Thank you for all your reviews, support and your downloads! It was great to get some exposure for Halton Cray. A few of you had already reviewed my novel on Amazon, and I thank you again. Thank you, Anonymouse, for your charming review! I'm so glad you enjoyed it. I recently fixed a couple of typos, so hopefully got those ones.

Now... I had rather more story than I realised to cram into this one chapter, so there was not sufficient room to do a certain clergyman justice, but he is on his way… We are building to another big moment! Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 11 – Farewell Adele

'Oh, but I do not want to leave Thornfield!' exclaimed my former pupil, while I brushed her hair for bed; 'not until Mr Rochester is well again.'

'Dear Adele!' I turned her about to face me. 'Now, you must not fret; Mr Rochester grows stronger each day.'

'Then why can I not see him?'

'Because Mr Carter prescribed peace and quiet for his recovery. However, Mr Rochester would be glad if you would go in to see him in the morning before leaving with John.'

'So I must leave?' She looked upon me with wide, glistening eyes; several true tears she shed.

'It will not be forever, and you shall return for holidays. Look here,' said I, leaving her for a moment to fetch a package I had left by the door. I never liked to indulge that susceptible chanteuse in her character; however, knowing her fondness for presents, I had prepared her cadeau to keep up her spirits. I handed her the little box tied with cord; and while she is busy opening it, I shall describe its contents. For the two nights succeeding my master's unexpected recovery, I had sat up in his armchair, by his hearth, to be near him; hear him breathe, and to keep watch over him. During this time, I found comfort in occupying myself with painting some miniatures of Adele's favourites. I had the greatest opportunity of drawing Mr Rochester from life, while he laid so weak before me; I then painted his portrait with the finest, clearest tints I could mix: a picture I knew Adele would welcome to take along with her. To this I added a pencil drawing of Mrs Fairfax, of Pilot, and one too of Sophie, for she was to return to France as soon as Adele was settled in her school. Finally, I rather quickly sketched out in chalk my own irregular features. These miniatures I had arrayed carefully beneath some leaves of tissue paper, which Adele had now discarded to study her prize in detail.

'Oh ciel! Magnifique!' she muttered gleefully with widening eyes. 'Miss Eyre, you have made Mr Rochester quite handsome in this picture!'

'I do not think so; let me see? – He looks just as he always does, Adele, I think.'

'Ah, here is Mrs Fairfax, and Pilot too! I like them all very much! But you have taken more time with these than with yourself, Miss Eyre. This is just like you!' She laughed while handling the hastily scuffed portrait that formed my likeness. 'Merci, merci! I shall treasure these!'

'And so you see that we shall always be with you.' I tucked them back into their box. 'You know only too well that Mr Rochester has your very best interests at heart, Adele.'

'I do know that, Miss Eyre.'

'Then you must tell him so in the morning. Give him no pains when saying farewell. You must kiss him and be sure to thank him for all his kindnesses.'

'Yes, Miss Eyre; I shall be sure to do it. I am grateful.'

'I know that you are. I hear Sophie coming; climb into bed now.'

I got a kiss and a smile before she nestled beneath her covers.

The morning was chill, the sky cloudless and the sun seemingly less bright for bidding Adele and Sophie goodbye. Mrs Fairfax and Leah stood on the threshold while I wrapped Adele's cloak tighter about her and pinned it before kissing her again. The water would not stand still in my eyes, and she saw me wipe my tears quickly away as they fell.

'Adieu, my little one. – Adieu, Sophie!'

John lifted an emotional Adele into the carriage and then handed Sophie within. With the door closed up, he got into his seat and drove on. I waved until my master's protégé was out of sight, as did Mrs Fairfax and Leah, before turning back inside, watching them dab dry their cheeks. How I should have liked to keep her near me; to continue in progressing with her; to see what I could have made of her; and I should have done, if not for all that business of falling in love. – A small academy twenty miles off, that was her destination.

