Author's Note: I just wanted to thank everyone for their feedback. It's interesting to read about the different takes people have on this story. As for all the "why's" and "where's," I promise they will actually all be answered at different points of the story. :o)
Chapter 6: Struggling for Eyre
By now, Jane must have had a lead over her husband. As he was mounting his horse, Rochester wasn't even sure where to look for his wife. Where would Jane go? What would she do? She had never been the kind of woman who met friends to gossip and chat and drink tea. So she did not have that kind of friends. She had always spent all her time with her family or herself (while reading, painting, sewing etc.) Jane was a loving mother, a virtuous wife, and a diligent woman. She was all a man could ever wish for. At least in Rochester's eyes she was all that and more.
But Jane Rochester was still very much Jane Eyre, whether she liked it or not. She was independent and restless. Although she had always longed for a home and family, her mind was still always travelling. He saw it in her eyes. Edward had feared that her time with him was just another chapter in the book that was her life. Just temporary, and over as soon as the page was turned.
Rochester had reached the gate by now. Which way should he take? He looked left, then right. Turning right would take him to town. Turning left would take him farther into the countryside. What would Jane Rochester do? Disguise herself? Become just another face in the crowd? Leave but still be near what she loves most? He turned right.
But no, this was wrong. What would she want in town? He turned around and took the other way. But this was where they had come from in the first place. Her past life was down that road. He stopped and sighed.
"I don't know", he said.
A light breeze caressed his face and raised a smile. It is amazing how easily a gentle breeze refreshes the mind.
"What would Jane Eyre do?", Rochester whispered and turned once more, just to ride back to the house. Quickly, he got off the horse and into the house. An idea had taken possession of his mind.
"You are already back?", Mary inquired desperately. "Now, we've just put away din…"
"Thank you!", Rochester cut her off. "Do not bother! I am not hungry. Let the children have some. I am fine."
"Yes, sir."
Off she went.
"What would Jane Eyre do?", Edward repeated in a low voice, while heading for Jane's parlour.
There was the armchair he had sat in while she had read to him. Well…and…done other things with him. He could not help but grin foolishly. Then, however, his eyes focused on the desk. He crossed the room. Perfectly stacked and—as he found out a moment later—neatly arranged, lay the most recent chapters of Jane Eyre's autobiography.
"So then", he said. "What would you do?"
And he took the pages and read. How she had come to the conclusion that she had to leave him. How she had departed. How she had wandered around aimlessly. With no destination but "away." Away from the tempting but desolate life she had been offered. Away from the passionate but doomed love. Away from that beloved but destructive force that had been her master. It was all in there. At first, Edward just searched the pages for his name and revelled in every passage that contained a reference to him.
…My rest might have been blissful enough, only a sad heart broke it. It plained of its gaping wounds, its inward bleeding, its riven chords. It trembled for Mr. Rochester and his doom; it bemoaned him with bitter pity; it demanded him with ceaseless longing; and, impotent as a bird with both wings broken, it still quivered its shattered pinions in vain attempts to seek him.
"I shall wait my whole life for you if I must", he declared. His mouth suddenly felt strangely dry.
Worn out with this torture of thought, I rose to my knees. Night was come, and her planets were risen: a safe, still night: too serene for the companionship of fear. We know that God is everywhere; but certainly we feel His presence most when His works are on the grandest scale spread before us; and it is in the unclouded night-sky, where His worlds wheel their silent course, that we read clearest His infinitude, His omnipotence, His omnipresence. I had risen to my knees to pray for Mr. Rochester. Looking up, I, with tear-dimmed eyes, saw the mighty Milky-way. Remembering what it was—what countless systems there swept space like a soft trace of light—I felt the might and strength of God. Sure was I of His efficiency to save what He had made: convinced I grew that neither earth should perish, nor one of the souls it treasured. I turned my prayer to thanksgiving: the Source of Life was also the Saviour of spirits. Mr. Rochester was safe; he was God's, and by God would he be guarded. I again nestled to the breast of the hill; and ere long in sleep forgot sorrow.
