Well, meanwhile how was Edward handling things? I think he was kicking himself thoroughly in the butt!

ONCE A FOOL

Well, here I sit by the fire all alone, and I tell myself, "It serves you right, you fool. How could you ever have made such a mess of things?"

I find myself thinking of an incident that happened long ago when I was little—I was in the Garden with my Mother one bright morning when I saw the beautiful thing. How pretty it was as it fluttered along from flower to flower. I could not resist the impulse to capture it and present it to my Mother. Alas, my chubby little fingers did not know what they did—when I opened my hands to show her my treasure—it was crushed beyond recognition. My Mother was very sympathetic with my tears, but she said that this should be a lesson to me. "My dear Neddy," she said, "You must understand that your strength is meant to protect; not to harm those who are weaker than you are." She was right, of course, the few times when I have not heeded her words have led me to the most bitter regrets.

I met my Fate one Evening when all unaware, I begged a ride on my old pony cart. From the day that girl first crossed my path, I should have known that she would be nothing but a trouble and a vexation! It was a challenge I had not expected—someone who did not look at me with the usual expectations of Society. A woman who did not flirt and expect an endless amount of masculine attentions and flattery; it was very intriguing.

I should have realized from the first moment that she would prove to be nothing like any other woman I had known. But, I was as blind a fool as ever I had been. I expected her to have all the usual faults of womankind, and instead, she was free of all the lying and cupidity; all the flirtatious airs of the standard accomplished young lady; instead of idle chatter about gowns and bonnets—she could discuss literature and botany; she had read widely and well; and had decided opinions on her studies. None of that tiresome nonsense of "What do you think?" where she could hide behind my interpretation instead of her own opinion. It was a very refreshing thing to actually be able to have a conversation.

I should have known what the result would be—what must I do but fall in love with her—of all the developments, it was the one thing I should most have dreaded. Here I was, with all my experience of the world and of women—and, it seems, I knew nothing about being in love, what a terrifying experience it can be.

I'm an active person—I believe in enjoying Life and all it has to offer—granted there are things I refuse to do. I have seen too many of my acquaintances fall prey to the lures of gaming, drinking, the use of other intoxicants such as opium, and long nights with too many loose women—no, the mere thought of an orgy disgusts me and always has.

I would rather be monogamous, but up until now, it hasn't been possible. I've had some relationships that haven't worked out. It may be that I expected too much, or perhaps we didn't have the same expectations for the future. Anyway, I've given up on that sort of thing for good. All I really want is the simplest thing in the world—a decent home life—and I haven't been able to have one!

I wish I'd never been sent to Jamaica! Of all the wrong-headed ideas my Father had—that one was the real prize-winner! That infernal woman! Beautiful—yes, Bertha was a beauty! But the inside did not match the outside. All the things I hated most: all the bad traits, all the disgusting behavior that I had deplored in others—were present in her. To top it all off—there was insanity in the family! All too soon the doctors confirmed my suspicions-my wife was a madwoman! I was trapped in a marriage that was nothing but a pitiful sham and with no hope that things would be better.

Then things changed back here at home: my father had an apoplexy and died, and what must Rowland do but break his neck out hunting! I had to come back here and take over the estate. Of course, I had to bring her with me—my personal incubus! Fortunately, my father had never shared the news of my marriage with his acquaintances—so I was apparently free to do as I pleased.

I'm not a monk, I like women—one at a time—but nevertheless I like women; not the other possibility, which frankly. I suspect my dear brother-in-law of. There was a certain amount of that sort of thing going on at School, perhaps I'm fastidious, but I never cared for it!

There was no possibility then, of a permanent relationship which could lead to the family life which I longed for. In all my travels I never had met anyone with whom I could conceivably spend a lifetime. I had become frustrated and bitter at the way things had turned out—if this was all there was in life for me—then I was tired of living like this. I would have to make a change somehow.

The worst of it all, was the wasted time! I would soon be forty—there was not much time left for me to achieve my wishes. So, there I was—ripe for trouble like any young fool—only I was supposedly in a position to know better.