I went directly to the kitchen to prepare a tray of breakfast for Mr Rochester, for it had become my routine to help him with all his meals. Needless to adjoin – for the reader, I think, knows me well – it had not become my habit to act shamelessly now that my master was well again. Those kisses we had exchanged, delightful as they were sinful, I could not bring myself to regret; I could not help it. Well preserved were they at my heart's core and I did my very best to never take them out to pour only sadness on them. Instead, I determined to express my affections, to help restrain often arresting desires, by simply helping him with his supper, or by reading to him, or performing such services as combing his hair and keeping him clean-shaven. When he asked for my company, I gave it; when he appeared gloomy, I did my best to cheer him. The removal of Adele seemed to have sunk his mood, I thought, while he lay propped up against his pillows, now and again seized by a cough not nearly as terrifying as four nights since. Perhaps the gaiety of her voice, or the trip of her little foot on the gallery, which often loosened the pressing darkness of Thornfield, were more to him than he liked to admit, though he would not confirm it when I inquired.

'What! No! Why the deuce would the removal of a brat move me to depression?' He paused before subjoining, 'If there is anything in it, perhaps merely a reminder that you will soon fly too.' Again he paused.

'How do you think she will take to the place, Jane? Will she be a pining outcast amongst strangers?'

'Who, Adele?' I said brightly. 'I rather think not, sir. She will charm them all, I am certain of that.' I hoped to snap him out of his present mood, though naturally I worried for Adele too. I looked forward to her first letter.

For the rest of the day Mr Rochester was quiet, near melancholic, but by the evening his spirits were picking up. Presently, he sat up in his bed.

'Will you give me your hand, Jane?'

'For?' I asked boldly, while lighting my candle from his, since I was about to go to bed.

'So that I might shake it in thanks for saving my life again, saucebox! Now what does that perplexing, strange turn of countenance signify? Why do you smile, Janet? – Well? Come, take my hand or I shall say something to vex you.'

'Say what you please, sir.' I approached him but pushed away his hand to feel his brow. 'Hmm.'

'With what elusiveness you utter "hmm", Jane: what can it mean?'

'You're not too warm, but you look a little flushed and you did not eat enough at dinner.'

'I shall do.'

'I think Mr Carter had better comment on that to-morrow, to be safe.'

'I shall do,' he repeated, holding out his hand a second time.

I did not like to refuse him again; I put my fingers in his. Uncharacteristically, he said nothing, only stared while pressing my fingers gently between his own; those fine black eyes pierced mine with as much mental energy as he lacked physically; a soft smile danced on his lips.

'Now I had better go to bed, sir.'

He relaxed his fingers, bid me good-night, and I was gone. And so the repetitive trial of tempting and taxing moments would ensue each morning and every evening until – at least I convinced myself it would be – I no longer resided under the same roof.

Slowly my master recovered his health, the swarthiness to his skin, his fuller strength, and soon came to leave his bed, and then his room, and within a month he was riding Mesrour. And to where did he ride Mesrour? To my village-school of course. And what a success it was! Mr Wood enrolled a number of local children while I had tended to Mr Rochester in his illness, and all in the name of keeping my master's little Jane by him. I feel a burning shame while forming these words, but truth it is, and by truth, at least, I shall live as sinless a life as I can. Did Mr Rochester bring our chaperone, the widow Fairfax, with him, you would ask? Not on that first occasion, but it mattered not since I had a full schoolroom, plus Mr Wood in attendance with one or two parents to observe the progress of their young.

'How did I like my new home and work?' asked Mr Rochester in earshot of the clergyman.

'Very well, sir.'

'Is there anything I required?'

'No, nothing.'

'Was I sure; am I contented, my mind tranquil in my new situation?'

'Very much, sir.' – Though I answered truthfully, I could not say more to Mr Rochester – who would not stand calm to hear it – that though I was happy, it was exceptionally hard work; at least it was at first. Not just running the school, but my own home, too, and being entirely responsible for myself where I had only been but once before: when roaming the country like a beggar. Though a bird might fly eagerly free of its cage, it is liberated also of its guardian: its protector, and that dependable source of comfort and supplier of reliability. Living now happier in my new home, yet so completely independent of anyone or of any institution, the smallest errand of procuring my own food and household equipment – whether eggs and milk from a farmer or bottles and brushes from a shop – to the larger task of running the school were no mean feat. Mr Rochester insisted I order whatever I required through Mrs Fairfax, but the idea of relying on him for everything made me feel useless and ashamed. He alluded also to finding me a helper, but I stressed to needing none, simply because he was paying me a salary enough, and for school-related supplies, not to mention his loss for the income of the building. I did so wish there was that prospect of some independency from my uncle in Madeira. – Ah, reader, I have failed to mention that during that first week in my new home, I wrote to my uncle, John Eyre. Although Mr Briggs believed he would not recover from his sick-bed, I had yet heard nothing and so determined discovery.

