Disclaimer: All belongs to CB, and is a tribute to her work. Many lines are direct quotations, so if you recognise it, that is why. A modern twist on a classic. Enjoy!
"I do not think, sir, you have any right to command me, merely because you are older than I, or because you have seen more of the world than I have; your claim to superiority depends on the use you have made of your time and experience."
― Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre
Jane sat in her room, the day's events had proved relatively mundane aside from the morning's activities. It was then that she really thought about what the tale relayed to her. It struck her that is the child had resembled Mr. Rochester then chances were he would have favored her more. Another point worth mentioning, or justifying, was that many Englishmen of titles often kept mistresses; history was full of them. This did not mean it was void of trouble or that this fact made it morally correct, but it was indeed a fact. Mr. Rochester was no different than many of his forefathers, embracing the romanticised dancer or singer in a wave of heated passion. Jane noted that there had been a strange sort of change in him, his description of emotion, all within the context of telling her such a secret.
Jane did not understand why he took her into his confidence, she was nothing to him but a young employee, and he seemed to take great pains in making her uncomfortable. As she dressed for bed, she looked at the set of clothes she had been wearing and frowned. She did not want to wear this to bed, not after he had seen her in it. He entered her dreams enough as it is, she did not need to fuel to fire. She retrieved a nightgown, a gift upon graduating school from Miss Temple, it was knee length and lacy. Both feminine and sultry, though Jane had no knowledge of it being such, it was tied to her shoulders through thin straps of delicate lace, connecting to the rest. It had been an odd gift, some at expressed it being such, but to Jane it was the first truly feminine thing she had ever received, and owned subsequently.
She remembered walking down a small street, sharing the moment with Miss Temple as they drank coffee, and her attention had been drawn to a small shop. It was almost a bygone creation, this lacy white nightdress in the window, but Jane had fallen in love with it. Jane smiled to herself at the memory, it was the day Miss Temple had told her of the engagement, and Jane had been thrilled for her. The one person who truly cared for her, nurtured her and protected her while the rest of the world walked by in ignorance. Jane had never been so thrilled to receive a gift, being that gift were few and far between, and treasured this creation more than anything. The nightgown came also with a cover, a matching white lacy housecoat that served no purpose than to look very pretty, but it gave Jane an empowered feeling to embrace her own femininity.
Jane was not aware that she talked very little around him, or that she enjoyed his speeches immensely. She was aware that he was knowledgeable, he liked to open a mind to an unacquainted world; scenes and glimpses that were not all corrupt. These new ideas interested her greatly, provided new images to explore within her drawings, and never startled or troubled by one noxious allusion. He was easy in his manner, he was frank and cordial but altogether friendly which in turn drew her to him, as draw by a connection unseen as kindness. Jane found that she often forgot he was her employer, something she was loathe to admit, he seemed to treat her more as an equal, perhaps a relative. He was no less imperious, but that did not bother her, it was his way. It was this that made life fun again, Jane found herself seeing things in colour once more, no bound by black and grey within dress and life.
He was not ugly in her eyes, and as she dwelt on it, determined that she found him pleasurable to look at, genial, his face was the object she liked to see best. His mere presence was more welcoming and warm than the largest fire. Jane was aware of his faults, he flaunted them regularly to her; he is proud, sardonic, harsh to inferiority of every description, his attention to me it balanced by this, it seems. Moody, very moody, if I admit, he often wants me to come and read to him, which is something I do not understand, and I often find him alone in the study, face bent towards his arms, and looking with a malignant scowl on his features. This moodiness, harshness and former faults,- are they truly former? He does seem different lately, like he has made an effort to correct them – must be from some harsh, twist of fate. He has principles and high ones at that, he is educated, well educated, and I think he must have some purer tastes- all of which would have shown had not fate twisted his nature. There is much good in him, and it seems such a same to see it wasting away. I grieve for him, even if he will not grieve for himself.
Jane found her mind running as she lay in bed, all these thoughts and explanations, twists and turns. Her young mind, however knowledgeable for nineteen, was not truly aware of everything around her. She wondered if and when he would leave once more, the thought pained her but Mrs. Fairfax had said he goes away often and rarely stays here. What if he leaves before spring, and is gone through summer? How dull everything shall turn, joyless sunshine even on a fine day.
Closing her eyes, she drifted into a fitful sleep. Dreams of strange murmurs and laughter, dark scenes and a small boy running after her. Where are you rat? Echoed throughout, and she felt the fear as she hid behind the curtain, clutching the book as a life link to a different world. Small, frail and thing was her plight, with a pasty complexion and freckles. Jane. The boy, one of three awful cousins, was holding a rod, a tool he frequently used against her, his footsteps moving along the floor. Jane tried not the make a noise, yet there it was, a whimper from her lips. Where is she? The animal, has she run out into the rain? Jane knew she should reveal herself, lest being discovered. Jane. In the back of her mind, she heard a laughter that unnerved her, a face blending with her cousins as she stepped out from her hiding place. This pudgy faced boy with mean eyes looked at her, given private tutoring and more food than should be allowed, grinned with malice. Jane. Jane shivered, the murky laughter seeing in once more as she approached the child as he sat in an armchair. It was like that, this dark room with this fearsome creature of her childhood, the sudden strike from him as a loud laughter made her sit straight up.