When I first began to realize what was happening—that I was becoming obsessed with this little girl—I tried to pay less attention to her. I turned to other matters—the estate always needed my attention if things were to go prosperously. The other gentlemen in the neighborhood were happy to welcome me back from my travels; we talked politics and discussed campaign plans for a new Member of Parliament to represent our interests.

There was talk of a house party to be held in the neighborhood, at the Eshton's estate. I was a bit wary of this idea because I was well aware that the Eshtons had three daughters to marry off. I held off from accepting the invitation—saying that I might come if my business affairs allowed it.

Then my lovely demon-wife escaped her keeper—not for the first, or last time—and, for whatever reason, or lack of same—she set fire to my bed. Fortunately her antics had awakened Jane, who came to my rescue with all the water she could lay hands on. The fire in my bed was out, but the fire in my heart was raging—I nearly told her then how I felt about her, but when I came back to my room after getting Bertha locked up—I found her asleep. There she was, curled up in my chair, my cloak wrapped around her, sleeping sweetly and innocently in my bedroom. I did the only thing I could decently do—I took her back to her own room and put her to back to bed. Any discussion would have to wait for another time.

In the end, I let her think that Grace was responsible for the fire, which she was, in a way; since her drunken slumber had allowed Bertha to escape her confinement. I thanked Jane for putting the fire out and saving my life.

There was more I wanted to say to her, but somehow the time was not right. Besides, I could not tell if she had any fondness for me at all, beyond that of an employee who esteemed her employer. I wanted more from her than simple gratitude and friendship. I wanted her to love me as much as I had come to love her-I could see no sign of it. So, I made the first of a series of stupid errors: I decided to make her jealous—I should have known it wouldn't work out the way I thought it would. I invited the neighborhood over for a continuation of the Eshton's house party.

This gave me the opportunity to carry on a half-hearted (on my part) flirtation with Blanche Ingram. I was hoping that Jane would be jealous, but I was wrong—I saw her become pale and silent—she avoided me as much as possible. I would see her only in the evenings when I obliged her to attend the gathering in the Drawing Room after the evening meal. Supposedly she was there to monitor Adele, but actually it was so that she would see Blanche's encouragement of my attentions. Once or twice I got the impression that Jane had been weeping—she seemed depressed, but I had no opportunity to speak with her.

We seemed to be at a stalemate—I decided that it was time to move things along: so I pretended to be a Gypsy fortune teller. I had great fun with the young ladies, and took the opportunity to make Blanche think that my great wealth was not as vast as was thought—that in fact I had recently experienced major losses, and would have to mortgage my properties to satisfy my debts. This, of course, did not suit Miss Blanche's expectations. As it developed, I had finally managed to dispose of her interest in me.

However, Jane saw though my play-acting fairly quickly, I was impressed by her acumen in recognizing me despite my disguise. But once again, I was not able to talk to her in depth because she told me that I had a visitor—an unwelcome one from my view—Richard Mason. So I had to let the discussion wait for a better time and attend to my brother-in-law instead. Of course the fool would not heed my warning and went straightaway that very night to see his demented sister. She became enraged when she set sight on him and savagely attacked him with a knife and only God knows what else—tooth and claw from the looks of him when I came to his rescue.

I needed someone to help me care for him while I went for the Doctor. Grace was occupied with Bertha—I would need another person. I remembered seeing Jane come out of her room when Mason's screaming and Bertha's demented howling awoke the household. I felt I could trust her to be silent about Mason's condition. I summoned her to take care of him—not without a shudder for her safety—knowing as I did, what it was that lurked on the other side of the locked and barred door.

It was a relief to get him out of the house, I sent him to stay with Mr. Carter until he was better. I wanted to talk to Jane that morning, but just as I began to put my case to her, we were interrupted by a messenger come to summon Jane to her Aunt's deathbed.

This was the first I had known of her connection to the Reed family. It seemed that her family background was better than it had appeared at first. If she had had some money, she would have belonged in Society just as much as the Ingrams or the Eshtons. Granted John Reed was a dissipated young fool and his sister, Georgiana, although very pretty, was also rather silly. Nonetheless, it was a very respectable connection. Then, also, there was the Rivers family, an old family like my own, but with less property—apparently there had been a failed investment at sometime in the Past which had left them in rather reduced circumstances—still they were of the Gentry class and Rivers' sisters should also have been in Society instead of the classroom.