"Oh Jane", Edward said his eyes flooded with tears. "Do not pray for me. Pray only for yourself."
…In all likelihood, though, I should die before morning. And why cannot I reconcile myself to the prospect of death? Why do I struggle to retain a valueless life? Because I know, or believe, Mr. Rochester is living: and then, to die of want and cold is a fate to which nature cannot submit passively. Oh, Providence! sustain me a little longer! Aid!—direct me!"
He could hardly bear the thought of her dying. No. But Jane Eyre was strong. She would not die. Never. Rochester read these passages again and again. Then he went back to the beginning of that chapter and read all of it. All the detailed descriptions of her suffering, her starving, her despair, forced him to sit down in the armchair. He rang for a servant and demanded a glass of wine and a glass of water. He would need it.
Reader, it is not pleasant to dwell on these details. Some say there is enjoyment in looking back to painful experience past; but at this day I can scarcely bear to review the times to which I allude: the moral degradation, blent with the physical suffering, form too distressing a recollection ever to be willingly dwelt on. I blamed none of those who repulsed me. I felt it was what was to be expected, and what could not be helped: an ordinary beggar is frequently an object of suspicion; a well-dressed beggar inevitably so. To be sure, what I begged was employment; but whose business was it to provide me with employment? Not, certainly, that of persons who saw me then for the first time, and who knew nothing about my character. And as to the woman who would not take my handkerchief in exchange for her bread, why, she was right, if the offer appeared to her sinister or the exchange unprofitable. Let me condense now. I am sick of the subject.
He drank the wine.
…I could not hope to get a lodging under a roof, and sought it in the wood I have before alluded to. But my night was wretched, my rest broken: the ground was damp, the air cold: besides, intruders passed near me more than once, and I had again and again to change my quarters; no sense of safety or tranquillity befriended me. Towards morning it rained; the whole of the following day was wet. Do not ask me, reader, to give a minute account of that day; as before, I sought work; as before, I was repulsed; as before, I starved; but once did food pass my lips. At the door of a cottage I saw a little girl about to throw a mess of cold porridge into a pig trough. "Will you give me that?" I asked…
This was the climax. A pang of exquisite suffering—a throe of true despair—rent and heaved his heart. Worn out, indeed, he was; not another word could he bear. He sank into the chair: He groaned—he wrung his hands—he wept in utter anguish. Alas, this isolation—this banishment from his kind! Not only the anchor of hope, but the footing of fortitude was gone.
***
Exhausted, Jane sat down in the grass, under a tree. She had been running for at least 30 minutes and needed to catch her breath. She looked back. She could not see a soul. Nobody was following her. Where was she? She wasn't sure. She had not taken the road. Instead, she had crossed it, crossed the fields behind it and run off into the wilderness.
And here she was–in the middle of nowhere. She wanted to go back. She missed Edward already. Her heart pined for him, it longed to cling to his heart like a blind man to his guide. Had it been able to, it would have burst out of her chest to get back to its second self, it's best earthly companion, leaving her body behind like a hermit crab an empty shell.
"What are you doing?", she whispered.
As if the answer could be found there, Jane looked up to the sky. It was blue and deep as the ocean. It would protect and guide her.
"What would Jane Eyre do?"
Involuntarily, these words left her lips. And she rose and moved on. She walked until she got to the road. There she sat down and waited. She waited for a coach, waited for Edward, waited for an absolution. A coach came that would take her into the right direction and the coachman agreed to take her with him. But she had to pay.
"How much do you have?", the man asked.
So the young woman searched her pockets, gathered all the money that could be found in them and then, offering it to the man, said: "20 pounds, sir."
