on his face, the dead look in his eyes – the light gone as though his entire world had been engulfed in shadows – tore at my heart like a wild animal.
"I could stay with you, sir – as a friend, to help you, care for you," I said, going to him and taking his outstretched hand, not mentioning Bertha again.
The simple contact sent a curious thrill down my spine and into the pit of my stomach, where it settled uneasily, a tightly wound spring.
"Or, I could find some occupation nearby – perhaps teaching in the village," I continued, looking for distraction of this glorious tension.
But he did not respond, only continued to brush his thumb feather-light and rough across the inside of my wrist, staring at our hands entwined in the dim light.
"I have missed you, my Jane," he whispered again, pulling me still closer, claiming my other hand and looking up at me under drawn brows.
The air grew stifling, heavy. The fire had grown much to hot. I should send for someone to tend it.
But there was no one but me. And him. And her.
"You will not leave again?" His gaze was tender, pleading, inescapable.
"No, sir."