Jane panted, her heart racing with many types of fear. She grabbed her phone and shone the light about – nothing. The room was dark and eerie, and Jane wished there was a lamp she could keep on, or a plug in for a nightlight. She caught her breathe and panted, trying to sleep again, but dreams of the red room haunted her dreams, a voice whispering her name over and over within the horror, like a plea for her. She woke many times, fitful and uneasy, until a clock struck in the hall and she jumped. Cursing that infernal old clock, she counted, two in the morning. As she lay there, she suddenly was aware of the door being touched, as if fingers had grasped or swept by the panels in a groping way outside, then touching the handle as if to enter. "Who is there?" She called, her heart racing in her ears. Nothing, not a peep of any living thing.
"Pilot." She breathed, "He often comes up here to Mr. Rochester's room, I have seen him in the morning outside his door. How silly." She spoke, her words sounded hollow but none the less comforting. She lay back down, resolved to have sleep. And a dream seemed to come quickly, alas not to be as a sound so frightening that is made her blood and bones turn to ice.
A laugh, low and demonic; supressed and deep, uttered so near, like it had been pressed through the keyhole and into her ear. The bed was near enough to the door to make the sound seem amplified, and Jane froze, unsure whether it was a creature of the forest, the very things that came from nightmares and other dimensions, lurked at her bedside or crouched by her pillow. Jane rose, seeing nothing still when the sound came again. It was outside, right outside her door, the very panels shook with it. Jane ran to the door, bolting it quickly. "Who is there?"
A gurgle, a moan, followed by long steps that made towards the third floor where a door opened and closed via a staircase. Grace Poole? Grace Poole possessed by a demon? Jane shivered and grabbed her cover, deciding that Mrs. Fairfax needed to know, call a priest or something, anything. Removing the bolt, Jane entered the hallway after putting on her housecoat, turning to go to Mrs. Fairfax when she saw a candle burning outside her door. She picked it up carefully, it was small, like it had been burning for some time. The aim was dim, she realized, and she looked around in a puzzled state when she smelt something burning.
Turning her head, she saw a door slightly open with smoke leaking from it. That was the door of Mr. Rochester, and Grace Poole, the demon and Mrs. Fairfax were no longer on her mind. Like magic, she was within the chamber after blowing out the candle she had found; fire flamed around the bed, the large canopy ablaze as well of the curtains surrounding it. Her employer lay stretched out, naked, on the sheets in a deep sleep.
"Wake up!" Jane cried, touching his shoulders and shaking him as she fought the smell of smoke within her lungs. "Wake! Wake!" He murmured and turned, the smoke had rendered him lifeless. There was a basin of water, the man had more affinity for old things than anyone she had ever met, and she was glad to find that both the basin and the ewer were filled with water. Picking them up, she hurled the water at the bed, splashing both the flames and the man. It was not enough. In a panic Jane flew to her own room, grabbing her water from her room; a pitcher, a basin and a pot full from the last rain which had leaked in, and added that to the flames. She added it to the flame, and it quenched it at last.
"Is there a flood?" The man growled, finding himself in a puddle of water, and she looked about the room. It was dark, the hiss of the extinguished element lingered.
"No." She croaked, the smoke from the fire had caused her voice to flee. "A fire, but it's gone and you are quenched. I shall get some light."
"In the name of all the elves in Christendom, is that Jane Eyre?" He demanded, "What have you done with me, you witch, sorceress? Who else is here, aiding you in drowning me?"
"Let me find a lamp, but please get up. Someone has been in here sir, but not me, and lit your room ablaze."
"There!" He growled, "I am up. I warn you against a light just yet, if you insist I fear you may regret it. Let me at least dress myself." Jane froze and she turned away in the darkness, her cheeks hot from the fire and a burning within. "Ah yes, this will do." He pulled on something, shorts most likely, or pants. "Go for your lamp girl." Jane did, she ran for her lantern within her room, lighting it and returning. He took the lamp and held it up, looking at bed, it was black and scorched, the sheets drenched and the carpet was swimming in what.
"What is it? And who did it?" He asked.
Jane told him what had happened, every detail but leaving out her own nightmares. The laugh she described in the most detail, because it had scared her so. She told to him of the candle outside her room, his door open and the smoke, the room ablaze and the water she had gone and grabbed as quickly as her feet would allow. His face was grave, and grew wore as the story progressed, but not out of astonishment, but concern. He did not speak when she was done, and she felt restless as his eyes took in the girl before him.