He took her as far as he could until they reached a place where four roads met. Here he set her down. He would take a different road from the one she had to take. Days had passed, it was evening again. She stood on a hill. A rock rested on a grassy mound next to the road. She climbed the rock, and looked around. There were houses down in the valley. She could see the lights—tiny flames dancing in the dark. But tonight, they would stay exactly that—reminders of a world she had once left. She would not go down there tonight. She would stay on the hill. Tonight, this rock was to be her bed.
Some time passed before she felt tranquil even here: she had a vague dread that wild cattle might be near, or that some sportsman or poacher might discover her. If a gust of wind swept the waste, she looked up, fearing it was the rush of a bull; if a plover whistled, she imagined it a man. Finding her apprehensions unfounded, however, and calmed by the deep silence that reigned as evening declined at nightfall, she took confidence. As yet she had not thought; she had only listened, watched, dreaded; now she regained the faculty of reflection. How far could she have got? She had paid the coachman three out of her 20 pounds. She tried to recall the way the coach had taken, tried to calculate the distance between her and Gavelkind. They had stopped several times, had rested in taverns, ate in the coach if there was no village or town nearby. But no, she wasn't there yet. She would have to move on by foot. One day, maybe a half. Pondering this, she fell asleep.
She was woken by something tugging on her clothes, in the middle of the night. A moment of horror paralysed her and for a second she believed it to be a dream. In her mind's eye, she saw the strangest creatures, wildest animals and most scary ghosts. All of which wanted to rip out her grieving heart and devour it. It took her a while to wake up from such deep sleep, but when, finally, she had completely regained consciousness, she knew it was real. She was not sure what she expected to see as she opened her eyes. But what she did not expect to see was a person in dark clothes rummaging her pockets. This, however, was exactly what was happening. As she beheld the stranger, her first reaction was an urge to scream. But she did not know if this person was dangerous. He might have been armed. So screaming, suddenly, seemed a bad idea. Yet, she had to do something. She pretended to be still asleep and waited till the person was done with her pockets.
"Get away from me!", she yelled, once that person had taken his hands off. Then she kicked the stranger with all her might. The man, for it was a man as she could tell from his voice now, groaned, fell, got up and ran off. This terrifying experience kept her awake for the greater part of the night. She only dozed a bit just before the sun dawned.
This next day began with the frightening realization that she was not at home, that she had replaced her comfortable bed with a cold rock far away from Gavelkind. But she soon remembered all that had happened and forced herself to stay calm – think clear. Jane sat up and looked across the valley. The prospect was marvellous. But she could not enjoy it for she felt hungry. She had not eaten much yesterday. At first, she thought about gathering berries and such but she soon dismissed that thought. It was better, she decided, to buy something to eat down in the valley. As she could see now, the lights she had observed last night belonged to a small village. There she would also inquire about where she was. Trembling, for it was still early and cold, Jane walked down the hill and into the village. This village was merely a small assemblage of cottages connected by a single dusty road. Few people where on this road and they all looked poor and plain. They looked at Jane as if they expected her to be a wolf in sheep's clothing, as she walked along that road dressed in her dirty but still decent looking clothes. Did they envy her? Jane wasn't sure. She hoped not. They certainly did not pity her. But she did not blame them. She did not expect them to. Nobody was supposed to pity her, for this had been her decision and her decision alone and for life, was yet in her possession, with all its requirements, and pains, and responsibilities. The burden must be carried; the want provided for; the suffering endured; the responsibility fulfilled. She walked on and entered the first shop that offered bread. A woman was there. Seeing a respectably-dressed person, a lady as she supposed, she came forward with civility. How could she serve her? Jane asked for bread and as the woman turned to get a loaf for her customer, Jane reached into her pocket to pay. At that moment, she noticed that her money was gone.
"No!", she exclaimed, startled by the realization that the stranger last night must have stolen her money and valuables. And indeed, anything valuable she had had was now gone.
"What is it?", asked the woman, holding the loaf in her hands. "Is this not what you asked for?"
