How I Met Jane Eyre

Hey guys! K.J.A here again with a new chapter. Soon this will all be over. Thank you all so much for your kind comments. I am glad that you are all enjoying the story so far. Excerpts from this chapter are from chapters 26 and 27 of Jane Eyre, and I promise you, this will be the very last time that chapter 27 from Jane Eyre will be mentioned in this thing. Enjoy.

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"It's best to know the truth; Of that I have no doubt; But you'll have to face your future; When the truth comes out."

Lyrics above are taken from a song called "When the Truth Comes Out" From a show called Scrubs, series (or season, if you are over in the USA) 6, episode 6: My Musical. If you look at the lyrics and then look at this chapter, you'll see why it makes so much sense. And now it's on with this chapter.

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Chapter 12 – The Secret Comes Out

"As soon as I heard those words, my dears, it seemed to me that everything that I was so desperately close to getting, everything that was good in my life, was ebbing away from me; fading slowly, like a really good dream that you had just awoken from, and as much as you want to remember the fine details, you find that they are gone; for dreams are just dreams and not memories that do not exist and forget to live; and that for me was all our first "wedding" between your mother and I could ever be: a dream.

"Anyway, even as I felt the blood pounding through my veins, I stood tall and firm as always, and tried to defy what was happening; so I therefore told the clergyman, Wood, to proceed, but he would not, for he said that he needed to look into the facts of the matter to determine whether the impediment was a true one, and the man – for indeed, it was a man who had spoken – said that there was a marriage which already existed, and that the one that was taking place between your mother and I could not continue, and went on to say that I was already married. I felt the blood rush violently through me as he said this, and at that moment, the only thing that made this dream – no, nightmare is the word – real, was your mother's tiny, precious little hand in mine.

I then asked who the man's name was, and he said that his name was Briggs, a solicitor from some street or other in London. I was determined to be defiant to the last, and did not dare mention Bertha's name, so I asked Briggs to prove it. He pulled out a letter which said that I had been married to Bertha fifteen years hence the day of the "marriage" in Spanish Town, Jamaica, and that the evidence was obtained in a certificate which Richard Mason had.

"I felt your mother's gaze on mine, forcing me to look at her, but I could not bear to see the look of hatred or heartache on her face, so I instead just looked at Briggs and told him that just because that document said that I was married, it did not mean to say that the woman in question still lived. But of course, I knew then and there that my excuses would do me no more good anymore, and it was only a matter of time until the truth came out; and indeed it did, in the form of Mason himself, the witness to prove that the "marriage" that would have happened was indeed a false one."

I paused for a few moments, allowing this to sink in, and wondering whether my children were going to say anything to me; but when they did not, I proceeded on: "As I was saying, my dears, as soon as I saw Mason, anger violently swept through me, and I let go of your mother's hand and went up to him, demanding what he had to say, but of course, he said nothing. The solicitor asked him for courage, and he at last spoke out, saying that she did live, was alive when he last saw her and that he (Mason) was her brother.

"At that moment, my dream of being with your mother and of having her as my true wife started to fade; because even though I knew that we could not be joined together lawfully, that did not mean that we could not live together. I know, I know," I said at their disgruntled faces, "but your mother and I were soul mates and have always belonged together. Anyway, Wood then said that this was impossible, for he had not seen a Mrs Rochester living at Thornfield Hall, which I took care that no one should. Of course, I let rumours slip out that there was a ghost or spirit of some kind which haunted the place, but I did not tell anyone the full truth, for fear of losing any sort of respect that society gave me (I've said to you before that I am a proud man, so forgive what I say). The dream of marriage was truly over now, so I told Green (the clerk) to close his book, for there was to be no wedding that day. I then turned to your mother and took her hand once more in mine, and told the clergyman, the solicitor and the meddler that your mother had no idea that she was about to be drawn into a feigned union with a defrauded wretch, for she thought that all was fair and legal. I then asked them all to follow me, and so I led them from the church."

"W-what happ-p-p-ened next, P-P-Papa?" Janet asked shakily. I looked at my children as best as I could, and saw out of the glow of the fire that they were looking pale, so I asked them if I should stop in my tale, just as I had told their mother all those years ago, but they said that they wished for me to continue with it, and I smiled at their inner strength; another clear gift that they had inherited from their mother. So I continued: "Well, once we had got back to Thornfield, I told John to take the carriage back for there would be no need of it that day; and when we entered the house, Mrs Fairfax, Adele, Sophie and the other servants were there to welcome us, but I bid them all away, for I said to them then that it was fifteen years too late.

