Trying to be more consistent so here is the next chapter without too much waiting.

I walked into the inn at Millcote. It was a dreary little place, with dark walls and a low-beamed ceiling. The fire in the main room burned merrily, however, so I felt a little cheered.

The innkeeper approached me. He was a tall, handsome man who looked a little out of place in the small rooms.

"Miss, can I help you?" He asked politely.

"Yes, I would like to rent a room for a few days. I may have to leave earlier or extend my stay by a few more days or weeks, depending on my situation," I explained.

"Well, miss, our rate is a half-crown a night for our best room."

I hesitated, this would be far more than I could afford. "And for something a little more modest?" I asked, hoping for a better answer.

"Two shillings a night," he responded, looking at me curiously. I did not know what he was thinking. I was still neat and tidy, as was my habit.

The price was not ideal. I could maybe stay there for about a week before my finances failed me. But what else was there to do?

"Yes, thank you, I'll take that room," I responded.

The innkeeper pulled a book out from behind the table and took out his quill. "Miss, may I have your name please?" His voice was deep and mellow.

"Jane Eyre," I responded.

He blinked, "Oh, Miss Eyre, there will be no charge for you. You shall be staying in our best room."

"What? Why?"

"Mr. Rochester from Thornfield sent a message to me, letting me know of your arrival and that your stay would be paid for, including all meals."

That man. He would not let me show the smallest amount of independence without involving himself in my affairs. I would not be beholden to him.

"I'm sorry, I cannot accept that. I will take the original room as discussed and here is the payment for the first three days." I plonked down six shillings on to the table.

The innkeeper looked at me and I stared back, almost daring him to refuse. He conceded with a nod.

"Yes, Miss Eyre, as you wish."

I was relieved to have won without too much of an argument. "Thank you," I smiled a little, "Is there anyone who can guide me to my quarters?"

He nodded, "I shall. A bag came for you with Mr. Rochester's servant. Shall I send that back?"

"No, that is fine. Can it be sent to my room please?"

"Of course," he bowed, "Please follow me."

He led me up a slightly rickety staircase and down the corridor. He opened the door and stood aside to let me in first.

The room was small but comfortable. There was a newly made bed to one side, and a big window that faced the courtyard that allowed a good amount of light into the room. A small writing desk, a chest of drawers, and a little fireplace completed the furniture. There were no washing facilities.

I turned towards the innkeeper. "Is there no washstand?"

"Unfortunately not. There is a shared washroom at the end of the hall for your ablutions."

I wasn't happy about this, but what else could you get for two shillings? I nodded.

"If you ever need anything, miss, my name is James and you can ask me. We have a dining room downstairs if you are hungry or I can send a housemaid up if you wish to eat here."

I shook my head, "No thank you, Mr. James, I'm not hungry right now and I would prefer to rest."

"As you wish." With a bow, he left me to my thoughts. "I'll send up the bag that has been waiting for you."

I sat on the bed, tired. I had not had a good night's sleep since Adele's accident and for once, I felt like I was not needed anywhere. What would I do once Adele had recovered from her operation? Would she recover? I did not want to think about such. A knock at the door interrupted my maudlin thoughts.

"Yes?" I called out.

The door opened and a young boy poked his head in. "Miss, I 'ave some luggage for you."

"Thank you, please bring it in."

The boy, probably about 12 years old, with a mop of unruly rust-coloured hair, dragged the chest in. I tipped him with two pennies, wincing at the thought of what it would do to my meager financial situation. He grinned at me, touched his forelock, and was gone.

I opened the chest. It was filled with clothes and my heart sank. They were my clothes, I suppose, but these were the new dressed that had been made for my wedding trousseau. While simple in their make-up, they were made of far finer fabrics than I had ever been used to. I was not one to wear silks and satins, but Mr. Rochester had insisted and I had let him, wanting to give way on something when I had already vetoed so much. I could not wear these. The Jane Eyre these had belonged to was long gone.

