January 1846
As weeks passed I began to feel a strange sense of familiarity and kinship with Thornfield and its inhabitants. The hall was an isolated estate, five miles from the closest village and an even greater twelve miles to the city of Scarborough. The servants were impeccably loyal, most with families who worked within the house, or on the surrounding farms. They all knew very little about me but swore to hide my presents from anyone who came inquiring. Mr Rochester suggested they refer to me as Miss Elliot, a distant relation of Mrs Fairfax who had come to stay for a visit. I was finally able to relax a while, rest and recuperate while my injuries and illness improved. Gradually the foreign, dangerous feeling of staying in a single place began to fade, and a wistful longing to remain settled in.
In my first few weeks at Thornfield Hall, I experienced my first happy Christmas since my parents passed away. Though I was confined to bed, with orders not to overexert myself I received many visitors that day. Mary and Nan, two of the housemaids came and sat with me for a time. They brought with them fresh mince tarts, and beautiful holly, which brightened up the room. We sat for hours, laughing together, as they retold the infamous tales of the hall from above and below stairs. When they left I was joined by Mrs Fairfax and the master himself. Mr Rochester proposed to celebrate my first Christmas at Thornfield with a truly unconventional dinner party. As I was still too weak to leave the room, three trays of scrumptious turkey, Yorkshire pudding, cranberry sauce and new potatoes were brought up. We enjoyed our fest, huddled within my bedchamber, sharing fond Christmas memories and future aspirations. The evening ended with the kind pair offering me my first Christmas gift.
Mr Rochester left the room for a moment, returning with a large parcel, wrapped in crisp paper and twine. "This is for you, my dear, from all of us at Thornfield Hall" he smiled, offering me the large gift. My eyes widened, looking between him, Mrs Fairfax and the carefully wrapped present.
"I could never accept a gift from you," I said, "not when you have already shown me so much kindness. I will never be able to repay you all for what you have done".
"Oh nonsense!" laughed Mrs Fairfax. "You have been a godsend, listening to all of our prattle. We are more than happy to give you a proper Christmas after so much hardship".
"She is right, plus the gift is already here, it would be rude to not accept it now" the master joked. For a moment I was transfixed by his devilish smirk and laughing eyes.
"Oh… well, thank you. Very much indeed" I whispered, tentatively taking the present. I slowly began to undo the wrappings and skillfully tied twine. I pulled away the paper to reveal a brand new day dress, coat and shawl. Wrapped up underneath there was also a warm scarf and cosy kid-gloves. Each item was made of sturdy, soft fabric and sewn by a truly talented hand. I had never owned items of such high quality.
"We thought you would need these for when you are stronger, able to explore more of the house and gardens". The thoughtful gift brought tears to my eyes. I looked up at them, opened my mouth to speak and found myself lost for words. How could I ever explain how much this meant to me? With a small shake of the head, I steeled myself and tried again.
"Thank you so very very much," I began. "For the longest time, I have lived a life without kindness and friendship. I could hardly remember what it is like to be treated as an equal. I can honestly say that I owe you both my life, but what's more is that I am endlessly grateful for your generosity and care. I-". A sob escaped me and emotion thickened my voice. "I can say I do not think I have ever been happier. Even in the most miserable circumstances, you have brought such joy to my life and I am honoured to have you as friends".
Mrs Fairfax soothed me with a gentle "There-there child", wrapping me in her arms. Over her shoulder, my eyes met Mr Rochester's. The intense emotion in his gaze captivated me, as did his breathtaking smile.
That night was one of my happiest memories. One which I will cherish for years to come.
My recovery was a long and arduous process. The first weeks I spent convalescing in bed. Months of lost sleep and years of malnutrition required weeks of painstaking rest. Gradually I began to feel stronger. My wounds healed and my limbs began to ache from inactivity rather than crippling weakness. Thankfully I often had pleasant company or an astounding reading collection to keep me entertained.
The doctor eventually deemed me recovered enough to leave my sick bed. My daily exploits began small, first just taking the occasional turn about the room or upper hallway. I was finally able to fully appreciate the stunning views the Hall had, overlooking the North Sea. The house was perched atop the cliffs, which lead down to the vast, cobblestone beaches. Gulls sailed across the vibrant vista, singing in the wind and hunting their next meal. I longed to escape the house and explore the picturesque coast, but for now, my body would simply not allow it. Instead, I would hide-away in Thornfield's library, curling up with many enjoyable stories. Losing myself in their pages, I would travel the great wide world which I promised one day to experience first hand.