Jane made an effort to calm down.
"Yes, yes it is. It is just…" what should she say? The truth seemed unbelievable. However, much less could she lie.
"I have no money", she thus explained in a low voice. She dared not offer her the half-worn gloves, the creased handkerchief: besides, Jane felt it would be absurd. So she just forced a smile and asked: "How far is it to Millcote?"
Disappointed in the expectation of a customer, the woman answered coolly. "Millcote? A day if you walk. You can make it before sunset, if you leave now."
Jane nodded. She was still hungry but did not want to disturb this woman any longer. She left the shop.
Being out of money, Jane had to beg for food. Having experience with that, she was more successful this time than she had been 11 years ago. Yet, she felt bad for approaching people who had less than she had herself and asking for what they had so little of already. But she had to do it because, for the time being, she was one of them. Lower even.
***
Three days had passed. Rochester had had people look for Jane all around the county. But without success. Nobody had seen her or heard from her. And nobody but him actually really cared. With infinite complacency men went to and fro over this globe about their little affairs, as the world just kept turning and turning. It seemed to spin so fast that it made Rochester feel dizzy. He could not understand how every one else could just go on as usual. Did they not realise that some one was missing? Such an important person even.
"She is not to them what she is to me", Edward thought and snorted contemptuously. He himself felt incapable of sitting on a horse or in a coach or anywhere else but the armchair in his parlour. This was where he was sitting right now and where he had been sitting most of the time for the last three days. He felt incapable of doing anything other but sit and drink wine. He reached for the glass, brought it to his lips and saw that it was empty.
"Mary!", he yelled, his voice dry and weary.
Mary came running and inquired if there was anything wrong.
"I need more wine. Bring me another glass", he demanded. "No wait. Bring the bottle."
Mary nervously shifted weight from one foot to the other.
"Are you sure, sir? You've had lots of wine already. Enough, if I may say so."
Rochester grunted. "Devil, no! You may not. And now go and get the wine."
She bowed and left. A few minutes passed before the door opened again.
"What took you so long", Rochester complained. "Are you trying to make me miserable?"
A little girl stepped in, holding a doll. It was Charlotte. She looked irritated because of the harsh tone her father had adopted.
"Oh", he said smiling slightly as he saw it was his daughter, not Mary, coming in. "How are you my dear?"
His tone had changed. It was now tender and soothing with an undercurrent of apology.
The girl just stood in the door, embracing her doll as if she feared some one could take it away from her.
"Where is mama?", she just asked.
Rochester sighed. "I don't know."
"When will she come back?"
"I am sorry my dear but I cannot answer these questions. I know no more than you do."
Pouting, Charlotte explained that she missed her mama and had something to tell her.
"Well", Rochester answered. "You can tell me."
Charlotte looked at her doll, then at her father again.
"Must I tell you?"
"You must not. Only if…"
"I shall tell Clara then", the little girl interrupted him and walked off.
Edward frowned.
Clara was the children's nurse. An old, kind-hearted woman. Jane had chosen her. Clara had grey hair, a double chin and the most crooked teeth he had ever seen. But she was unbelievably good to the children, was patient with them and, in turn, the children loved her dearly.
"MARY!", Rochester yelled again. "My wine!"
She came in with the bottle.
"I beg your pardon, sir. I had to go get a new bottle. You have already emptied those we had in the kitchen."
He did not seem to have heard her but just stretched out his arm to accept the wine.
"You may go", he snorted, taking a mouthful of it.
As Mary walked out of the parlour, some one else entered. This time, it was Nathan. He was crying.
"Mama! Mama!", he exclaimed bitterly.
Rochester put the bottle aside.
"What is it, son?", he asked.
Still crying, the boy came over to him.
"My leg. It is bleeding. Look!" And he showed him his leg.
"What happened?", Rochester inquired while examining the wound. It was just a cut. Nathan was still demanding his mother. Sobbing, he explained how he had been searching stones for his slingshot, stumbled and fallen.