"Still holding your mother's hand, I made my way up through the house and to the third-storey, where I opened the door to the inner room, where Mason had lay on the bed just three months before that day, fighting for his life, pulled back the tapestry behind it, opened the door and stepped inside to where Bertha and her nurse, Grace Poole, were. We were not in there for very long, for Bertha pounced on me not too soon after she had seen me, and I pushed your mother behind me to keep her out of harm's way, as I took to grappling with Bertha, as Grace got some rope for me, and together, we restrained her arms and bound her to a chair, where she could do nothing more than to snarl and yell like a wild animal, and look at us all with mad eyes that were full of hatred.

"I then told the company behind me that she was my wife, and then asked the company whether they still blamed me for trying to be with your mother; for I would have done anything just to be with her. I then compared Bertha to your mother: the clear eyes to the red balls; a face to a mask; your mother's form to Bertha's bulk, before I asked them all to judge me, even though I was wrong, for I had been tormented for far too long, as you already know, my dears; and I thought that I – foolishly – had the right to gain your mother as my wife. I then sent them all out, as I needed to tend to Bertha before I did anything else."

"Then what happened?" Eddie asked me, his voice quiet.

"Well, after Bertha had been attended to, and as I stood outside the door to the third-storey, leaning my head against the door, I wondered what I was going to do. Hope and Despair then started their battle over dominion of my soul, for I knew that your mother was going to leave me, but I could not let that happen; for I was determined that she would live a life with me in it. The thought then hit me that she could have left with the solicitor and the meddler, and so I dashed quickly down the stairs and to the second floor, and to a room where I could see the path that led to my house and what lay beyond.

"I could see figures walking – not too far ahead, surprisingly – and I saw Wood heading back to the church, and Briggs and Mason walking towards the main road. I sighed a small sigh of relief, for that meant that your mother had not yet left; but for how long she would stay, I knew not. I was determined that she would not leave me, no matter what happened, and I would fight for her to stay with me. Besides, she had not heard my story yet of how Bertha came to be there, so I decided to wait for her. I took a chair from my room, put it outside her door, and would wait for her to step forth from her dwelling place, no matter how long it took for her to come to me.

"Not long after I had done this, I heard someone come up the stairs. I recognised the footstep as Mrs Fairfax's, and knowing that I did not want to have your mother be disturbed by none but me, I went as quietly as I could to where the old lady was fast approaching, told her that no one – not she, not Adele, not Sophie or any other servant for that matter – come up here. When she asked me why, I told her to not ask impertinent questions and just do what I had asked. She looked quite shocked at what I had just said – for I had not been rude to her since your mother had returned to Thornfield the previous month – but said that she would do what I asked. I nodded my head in acknowledgement of what she had said, and then I returned to my post at your mother's door."

"Then what happened?" Eddie asked.

"Well, as I already said, I sat down and waited for your mother, and made me wait she did; for the minutes turned to hours, and still I sat, with nothing but my thoughts and the ticking of the clock to keep me company. I thought that she hated me for what I did to her and that's why she shunned me. I was surprised that she would shun me, for your mother is a passionate woman, as you well know, and I was expecting her to come out in a rage, with tears falling from her eyes and make a scene of some kind, but she did not. So after I waited for the scene to come but did not happen, my mind then turned back to the thought that maybe your mother did hate me, and as much as I tried to remove that thought from my mind, nothing worked, for it still remained.

"Then another thought entered my mind – a sad one, just the same – that spoke of your mother leaving me. And I could not allow that to happen. I was determined to keep her with for my own happiness, and I knew that the only way to do that would have been to make your mother my mistress –"

"You were going to make Mama your mistress!" Eddie shouted incredulously.

"Papa, how could you have been thinking of doing such a thing like that to Mama?" Janet said, looking disgusted at the thought of what she and Eddie could have been born as, if it were not for the change in my circumstances, but I'll get to that.

Anyway, Janet then continued to say: "Surely you must have known, Papa that Mama's strong sense of reason would have trumped over such thoughts that were forming in your mind?"

I thought about this for a few moments before I answered her: "To be honest with you, my dears, I did think about this, and I imagined all kind of scenarios where your mother and I would discuss the topic of my marriage to Bertha, and I asking your mother to stay with me; but no matter the outcome, it never ended well. So in the end, I said to myself that when your mother did eventually open the door, I would just have to go with the flow, and see where Fate would take me.

