Did you miss me? I wonder... Well, here are the further adventures of Miss Jenny Eyre. I do hope they keep you awake and wanting more - do let me know what you think. I'm usually very kind to my reviewers and even have been known to answer pertinent questions. (Except, of course, when the moon is at its full, and then I just...howl!)

JENNY Chapter 15

We set forth in great style in Grandfather's comfortable travelling coach with another coach full of luggage and servants. There were outriders also, in accordance with Grandfather's wishes. I had wondered aloud one day, why it was that there were so many servants at Strydings and he had confided that it was his way of giving employment—he told me that he had a particular preference for former soldiers. He considered them more trustworthy than the average and also capable of providing protection when needed. "There are a great many rascals about, my dear—'an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure'."

My dear Grandfather, how much love and care he spent on me. I know now that he was trying in some way to make up for his former failings: his anger at my Mother's marriage against his wishes; his promotion of my Uncle's disappointing marriage to a woman who did not love him; and his own subsequent failure to ascertain the circumstances of my life in my Aunt's household after his Son died. I never held his neglect against him—he had been too overcome by grief at the loss of his children—with his quarrel with my Mother left unresolved—and his distaste for my Aunt Reed causing him not to inquire more closely into her treatment of me.

Once he had been enlightened as to her wrongdoing, he had acted swiftly and decisively to correct matters as well as he could—perhaps even overcompensating somewhat. Indeed, it was a long time before I was able to leave behind the sense of inferiority which my Aunt's mistreatment had visited upon me. Maria helped a great deal in improving my view of things, her patience and dedication to my instruction was extraordinary. I truly appreciated the chance which had brought her to Lady Catherine's notice and thus to our household.

All too soon, we arrived at Haworth where Maria's Family lived. What an odd little village it was—everything was uphill—especially the Church and Parsonage, which were at the very top. Her Family came bursting upon us with cries of joy at seeing their Sister once more, once we had made it up the hill. My Grandfather, with one thoughtful glance, took in the fact that the Parsonage was not of a size to accommodate our party and swiftly gave orders to the Coachmen and Servants to seek lodgings in the neighborhood for our group. Maria's luggage was handed down from the coach before it lumbered away, and Grandfather and I prepared to meet the Bronte family.

What a fascinating family were they! I was envious to see so many sisters together—poor Elizabeth, however, was unable to join us for very long. Her illness was now in its last stages and indeed, within a few days of our arrival—she went to join the Angels. The funeral was a very subdued affair, she was laid to rest in the Church one cloudy day when there was rain softly falling; just as our tears were slipping down our faces, so did the rain come down—drop by drop, mingling with our tears so that one could not tell from whence the moisture came.

We spent a few more days in Haworth before setting out once more on our travels. Charlotte, Branwell and Emily took me for several long rambles on the M-oors, and showed me some of their favorite places. I remember an old ruined farmstead where the wind blew eerily through the broken window frames and vacant doorways of the ancient buildings. Emily was particularly fond of the place and told us a marvelous story she had made up about it.

Charlotte laughed and said that she could tell an even better one about the waterfall and the lofty crags nearby—she said that they were the ruins of an ancient castle which was now haunted by uneasy spirits—her tale made me shudder in my bed that night.

They were not always in the realms of their imaginations, however, there were many political discussions around the table after Dinner with their father, Patrick, joining in to put forth his thoughts on the day's events. There was a great deal of hero-worship for the great Duke of Wellington and his role in defeating the Corsican Monster, Napoleon. The Reverend Bronte allowed that they might see their idol raised to the prominence of Prime Minister of England one day. "And no man better for the task, say I!"

When the day came for us to leave, Maria came with us, of course. My Grandfather wished to visit Derbyshire where the Fitzwilliams and the Darcys lived. Our friend, Lord Richard Fitzwilliam, had invited us to his family's estate near Matlock; and had also mentioned the beauties of his Cousin Darcy's magnificent residence near Lambton. I was looking forward to renewing my acquaintance with our friends.

Truly, one never knows what happenings wait around the corner—it is only now when I can look back on those times, that I can appreciate how precious every moment of our existence can be. Who has not lived to rue the words spoken in anger, the careless observation that unintentionally caused hurt to another, or worse yet—the hasty action that caused unplanned disaster.

To this day, I have no idea how it happened: one moment we were going down a steep hill; I remember gazing out the window at a large house in the near distance, just the other side of a river. It looked very old, built of stone with battlements along the roof edge, with a dense wood rising behind it—it added a very Gothic presence to the hillside on which it was placed. My Grandfather leaned forward to identify the source of my fascination. "I had quite forgotten that that House was on this road, that is Thornfield Hall my dear, it belongs to our friend, Mr. Rochester."

"Oh, do you think he is at home?"

"Look to see if the flag is flying, they always put it out when he is there."

I had just turned back to the window when Disaster struck at us. There was a sudden swerve of the coach, and then a loud crack and the next I knew—we were falling, falling, falling... I could hear voices crying out and the terrible sound of the horses screaming in fear; but I could do nothing—the coach had finally come to rest upside-down at the bottom of a slope; There was a pain in my arm and shoulder, and my head hurt—I found that I was bleeding.

But what of the others? Maria was very quiet, and my Grandfather was groaning in pain, and was not really able to help me or himself. Tom, one of our outriders, wrenched open the door and helped me out—I was shivering from the pain in my arm and the shock of the accident. "Hush now, little maid, I'll see to this," he said kindly, and helped me to sit down on one of the trunks which had fallen off when the coach overturned.

"Jack," he called, "Come here and help me with Mr. Reed—I think something's wrong with his leg." The other outrider came to his aid and between the two of them, they were able to extract my Grandfather from his coach. They set him down carefully and then went back for poor Maria—laying her down carefully and covering her with a shawl—shaking their heads sadly as they did so.

I was barely aware of my surroundings by then—the pain in my head was increasing and then the true horror struck at me—I saw several sharp flashes of light—and then, I saw nothing at all. My eyes were open, but I was blind—all before me was as dark as a moonless night. I could still hear and feel, but I was feeling strangely weak, I wanted to lie down somewhere and rest awhile. Someone touched my hurt arm just then and awoke me from my lethargy—I screamed with the pain from my broken arm and dislocated shoulder. There was a muttered apology, then someone was lifting me up, and I lost all consciousness.

That's right, old habits seldom change - here's "Cliff" again! Seeya later, when we shall discover if Miss Jane regains her sight, and how Maria and Grandfather Reed fared. Also, what of the mysterious Mr. Rochester? Will he appear? Will they ever get to Pemberley? Ah, my dears, 'tis all waiting to be told - later.