"You see, son", Rochester replied. "That happens when you are not careful enough."
The sobbing got worse.
"Nathan, be a man, stop weeping like a baby."
Crying for his mother, the child ran out of the room and Rochester was alone again. He preferred being alone. Jane would have been the only company he would have liked, and needed. Without her he did not know what to do or what to talk about. He could not sleep or eat. Without his wife he was a cripple with no zest for life. Jane was his reason, his strength, his spirit and the source of his energy. In short: He could not function without her. Edward had almost forgotten how important she really was. He had become so used to that life with her. He had taken all of it for granted and it was only now that he realized his dependence. It was because of Jane that he was still alive. It was because of her that he was.
Edward missed dinner. But he was not hungry anyway. Taking the half-empty bottle with him, he went straight up into their chamber. But he did not go to bed. Instead, he sat by the window, which was open: it soothed him to feel the balmy night-air. He longed for Jane. He longed for her both with soul and flesh. He asked of God, at once in anguish and humility, if he had not been long enough desolate, afflicted, tormented; and might not soon taste bliss and peace once more. That he merited all he endured, he acknowledged—that he could scarcely endure more, he pleaded.
Edward drank some wine.
He wondered where she was. He hoped that she did not have to be alone. Yet, he abhorred the thought of her being with some one else now, especially another man. Jealousy crept into his consciousness and was joined by anger a moment later. She was probably with another man right now. Seducing him. Tempting him. Of course Edward would have to kill that man, if only to preserve his honour.
He took another sip from the bottle.
How could she do that to him? And to their children? What kind of mother would leave her children behind and abandon her husband like this?
Again, the bottle found its way to his lips.
Just because of some letters. How could she believe those letters so easily? Why did she have to walk into his study in the first place? What about privacy? Did she have no respect?"
He drank.
All these years, all the love he had given her. And what for? To be left; thrown away like a pair of worn-out shoes.
Finishing the bottle, he rose from his chair, stumbled across the room and fell onto the bed.
***
In her younger and more vulnerable years, Jane had loathed ragged clothes, scanty food, fireless grates, rude manners, and debasing vices. Poverty for her had been synonymous with degradation back then and she had been unable to see how poor people had the means of being kind. In those years she had thought herself not heroic enough to purchase liberty at the price of caste. But those years were long gone. Jane had experienced both: Liberty at the price of caste, and outrageous wealth at the price of liberty. Both experiences had been very short, though, and for the most part of her adult life she had lived as a free and wealthy woman. She had become so used to that life, she had taken all of it for granted. It was only now that she realized how lucky she had been.
Leaving the valley, she saw women nursing their children or washing their clothes at the cottage doors of the village. It was noon and she had spent the morning begging for food. She had got an apple, an egg and a handful of bread dough from a baker whose apprentice had spoiled the dough. It tasted horrible and she wished the dough had at least been baked into bread. But she had been hungry and had had no choice, so she had forced it down. Thus prepared for the long walk that lay ahead, she set out. She knew that she probably would not make it to Millcote before sundown. Time was to prove her right. Even though she rarely stopped and walked fast, the sun was already setting when she reached familiar landscapes. Therefore she could not pause to wallow in memories of days gone by. As it was already dark when she reached Millcote, she decided to spend another night in the open with the sky as her blanket and the stub of a tree as her pillow. She prayed for her husband before falling asleep. She prayed for his health, his strength and his sanity. She also prayed for her children and their safety. Her sleep then was as fitful as the night before but at least she was not robbed again. She had nothing left any one could have wanted anyway.