The whole problem was that I could hardly offer Jane the respectable position of Wife when I already had such a person, and it would be considered to be the basest form of insult to suggest anything else! I was a wit's end for a solution; perhaps it was just as well that she was away at Gateshead; it would give me time to think. The neighbors all went home about the same time that Jane left, so I had some peace and quiet at last! Of course, then it was too quiet—so I went to London and took care of a host of small matters that had accumulated for my attention. I returned, hoping to find her back in place in the household, and the pestilential little nuisance had not yet come back!

It was intolerable—no matter what I did—I could not stop thinking about the woman! I would look at a book and remember something she had said about it. I would gaze out the window and recall seeing her walking on the garden path outside. I would hear Adele chattering with Sophie and wonder when her teacher would return. When I went to sleep at night—she was there too in my dreams: laughing sometimes; other times, she would have a sorrowful look to her, and would not speak to me. Sometimes, it seemed I would see her on the path just ahead of me, but no matter how I hastened my step, I could never come up to her.

She did return at last, it took me by surprise, there I was resting from my labors at hay-raking when she came strolling up the lane just as though she had never been away. I was glad to see her—very glad. It seemed that she was glad also—at least from something she let slip which she promptly regretted having said! I followed her back to the house in a better frame of mind than I had been for some time.

I still was wrestling with my conscience (yes, I have such a thing—although there are those who would doubt its existence)! I had concluded that I would have to send her away, no matter how hard it would be for me to bear. So I confronted her in the Library one night—one magical night—Midsummer's Eve—as I realized later. Truly I must have been under some kind of spell for me to have committed the ultimate folly of asking her to marry me. How could I have done that? I knew it was wrong—but when I thought of spending my life without her—I was lost! To hold her in my arms at last—to kiss her and to have my kisses returned—to know that her feelings were the match of my own—this was to me, at least, a foretaste of Paradise!

The few weeks of courtship that followed were delightful—how she would tease me—and how I enjoyed being teased! No one had ever treated me this way before and I loved every delicious moment of it! I never knew what she would say next—her imagination knew no bounds!

My conscience would still give me an occasional prod from time to time, but I had decided not to listen. I said my intentions were good on the whole. She would be represented as my wife and she would be accepted as such; since no one knew anything to the contrary; all would be well. Now that Mason was out of the country—well on his way back to Jamaica—there should be no interference—no distressing revelations.

I was wrong, of course—again! Mason came to the Church with that damned Solicitor and put an end to fifteen years of prevarication with a few words. I thought the floor would open up and swallow me—I almost wish it had!

The worst thing happened when that accursed stiff-rumped cousin of hers, St. John Rivers, strode forth and announced his intention of marrying her himself, forthwith and without delay! I was beside myself with rage and chagrin, but there was nothing I could do about it. He took her out of the Church, the Solicitor hurrying after them. As for Mason, I have no idea where he went, as far as I was concerned—the Devil could have him—and was welcome to him!

I spoke to her one last time before she left—I did my best to apologize for the wrong I had done her. I hoped she could forgive me—but I should have known she would point out the major flaw in my actions. She asked what had I planned to do about our children—I had no answer for that. Bang! She had put her finger on the one thing I had never considered. There have been some I have known who gave no thought to the matter of leaving fatherless children all over the countryside—but it was not an example I cared to emulate. I despised myself at that point—truly, my behavior had been about as vile as anything I might have criticized in the actions of others!

The thought of her married to that sermonizing cousin of hers, with all that moral rectitude of his; I feared that she would soon fade away before the icy blast of his righteousness. My bright, enchanting little fairy to be chained to that Pious Parsonic Pillar of Perfection for life—it made me grind my teeth in frustration! But, it was too late—it had happened already—over two years ago!

Just then the door opened, and Mrs. Fairfax came rushing in, all of a dither about something I couldn't make head or tail of. I followed her reluctantly into the Hall...

Now comes the fun-it's time for melodrama! It wouldn't be a good Victorian story without it!