In which some matters are resolved, and Mr. Rochester is left holding the baby.

SOMETHING NEW

Time was passing by on dragging feet—the Surgeon and the Midwife had soon resolved their professional differences and were united in their task. There was a constant coming and going from the bedroom as requests were were filled and demands met. He sat in the hallway, banished as superfluous to the endeavor. Now and then, he could hear her cries—the sound went through him as though he was being stabbed. She was in such pain—he could feel it in all his body.

Her maid came out to find him, "Please, sir, could you go in? They say she seems to be calling for you. It might help if you were there."

Carter spoke to him as he came into the room. "She's not doing too well—she's very agitated and if we can't get her to calm down—it may go badly. Please sir, just sit here by the bed and hold her hand and talk to her, perhaps she'll hear you and relax a little—she's too tense."

He sat and took her hand in his, it was burning hot, he stroked it soothingly. "I am here with you, don't be afraid, I will try to help you."

I seemed to be lost in a wasteland of fever and excruciating pain—shaking with sobs of anguish, I cried out, "Edward!-Edward, please forgive me! I'm so sorry—I shouldn't have done it—I was wrong! Ohhh, why does it hurt so much! Someone please help me..."

He stroked my face with a damp cloth and took my hands in his again. "Open your eyes and look at me—just look at me—only at me. Never mind those other people—look at me."

Slowly my eyes opened and I saw him, "You are here," I said, "I thought I was dreaming about you but you're really here with me. This is my room at Thornfield, isn't it?"

"Yes, you're here and everything is going to be all right. Just be calm now—you're here with me—you're safe—all will be well." For answer, I gave him a weak smile, but my agitation was gone; I was calmer and better able to co-operate with the instructions I was being given by the Midwife. Time passed, the pains came more strongly, and more often. I clutched his hands throughout the ordeal. Then there was a sudden flurry of activity, a pause and a sudden thin thread-like squealing.

Mrs. Potter came forward after a few minutes, she was carrying a small, noisy bundle. "It's a little girl, very little, but I think she'll do. A few minutes more and we should have her mother taken care of. Will you hold the baby, sir? I've got nowhere to lay her down."

He found himself looking at a tiny, red, very indignant face—he couldn't stop smiling at the little one's displeasure with its new surroundings.

I turned my head and looked at him holding the child—there was a lump in my throat—it should have been his child—ours. "She said it was a girl, didn't she? I want to call her Amelia. I don't know anyone with that name so it will be hers—just hers."

"That is a lovely name, I like the sound of it—Amelia. You know, she's got your hazel eyes."

"My eyes are not hazel—they're green!"

"Tut! My love, you must know that I see them my way, and I see lovely hazel eyes."

"I wish she was ours, not his."

"But she is ours—you know I'm very fond of little girls! Big girls too!" he said it, laughing.

There was a small frown on my face, but I found it too hard not to smile at his joke.

-xxx-

A fortnight had passed: I and my little daughter were well on our way to good health. When I had awoken the next day after my daughter's birth, I had inquired as to Mr. Rochester's whereabouts, only to have Mrs. Fairfax tell me that he was away on business. I was a bit disappointed, and I asked her if he had been travelling a great deal in my absence. Her answer surprised me—she said that he had scarcely left Thornfield since my departure on the occasion of my marriage to St. John. I wondered at the change in his behavior; but was soon absorbed in the new responsibilities of motherhood. On his return from his travels, he came to see me in my room—Leah following him in with the tea tray.

"You are looking a great deal better," he said, "I hear that the Doctor says you can be out of that bed by tomorrow, and Mrs. Potter says that Amelia is thriving."

There was a smile on my face—relief and happiness at seeing him returned and in good spirits—raised my spirits also. "I am sorry to be such a burden to you. I am sure you have other concerns, and I should not have intruded with all my troubles."

"Think nothing of it—we were entirely too quiet here, and the household has enjoyed having something to do out of the routine. Besides-" here his voice dropped to a more confidential level and he drew closer to me, taking my hand in his, "I have wanted more than anything to see you; to know how you were doing; to know if you were—all right. I tried not to think about you, and I couldn't, no matter how I tried. I would walk in the garden, and all I could remember was the last time I spoke to you there. Tell me how things were for you."

"Are you sure you want to know—some of it was very difficult."

"Please, after all, it was my fault—none of it would have happened had I acted differently."

"As you must know, St. John and I were married the day we left here. I saw you watching us when we came out of the Bishop's residence—when our eyes met, I could see that we knew the same pain of loss. But my path was set and I had to follow it wherever it led me. St. John took me back to his old family home in Morton—his sisters were there and we were comfortable together. They were pleased that St. John had married me, he never told them the circumstances, so there was no prejudice against our union.

"I kept very busy with the housework and with Parish work, as he had taken up his former Living upon his return. We started a school for some of the village children and that was another outlet for my energies. Within a few months, our Uncle died and left us his fortune. My Cousins could now live comfortably, and the sisters would be able to marry, now that they had dowries. I was glad that things were looking up for us."