"Getting back to the point, though: sad thoughts of your mother's hatred and her leaving me continued to thwart my mind; and after several hours had passed, I thought to myself then that if your mother didn't come out within the next five minutes, that I would have to break down the door. But then I heard movement on the other side, which startled me out of my thoughts; and as I heard the lock click, I jumped out of my seat; my back aching and my bones stiff from having sat in that chair for so long; famished and parched, for I had not eaten or drank since the morning, but I didn't care: for the only thing that I cared about at that moment was your mother, who came stumbling out of the door, and I caught her around her slender waist before she hit the floor.

"Your mother never said a cold, cruel word against me when I saw her, my dears. There was no hatred in her eyes, nor was there any scorn; all that I saw in her eyes at that moment was that her hope had quenched and her happiness was gone, for they were glazed over and had dimmed. Oh, the look on your mother's face at that moment I can still see clearly now as I did that day; and how it still pains me and tortures me at how I treated her. She had not moved for several hours within her room, and seeing as I saw no tears in her eyes, I assumed that her heart had been weeping blood. I then asked for her forgiveness, but to my dismay, all that she said was that she was tired and sick, and needed some water. I shuddered a sigh at not getting the response that I so desperately needed, so I held her in my arms and carried her to the library, where after I had placed your mother down, I made a fire, gave her a little something to eat, which she did and I was glad, and then gave her some wine. When I asked her how she was, she told me that she would be well again soon. This was not the response I was hoping for either, for I wanted her to tell me what she thought of me and to call me every bad name she could think of – even though I knew that she wouldn't; for she has such a good heart, it would be out of her character to say a bad word against me, never mind curse me – so I wondered round the room, thinking what to do. Then I went back to her, forced to go along with my plan to get your mother to stay with me, and bent down to kiss her; but to my annoyance, she turned her head – and mine – away from her.

"I knew that your mother wouldn't kiss me because I was married to Bertha, and that she must have thought that my arms were claimed by another; and when I asked her whether these things were true, she as good as affirmed that they were. I said some words to her, then: told her that she must have some strange opinion of me: thought of me as some sort of Trickster, who goes around luring someone as innocent as your mother into his traps, robs them of their self-respect and honour and leaves love out of the question. I remember that she was thinking of how she should act, for her head was taking over her heart – her passion being displaced by reason – and I as I knew this and knew her, I was on my guard against your mother.

"She told me that she did not wish to act against me, and I told her that it wasn't in her sense of the word, but rather in mine, for she as good as said that she was setting about to destroy me, for she would not kiss the husband of Bertha Mason. I was a married man (yes, I admit it now, although at that moment, I defied it), and went on to say to her that as a married man she would scorn me and be nothing more than Adele's governess under my roof, whilst becoming like ice and rock to me. She then told me the words that I had been dreading to hear all along: she had to leave me. Back then, I thought that this was ridiculous for her to live without me; but now, when I look back, I see that she was right to leave me; for if she hadn't, neither of us would be where we are now with you two in our lives, my lambs."

"What do you mean, Papa?" Eddie asked me.

"Don't worry, my son. All will be explained to you, I assure you of this. Anyway, as I knew that I could not live without her, I decided to look past the point of her living without me and told her that we would leave Thornfield together: that I would shut the old place up, border up the windows and start a fresh, new life together, away from the prying eyes of mere mortals. I then told your mother that I had told the servants – who knew something of Grace's patient, of course – to keep her a secret from your mother, before I had even met her that frosty, bitter day in January all those years ago: because I knew that Adele would never have a governess to stay because of the wretched demon who lived there; and if that were to have happened, I would have been resolved to have moved Bertha to where we are now, Ferndean Manor. I thought that these old, damp walls would have eased me of her charge, but then I thought about what harm she could do to herself and others, and so thought better against that notion. I then went on to say a few harsh words about Bertha's condition, and when your mother said that I could not blame her for the condition that her mind was in, for she could not help being mad, I told your mother that she misunderstood me, and that it was not because she was mad that I hated her. I then asked your mother that if she was mad, did she think that I would hate her –"

"Would you hate her if she was mad, Papa?" Janet asked. Eddie and I both looked at her in shock, and Janet mumbled her apologies as she looked at the floor.