Each afternoon after leaving my bed, I would take tea with Mrs Fairfax in her personal sitting room. The cosy space had been perfectly adjusted to her tastes over her many decades of service. I developed a great fondness for the kindly old woman, and with each tet-a-tet we had, I would learn more about her. Mrs Fairfax had been the housekeeper at Thornfield for nearly thirty years. As the wife of the estate's steward, Mr Fairfax, she had an excellent understanding of the house's requirements and perfectly suited the role. She was particular but fair, ensuring she was well respected among the other household staff. Sadly, Mrs Fairfax had lost her husband nearly a decade ago after a sudden apoplexy. Though she had never had children herself, she often felt like an adoptive mother to the Rochester boys. Mr Rochester's mother died in childbirth, leaving them without a mother figure. Over the years Mrs Fairfax began to love them as her own, a love the boys returned ardently. Even as grown men they would still come to her for comfort and counsel. I was extremely touched by the loving fondness Mrs Fairfax had for the master. It was a comfort to know that such a kind man had someone watching over him.
Mercifully, after many long, drawn-out weeks I was able to leave the house and take short walks around the garden. Though I was not yet able to descend to the shoreline I thoroughly enjoyed wondering about the pretty pathways of Thornfield's gardens swaddled in the cosy garments gifted to me at Christmastide. On each of these exhibitions, I was always accompanied by a steadfast companion. Pilot, Mr Rochester's English Pointer was tenacious in his chaperoning duties. Whenever I felt inclined to take a walk the dog would appear, ready to escort me. On the rare occasion that the master would happen upon us, he would heartily comment on Pilot's dedication, jokingly asking how I had elicited such benevolent loyalty from his faithful companion.
Though Mr Rochester was often busy with estate business each day we would often spend time together in the library each evening. We would spend hours in fascinating conversation, debating all manner of things. Over time he gradually began to reveal more about himself. Born the second son, he had never expected to inherit the estate. With his elder brother Arthur as the heir, he joined the military, intent on a glorious, respectable career fighting for his country. Sadly a tragic accident changed his life overnight. During a destructive storm, his father and brother were both travelling home to Thornfield. It is thought that the cliffside was struck by lightning, crumbling the fragile earth and sending their carriage down onto the jagged rocks below. The storm raged for many days and sadly their bodies were never recovered. Mr Rochester had to immediately resign from his position as colonel, to take his place as master of Thornfield Hall and the many other estates his father owned. Though his responsibilities weighed heavily upon him, Rochester was a man of honour and duty. He was determined to continue the legacy his forefathers had amassed.
The look of naked despair which crossed his face each time he spoke of his lost family pulled at my heartstrings. After all he had done for me, I would have given anything to ease his pain. The man had given me a home when all I have ever known was struggle and sorrow.
Thornfield was an idyllic paradise in all aspects. Well, all aspects but one. The north-tower seemed to house a particularly mysterious servant who went by the name of Mr Coles. Mr Coles was an elderly gentleman, with thin bronze hair, age-weathered features and a terrifying leer. I would often catch him staring at me, looking back as he ascended to his drafty crowsnest. He isolated himself from the rest of the servants, choosing to live within the tower. At night I would hear him leave his room, roaming about the halls, cackling to himself. His presence was disconcerting. Why would he be kept on when he appeared to serve no real function. When I asked Mr Rochester about him he simply told me that Coles had been his father's valet, the old man had served the family for many years so he allowed him to stay in lieu of a pension which he had apparently refused.
"I know he is a little eccentric, but I can assure you he is harmless" Mr Rochester said, smirking over his evening port.
"I will take your word for it, sir" I replied. "For I find I cannot account for his behaviour at all".
"Let us forget about him for now, Jane. I have something I would like to discuss with you". The master moved closer, taking a seat across from me, before the library fireplace. "I believe I have a solution to your dilemma".
"A solution?" I asked.
"Yes, I have a position which I am hoping you will be able to fill". At my confused look, he continued. "You see I have a young ward, a little French girl, currently living in Paris. I am of a mind to bring her to live here in England, but she is in desperate need of an education. I cannot think of anyone more suited to the position than you, my dear. You would be her governess and continue to live here, with us at Thornfield".
For a moment I simply sat in stunned silence until I finally found my voice. "I am touched by your generous offer sir, but I am sure there would be far more qualified candidates than I".
"I think not! Your french is unparalleled for someone who has never stepped foot in the country. You are the brightest young women I have had the pleasure of knowing and was it not your great aspiration to become a governess when you left Lowood?"
"Indeed it was sir, but I cannot accept yet another kind offer from you! I am already permanently in your debt".
"Hardly!" he scoffed. "You would be doing me a great service, she will need a lot of work. Adele is a frivolous little thing, with no mind for education. She will need a firm hand and a talented teacher. Not to mention the position will allow you to remain here, out of harm's way". Setting his drink aside, Mr Rochester reached across and grasped both my hands in his. "Please say you will accept my offer".
I hesitated for a moment. The offer did sound perfect. Thornfield had come to feel like home for me. The very thought of leaving it and its people behind was painful indeed. The position would also fulfil Helen's greatest wish for us. "Very well sir, I will gladly accept the position".