In the meantime, I continued the labours of the village-school as actively and faithfully as I could. It required a deal of effort to comprehend my scholars and their countrified natures; wholly untaught, with faculties quite torpid, they seemed to me hopeless at first sight: but I soon found I was mistaken. When I got to know them, and they me, my language, my rules, and ways, once subsided, I found some of these heavy-looking, gaping rustics wake up into sharp-witted girls enough. Many showed themselves obliging, and amiable too; and I discovered amongst them not a few examples of natural politeness, and innate self-respect, as well as of excellent capacity, that won both my good-will and my admiration. I became known in the hamlet as the school-mistress, and was not rumoured – far as I knew – at being any other kind. I felt I became a favourite amongst these people, and whenever I went out, I received cordial salutations and friendly smiles. To live amidst general regard swelled my heart with thankfulness oftener than dejection sank it: and yet, in the midst of this calm, useful existence – after a day passed in honourable exertion amongst my scholars, an evening spent in drawing or reading contentedly alone – I would rush into strange and stirring dreams at night: agitated, full of the ideal, thrilling and stormy – dreams where, amidst unusual scenes, charged with adventure, with agitating risk and romantic chance, I again and again ended up in Mr Rochester's arms, and always at some exciting crisis. How these visions seduced me so often! before I would rally and break from their enticing grip best I could. The night would then witness my convulsions of despair and hear that burst of passion.

By nine o'clock the next morning I was punctually opening up the school; calm, settled, ready for the work of the day to begin, inviting its distractions. These generally lasted as long as the girls were with me. Come did the hours of evening again, and some idea would disturb my respite. Usually it was to do with Mr Rochester, either in the form of love, but often too in the shape of money and my dependency. My thoughts would as regularly turn to Mrs Rochester, too: that poor woman with less a life than I ever had.

Mr Rochester soon took it into his head that visiting me once a week was adequate after all, so long as I accepted invitations to dine at Thornfield Hall virtually every other day. A few of these requests I managed to skirt, but all too often the dark lonely hillside or its whistling wind on my cottage spurred me on to see him; though, I never dined with him, but rather I ate with Mrs Fairfax; and only afterwards would I venture into the drawing room.

On one such occasion when accompanying John down the hillside in a new one-horse cart, I joined Mrs Fairfax for tea. We talked about a letter we had each received from Adele, before our discussion turned from her school to that of mine, then to my progress with my pupils, and next, to the running of my home. Being the housekeeper of Thornfield, Mrs Fairfax took a natural interest in the subject and all the particulars; furthermore, she gave me good advice. I did not mind mentioning the cost of the venture and my concern over it.

'The master would not have you worried over such a thing, Miss Eyre;' said she, 'you may count on that. I confess I do not like the whole business myself; though it may sound cold, I would rather have seen you arrange a new situation where you might have safely left Thornfield far behind, somewhere you would be less likely to err, and not fall into the clutches of impiety.' – I often felt this, wishing I had not heeded Mr Briggs's advice; that I had sooner written to my uncle or gone to Madeira hoping to see him but once; and yet Mrs Fairfax continued on a subject that decidedly changed my mind. – 'Mr Rochester would no doubt have gone back to the Continent to suit himself and not returned to us for a year. Still,' said she, gently patting my hand to reassure me in a moment of unease, 'he does so wish to have you near him, and I hope he does right by you. He certainly intends to and I no longer wonder at his making such hasty alterations from his sick-bed. – Oh, but I should not have mentioned that!'