"That's quite all right, Janet," I spoke quite sternly to her. "But please try to remember that I love your mother very much, and that nothing that could ever happen to her would change what we have." She nodded her head once more, and apologised once again. I looked at her in silence for a few moments before I went on: "Anyway, as soon as I had said this, your mother said that she thought that I would hate her (as if I could hate such a creature as your mother?), and I told her that she knew nothing of me, and knew nothing of the love that I was capable of. I told her that every atom of her flesh is as dear to me as my own – as is yours to us both, my dears – and in pain and sickness it would still be just as dear. Her mind, though broken, would still be my treasure. My arms would have held her as best as they could when she raved at me in a wild way; I would be her nurse and her keeper, who would have smiled at her tenderly, though she could not; and I would never tire of gazing into the eyes that I love so well, even if they were to hold no recognition of me. I then went on to talk more about the two of us leaving Thornfield together, and when she told me that I should take Adele with me, I told your mother that she – and she alone – would be the only one who I would share my solitude with.

"I knew that your mother would still not listen to my wild, frantic, maddening – as it seems to me now – renditions of us living together (even though we were not man and wife), I told her that if she did not hear reason, then I would take her then and there as my own, against her free will –"

"Papa!" Janet shrieked.

"How could you say that - or, even think of doing such a thing to Mama?" Eddie said, pale once more.

"I know I shouldn't have, my dears," I said, "but I was desperate for your mother to listen to what I had to say and not to leave me, that I was willing to do anything that I could in order for her stay, even if that meant taking away her honour. Of course, I highly regret the very thought of doing that now, for it was all out of pure madness; and seeing as your mother has forgiven me - as she has for many other mistakes that I have made - I see no reason why the two of you should not forgive me, either. Anyway, your mother took hold of my clenched hand and asked me to sit beside her, and told me that she would listen to me for as long as she liked. I took this as a good sign and sat beside her, still on my guard though; for I knew that this could go wither way. I did not speak directly for a few moments, and it was only then that the floodgates behind your mother's eyes opened, and her tears flowed willingly down her cheeks. I tried to get her to be composed, but she told me she could not when I was in such a passion. I told her that I was not angry with her, for I loved her too well to be that with her. The only reason I became that way with her, my dears, is because your mother had her face stuck in a resolute, frozen look, that I could not bear to look at her, for fear that it would drive me to madness and I was afraid that if that happened, that I would do something to her which I would later regret. My voice was calmer by this point, as was I, and so in turn, she became calm, too.

"Her tears gave me hope again, and as I knew that she needed comfort - and I needed some comfort from her in return - I tried to lay my head on her shoulder, and then tried to draw her close to me, but both these things she declined. I then started to worry that we would get to the subject of her leaving me again, so I tried to draw her out and see if she would give me anything that would give me hope; so I asked her if she loved me at all, or whether it was my station and the rank of my wife that she valued. Oh, how cruel and bitter those words seem, even now. I saw the look on her face as I said those words: saw the pain that I had caused her by just saying them, and I knew the answer before she even told me, and the answer she gave me was that she did love me, now more than ever, but this was the last time we would ever say it to each other (well, then anyway). I knew that we were back on the topic of her leaving me, so I decided to keep playing the fool and said if she wanted to leave for a few minutes to get herself made decent; but she told me that she would have to start a new life without me in it. I did not want her to keep saying this - nor did I want it to become a reality - so I said that we would leave Thornfield together, despite the fact that I knew that I was slowly losing the battle, as Hope was losing against Despair. She shook her head once again at the thought of us leaving together, and I once again started to become frantic and livid; and the more agitated I became, so did she in turn, until she finally said, almost involuntarily, "God help me!"

"I then remembered that she did not know how I came to be with Bertha, and, seeing as this was my one last shot of Hope fighting against the darkness of Despair, I decided to confess all to your mother, in the hope that when I did, she would see it my way, and would therefore stay with me. So I told her all: how I was sent over to Jamaica when I was twenty-one; how I met Bertha; how I had come to discover that her mother was mad, and that Bertha had followed suit; how the next four years of our "married life" played out; how I had almost committed suicide, because I couldn't bear to live that way any longer; how I had come to place Bertha at Thornfield; how I spent the next ten years of my life after placing Bertha in Thornfield; how Adele came to live at Thornfield because of my first mistress, Celine, and then I told your mother about Giacinta and Clara, before I finally told your mother about how I met her, and grew to know and love her. The reason why I am not telling you any of this, my dears, is because you already know the story, and to repeat myself all over again would just be a complete waist of my time as well as yours, so let's move on.