Jane entered Millcote the next morning. Not much had changed. Familiar shops and houses lined the street she was walking down. People chatted or busily hastened from one shop to the next and carriages passed Jane. In this bustle she got the feeling that some people looked at her in a strange way. Not knowing whether or not it was just her imagination, she tried to ignore it. As soon as she had left Millcote again, and had thus reached a more quiet place, Jane took out a piece of paper. It was a letter. She glanced at it and nodded. She was almost there. Reassured, she moved on. She soon arrived at a manor house which was maybe half as big as Thornfield Hall. Tendrils covered the front of the house, giving it a friendly, tranquil atmosphere. Jane knocked on the door. It took a while until some one opened it. An old woman stood before her.
"Mrs. Rochester?!", the woman said, thunderstruck.
Jane nodded. "Yes."
A smile flashed across the old woman's face. "Good lord! Mrs. Rochester! I can hardly believe it. It has been so long!"
Again, Jane nodded. "I know and I am sorry…"
"No need to be sorry, ma'am. I just…" She stopped abruptly, looking worried now. "Has something happened?"
"Oh no, no. No worries. Now then, Mrs. Fairfax, are you going to let me in or shall I explain myself out here?"
Mrs. Fairfax apologized and stepped back to let the guest inside.
"We can talk in the kitchen."
The kitchen was a bright room with large windows overlooking the backyard.
"You look hungry", Mrs. Fairfax observed. "Have you not had breakfast?"
Jane took a seat. "No, I'm afraid I have not."
While the old woman prepared something to eat for her guest, Jane proceeded to tell her about her journey and how she had been robbed.
"Good lord!", exclaimed Mrs. Fairfax. "But why did you not come with a carriage? You must have carriages at Gavelkind."
Jane did not intend to tell Mrs. Fairfax why she was here or why she had left Gavelkind. Had she told her the truth, Mrs. Fairfax might have written to Mr. Rochester in order to let him know where his wife was. Jane could not take that risk. So she decided to make up a story to explain it all.
"Well yes, we have a carriage. But Mr. Rochester has taken it to go to N---."
Mrs. Fairfax placed a plate with food and a glass of water in front of Jane, then sat down as well.
"And have you only one carriage?", she asked in disbelief.
"Well no. But the other carriage is broken."
The old woman shook her head. "That is bad. Very bad. You could have just waited until Mr. Rochester is back to come here." She seemed to lapse into thought. One could almost see how her mind was working hard to make sense of it all. "And you should have written to tell me. I did not expect to see one of you near Thornfield ever again. I must admit, I am surprised."
"I am sorry I did not announce my visit", Jane replied, enjoying her warm meal. "I did not mean to impose on you. It is just that an unexpected occurrence nearby requires my attention and I thought it a good opportunity to pay you a visit."
She tried to keep the explanation as vague as possible and, sensing Jane's reluctance to talk about it in detail, Mrs. Fairfax asked no questions concerning this 'unexpected occurrence'. She did inquire about Mr. Rochester, though. Whether he was well and still enjoyed his new life.
Jane flinched involuntarily.
"Ah you know him", she answered, struggling to smile. „It is almost impossible to assess Edward Rochester."
"True. But if any one can do it, it is you, ma'am."
"And yet, I'm not infallible."
Ere Mrs. Fairfax could react, Jane added that she was still looking for a place to stay overnight. Would Mrs. Fairfax know of such a place?
The old woman was enthralled by the possibility of having her stay a while.
"You can stay right here, I am sure. The master is a very kind man. And he likes to have company. I shall ask him immediately."
And to her master she went. While Jane was waiting in the kitchen, she tried to recall what she knew about that man. She had never met him. What she knew had been imparted to her by Mrs. Fairfax or by Edward, who had only met him twice himself. Jane reflected.
From what she had heard, she pictured a man 70 or older who walked with a cane while inspecting his garden and talking to butterflies that settled on nearby flowers. Jane chuckled.
It did not take long before Mrs. Fairfax returned to inform her that the master wished to speak to his guest. That said, Jane knew she had permission to stay. And although it delighted her, it also put pressure on her for she felt she had to answer her host's expectations of a respectable guest.