'Do not upset yourself, Mrs Fairfax; you have mentioned nothing I did not know already. I own that I could not help overhearing my name when Mr Rochester dictated new terms to you, so I am not senseless to that he may have been leaving me a legacy. Only I do so wish he did not concern himself so much with providing for me.'

'Yes, well, the Rochester's always have been too concerned with finance over other more pressing matters, even poor health. But to be sure, he has no blood-family and so to who else should he leave his estate?'

'Mrs Fairfax?' – my cup I displaced to its saucer, while the good woman halted her words. Her eyes fixed on me as her lips froze, and her cheeks glowed bright. Her uneasiness at continuing with one more word became evident in this silence.

'Miss Eyre,' she uttered erelong, 'how careless I have been! I do beg your pardon, I had thought you said you overheard?'

'He made me his legatee? He was leaving me – me? – Thornfield? That cannot be true!'

'On the condition that you used the house and the income to run a school here; he did not stipulate a kind, only that you would be the main beneficiary: it was his particular wish. He seemed to have devised it all rather carefully, ensuring a certain lady's annuity. He insisted I get the letter to his lawyer first thing in the morning – why, he threatened to haunt me if I did not!' she feigned a shudder. 'I do so wish to know if you will mention this to him? I fear he shall be ever so cross and never intrust to me anything again.'

'Mrs Fairfax, you have my word that I shall not.'

The good lady nodded and began to talk about Mr Rochester's father and what he would have made of it, I heard nothing more but a dull ringing in my ears. 'His estate?' thought I, 'Why? What use had I for his estate if he was no longer living in it? He had already given me a school to run, that small dream of mine which I thought most likely unachievable, yet he had brought it about before my eyes.'

These thoughts and more besides filled my head: what had I done to deserve his favour above, say, Mrs Fairfax: a relative by marriage, and having served him long and faithfully – or even Adele as his ward! What had I done for him other than spurn his offer to love me always? Oh, well yes! I did save him from an inferno, some might say; but I say that I would have done the same for any man! Mr Rochester would not leave his estate to any young woman! How peacefully he had laid back his head after communicating his wishes to Mrs Fairfax, as if ready to take his leave of the world, knowing, as he did, how I would be well provided for. Thoughts of his offer to take me to his villa on the shores of the Mediterranean and there make him happy, now came upon me with a vengeance. Against my better judgement, I began again to question whether he would have loved me always. He would for a time, and love me well; I knew this. Oh, from where did these thoughts emerge? What am I thinking? I never wanted to be anything like his English Celine Varens!

I quickly dismissed the thoughts before leaving Mrs Fairfax to enter the drawing room. There I found Mr Rochester; he proceeded from the depths of an immense easy-chair by the fireside.

'There you are! Come along then, if you please! Where the deuce have you been? You will be soon telling me it is nine o'clock and you had better hurry on home. – Why do you look at me so, Jane? What is it? You've a queer little smile, or is it a scowl; I cannot tell!'

I betook myself to the chair opposite him and inquired calmly into his health to-day.

'I ache,' he replied. 'But are you quite well, Jane? You look a deal paler. Tell me, what is this strange behaviour all about?'

'I am quite well. But can I fetch you anything? Where do you ache, sir?'

'Here,' said he, touching his chest (over his heart). I could not be sure of his meaning, and so I reasoned to inquire nothing more about it.

'Strange girl; so unusually quiet,' said he after a pause. 'What have you and Dame Fairfax been talking of to make you thus so mute?'

'Nothing of consequence, sir.'

'And what for "nothing of consequence" when it is clearly significant? You stare at me like I am an imposter.' He examined his hands. 'This is me, I think?'

'Yes, sir.' I could not shake off the heavy thought of Mr Rochester, my Edward, doing something so ridiculous, and yet so attentive, as to bequeath me his estate while he was dreadfully ill. I wanted to shout at him: 'Why?' while I also wanted to sit at his knee and smile upon him, as I once had.

Thanks for reading!

Sorry I couldn't get the other clergyman into this chapter. A few things have to happen before he can make an appearance, but no doubt he is busying himself with writing his sermons ;)

The next chapter shall be a 'St John Christmas Special' (lol) and I shall post it as early as I can on Christmas Day! Just a way to wishing you all a great Christmas!