"Getting back to the story, then: when I finished telling your mother my long and heart-rending tale, I told your mother how the case stood and asked if she could see it; that after a youth and manhood past away in misery and dreary solitude, I found the one woman who I truly love - by means of your mother. She is my sympathy, my better self, my good angel, and she somehow manages to bring out the best in me, and sees me in a way that I never have, nor has anyone else for that matter (at least, that's what I think, anyway). Back to the point, though: I then told your mother that I find her good, gifted, lovely: a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart for her. It leans to your mother, draws her to my string of life, wraps my existence around her, and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, it fuses us as one. This much she knows, because I, of course, told her about it.

"I then told your mother that it was because I felt and knew this that I resolved to marry her the first time round. I was wrong to have deceived her thus, it was cowardly, I know; and I also know that I should have appealed to your mother's spirit first before I asked her to be mine; but I didn't because I was afraid that she would leave me, and that the love that she holds in her heart for me would be extinguished in a matter of moments; and if that had happened, I'm afraid to say, my dears, that I really do not know what I would have done with myself. Anyway, when I asked her to accept my pledge of fidelity, and asked your mother to give me hers, she paused. I asked her why, but I already knew; I could see the answer shining clearly in her eyes, and the Despair was growing blacker, as bright white light of Hope had all but gone: and my suspicions were confirmed when she answered me in one word: "Depart". No matter what I did or said to her, none of it made any difference, she was resolved to leave me. I asked her not only to think of my life when she was gone, because with her gone, all the happiness and light in my life would be gone with her; but I also asked her who would be offended by living with me; for she had neither friends nor relatives outside of Thornfield who could help her, or even cared about her - at least until ... but, once again, I'm getting ahead of myself here.

"Anyway, I watched her as she thought about what I had just said. At first, it seemed as though her heart was going to win; for I saw how desperately she wanted to come to me, to comfort and be comforted by me. My heart rose at this, and Hope once again came back with a strong fight, pushing back against the Despair that was practically eating away at my soul; but then the tables turned, and Despair came back with a vengeance, as your mother's reasoning head took over, and distilled the passion of her heart, planting her foot as she did so and resolving to leave me. I became mad at this; so much so that I dashed across the floor and held her with an iron-like grip, and as your mother's eyes met mine, I saw right through them, and deep into the heart of your mother's soul - that savage, beautiful creature - which was looking at me. Whatever I could do to your mother's body, I realised that I could not get her soul, for the Almighty would reach his hands on that pure, untainted part of her that I so desperately wanted and loved, and yet I could not get.

"I once again asked your mother to come to me, hoping against hope that she would, but she did not. Her reasoning gave her wisdom enough to ;eave me, and no matter what I said, none of it made any difference; for your mother's mind was already made up. But in one last, final attempt to keep her with me, I asked your mother to think over all that I had just said in her room, and to think of me as she did so.

"I realise now that at that very moment, that was when my soul started to belong to Despair; for it was beginning to crash against the rocks there on Despair's black, stormy waters, and the white ship of Hope was nowhere in sight. I fell to my knees and put my head on the seat of the sofa that your mother had occupied so much, and let out a deep, strong sob as I did so. I heard your mother's soft footsteps head towards the door, but they came back; and a second later I felt my head being lifted up and turned round by one of her soft, delicate little hands, as with the other she removed the hair from my face and kissed my cheek, saying that she hoped that God would keep me safe from harm, and that He would repay any kindness that I had ever given your mother. The boat of Hope came towards me then, slowly but surely on the horizon, before I told your mother that her love would have been my best reward, and that without it my heart was broken. I then asked her to come to me once more, but before I could hold her in my arms, she fled, and the boat of Hope stayed exactly where it was, never moving, not doing anything, as the black, choppy waters of Despair, on which my soul was struggling against, were trying to engulf me under their deep, dark, murky waters."

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So, that's it for chapter 12. I hope that you all liked it, and that you enjoyed all the stuff about the constant battle between Hope and Despair, which I think are really important points in his story. So next up is what he did after Jane was gone; what happened for those first two months without her in his life and the second fire will all be written about in the next chapter. So until then, please R&R and tell your friends about this story (well, if they like this sort of thing, that is). Until I write again, then.