She was unaware of her possession having being blackened with smoke, slight burn marks where flame had come to close to its owner. Her face was slightly grew from smoke as well, her hands too where the flames had reached. He saw all acutely, and was very aware of the danger she had placed herself in, ignorant that she was of it.
"Shall I get Mrs. Fairfax?"
"Heavens, what for? There is nothing she can do, let her sleep."
"John or Leah maybe?"
"Be still." He said, his voice soft in a way she had never heard. He placed the lantern on the dresser that was nearby and he strode over somewhere and picked something up that she could not see. He returned and wrapped a blanket around her, "You can not be warm enough in your – shawl. Take this and sit in that armchair there, place your feet on the footrest so they do not get wet. I am going to leave for a few minutes, I shall take the lantern or lamp, whichever you prefer to call it. Stay here, do not move a muscle. I shall pay a visit to the second story." He stood after she had been placed in the armchair safely, and grasped the lantern. "Remember, do not move. And don't call out."
Jane was left in total darkness, the singed smell lingered among a new damp smell she did not like. She heard footsteps, his, and they echoed in the hall towards to the second floor, or third floor? She no longer knew what was up or down, exhaustion crept where adrenaline had been. Time elapsed, it was long and she felt her eyelids heavy and her body cold, despite the blanket. She wished to be in her own room once more, but did not want to risk her employer's displeasure. There were footfalls, and she stirred, hoping that it was not the demon returned.
He entered and she was aware he was gloomy, pale. "I know all now, it is much as I thought." He stated setting the lantern down on the dresser once more.
"How?"
He said nothing, his arms folded as he stood watching the ground. "I can not recall if you said you saw someone when you opened your door."
"I did not, just the candle."
"And a laugh, yes, and odd laugh?" He questioned, "You have heard it before I think, or something like it."
"Yes, when I arrived here. Grace Poole laughs like that. She is elderly, I believe."
"Ah yes, Grace Poole. You have guessed what has occurred then, and are right." He nodded, not looking in her direction. "The only people to know are within this room, and it must stay this way. You are no talking fool, say nothing. I shall account for the state of affairs. Go back to your room, I can sleep well on the sofa in the library. It is almost four, many will be up soon." The fact was true, everyone rose early in this house for there was so much to do.
"Goodnight then." Jane responded, placing the blanket on the chair and moving towards the door.
He seemed surprised, which struck her as odd since he had just told her to leave.
"What?" He asked, "You would leave me so abruptly? Just quit me, and so soon?"
"You told me to go." She countered, facing him.
"Yes, but not with no words between us, no acknowledgement of good will. Not so-so-short and dry, cut and run sort of fashion. Jane, you have saved my life! – snatched me from a horrible and excruciating death!" He looked at her keenly then, his eyes searching her face. "Yet you walk past like we are strangers. We must at least shake hands."
He held out his hand, and Jane looked it much like she had in the room when they had danced. She placed her own in his, and he clasped both hands around it. "You have saved my life. I take pleasure in owing you such a debt. I can say nothing more, nothing else will suffice. I could not tolerate such a debt to any other creature but you, and you alone. I feel your benefits no burden, Jane."
He seemed to stare, gaze at her face and his eyes lingered on her lips, their faces seemed closer than at the start. Jane saw words dancing on his lips that he did not say, and he checked himself. "Goodnight again then. There is no debt, no burden you speak of, or obligation."
"I knew-" He said in a breathless whisper, "-you would do me some good in some way at some time; I saw it in your eyes when I first beheld you: their expression and smile did not –" He stopped, once more his gaze lingered on her and she felt a pull within her to get closer to him, to enact a scene that had happened within her dreams that she felt ashamed to remember. "-did not-" He said quickly, "-strike delight to my inner most heart for nothing. People talk of natural sympathies; I have heard of good genies – and there is some truth in the wildest fantasy. My cherished-" His words seem to slow, and she found herself holding her breathe, "-preserver, good night." Such a strange energy about him, a fire within his looks.
"I am glad I happened to be awake." She responded, turning to leave.
"What?!" He exclaimed softly, "You will go?"
"I am cold." She said, her voice seemed not her own, a whisper with words she had meant to be strong.
"Cold? You are standing in a pool of water, but of course you are. Go, Jane." He said, but his hands did not release her and she was finding herself reluctant to leave. Their eyes held a gaze that lingers for too long and too close to one another and Jane fought it, this whole scenario was wrong.
"I heard Mrs. Fairfax stir." She said, needing an excuse.
"Ah, well go then." He said, relaxing his hands and releasing her. She left the room, her feet walking quickly and then running back to her room, shutting the door and locking it behind her, her hands on the coldness of the wood, her heart once more in her ears. His warmth had flooded her, his nearness startled her, the look in his eyes – a strange creature named desire. And it frightened her that she had returned such emotion so readily. She went to the bed, not thinking of sleep but entering into a fit of dreams that were stormy and passionate, and she found them almost as unnatural and frightening as she found herself wanting them.
And that Ladies and Gents, is a good way to start a Monday morning! XD