"Jane, you have not said anything about your marriage—was he awkward about...us?"

"I had made it clear very early on that I would not apologize for anything, because I felt I had done nothing that I had to apologize for. His nature was not effusive, but he was never really unkind. It was just that our temperaments did not match well—he wanted me to be modest and quiet- rather depressing to me, but I did my best to behave suitably. Fortunately, we were so busy with our duties that we did not have to spend too much time together.

"You must understand that St. John was a very cool self-contained person—he was not out-going in his emotions. Whether pleased or not—he was always controlled in his measured response to the situation presented; indeed, I seldom knew him to show much reaction—perhaps the day we were married—there were some signs of annoyance from him when he saw you across the Square. But, after all, he knew himself the victor in that contest—he could afford to gloat a bit—and I do not think it was beyond him to do so!

"I realized after a while that his purpose in marrying me was not just to preserve my reputation; and by doing so, avoiding a scandal in the family that might have gone against his sisters; no—it was that a wife could be a useful tool in his work. And, that was about the light in which he saw me—something that would be helpful in achieving his ends. His expectations were very high—I did my best to meet them. He complained about my 'unseemly levity'-I saved my laughter for the times when he was not present. He was displeased with my sketching and drawing—I pointed out that it was to preserve the beauty of God's creations. And so it went—sometimes I carried my point; but, I'm afraid, more often I had to cede the field to him. It was a stifling existence for me—truly, I do not know how I would have done if it had gone on much longer!

"Over two years have passed since I left here, I had been married to St. John nearly a year when I miscarried our first child—the doctor prescribed a period of rest and then he said we might try again. I was overjoyed when I found myself once more with child—I wanted so badly to have a family of my own—St. John seemed pleased also.

"But then the call came that he had been waiting for all this time—a Mission to India. I couldn't go with him, of course, My state of health was deemed to be too delicate for such a voyage. I would have to stay behind at least until the child was born and I had recovered from the ordeal, it might be months before we saw each other again. I will not say that I was altogether sorry at this development. I foresaw an opportunity to relax a little from the stiff posture I had had to adopt as his wife.

"The news came while I was still in London, a week before I came back here—there was a terrible storm in the Atlantic—his ship had been wrecked off the coast of Africa—all aboard had perished. I decided to go to my sisters-in-law—we could stay together to comfort each other. Then I fell ill on the way and realizing that Thornfield was nearby, I though perhaps I could find some help here and so we arrived at your door."

"What do you want to do now?" he asked. "I would be glad to have you here—I have missed you so much, and been so worried about you. It is a great relief to see you getting well. I was so afraid of losing you just when I had finally got you back."

"Things are different now for me. I see the whole problem from a different point of view. When I left here before, I was acting on a matter of principle. I was letting my head lead the way and my head was telling my heart to be silent. When I walked away from here—it was very hard for me. I wanted to stay, but my feet took me out the gate even though I didn't really want to go.

"Then I married St. John—again against my inclinations—but my head was still ruling my actions—convincing me that this was the right thing to do. It seems that all my head's decisions have turned out badly. I have not been very happy lately."

He had been quietly listening to my story, but now he got up and walked about the room, he poured some tea, but it had gone cold while we were talking. He drank it anyway and then came back to my bedside. "While I was gone just now, I went to London, I have put out some inquiries into the matter of your husband's shipwreck with Lloyd's (1), and with the Missionary Society. Shall I send for your sisters-in-law? I would be glad to meet your family—there is plenty of room here for them to stay."

"Yes, please, that would be so wonderful. I think you will like them."

"Once we have the reports from my inquiries, we will know better how to proceed. There will be some decisions to make."

"Decisions—what decisions?"

"I think it is more than time for us to be married."

"Isn't there an inconvenience in the form of...your wife?"

"Bertha died nearly a year ago—Carter said she had an inflammation of the lungs—he called it by some fancy medical term—Pneumonia, I think it was. She was ill for several weeks, nothing seemed to help, she just got weaker until one morning Grace found her dead."

"Oh poor creature—what a sad life she had!"

"I would really rather not think about her, I've suffered for too many years of my life on her account. I'm just relieved that it's over and that she is finally at rest. I'm not going to be hypocritical and say I miss her."

"I don't know that I want to think about marriage just now—it's too soon."

"You are doubtless right—he's scarcely been gone a month and here I am importuning you... I should know better by now. We'll talk about it another time when you are more recovered and have had some time to think it over. I will still send for your sisters-in-law, shall I?"

"Oh yes, please do—they will be so pleased to see the baby!"

"Very well, it's as good as done."

(1) Lloyd's was, at this time, primarily into the business of insuring ships and their cargo—so would have been the best source for information on a shipwreck.

Are you wondering what happens next? Well, there will be a brief intermission while we tie up some loose ends in the next chapter. Then, there will be a thrilling conclusion, and an intriguing epilogue. That's right, we're nearly done-ta dah!