I was alone and I gave way to my emotions. I cried properly now. Cried for the lost hopes and dreams of the plain, little governess. Cried for a future that could never be. Cried for the loss of my friend, companion, and master. And I cried for Adele too. My nerves had been stretched to a breaking point and those clothes had broken the last delicate threads of my strength.

I was alone…I had not been alone for a long time. I had had Bessie in Gateshead, Helen, and Miss Templeton at Lowood, and once I had reached Thornfield, Mrs. Fairfax, Adele, and Mr. Rochester had become my new family. Now…I had no one.

I breathed deeply. No, I was wrong, I had God. He had been there for me during my lowest moments and I could turn to him now. I lay down on the bed and prayed quietly. It calmed my soul and before I knew it, I was asleep.

I awoke late the next morning. I was not sure of the time but I assumed it was close to noon. I had slept for almost 24 hours. Lowood had trained a strong sense of responsibility in me and I could not recall any time I had slept so long or 'til so late.

I stood up, my head a little muddled. I would feel better after I had cleaned myself. I left my room, looking down the corridor for people. Luckily, there was no one and I managed to find the washroom quite easily. It had fresh water and towels, which I was thankful for and the cool water cleared my head marvelously.

I realised that I was hungry and decided to betake myself to the dining room. I could ill-afford to eat too much but I did have to eat something.

I walked downstairs and Mr. James was there. He smiled when he saw me. "Miss Eyre, did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you, I am quite rested."

"You must be hungry now. Please go through to the dining room. I'll send someone to attend to you."

I went in and sat down. My stomach grumbled softly as the young kitchen maid approached me.

"Wot would you like, Miss?" she asked promptly.

"Some bread and tea, please" I assumed that would not be too costly.

"Anything else? We has some jam and fried ham. Cook makes lovely potatoes if you fancy that."

My stomach gurgled again but I ignored its wishes, "Thank you, but bread and tea are fine." I had to save my money.

She bobbed a curtsey and walked off into the kitchen. I sat there, enjoying the peace and quiet of the empty dining room, and she soon returned with a tray. The slices of bread were generous, with thick layers of butter and jam on them. Fried ham and golden cubed potatoes sizzled on a side plate.

I froze, "What is this? I asked for only bread."

She shrugged, "Mr. James said I should brin' you this as you'd be 'ungry. Your bill 'as already been settled."

I wanted to stand up and go argue with the innkeeper, but the food was so tantalizing. Surely it would be the worst thing to eat fully…had I not accepted food from Thornfield during my stay at the clinic? I had but I finally felt that I was breaking the ties that held me to my master. I was so hungry but I did not want to be beholden to Mr. Rochester. I would not accept anything from him. I had to become truly independent.

"How much do the tea and bread and jam cost?" I asked the kitchen maid.

"Fourpence," she replied, looking a little surprised.

I pulled out my purse. "Thank you, then that is all I will have." I gave her the fourpence and took the mug with the tea and the bread plate to carry upstairs to my room.

I sat down at the writing-table, putting my plate and mug down. I ate slowly, trying not to gobble the food in my hunger, and took long, restorative sips of my tea. I was beginning to feel like myself again.

After I was done, my thirst quenched, my hunger satisfied, I sat back on the chair. What should I do now? I had a few books with me so I could read those again. There wasn't really much else to do in the village.

I wondered how Adele was doing. Mr. Rochester would have let me known if anything had happened, would he not? Dr. Carter's clinic was on the other side of the village but I could walk there to ask about Adele. He had said there would be a second operation for her. Would it happen soon? Would she regain her memories of our time together and go back to being the irrepressible little madam that she was?

I smiled at the recollection of Adele's airs and graces. The way she would enter the room in the morning and curtsy low. The way her French mannerisms would give away her thoughts and feelings. Her joy for pretty things and new dresses. Adele was a girl who had not been knocked down by life's trials and continued happily, albeit with some level of ignorance. But ignorance is bliss, is it not, dear reader? I myself had been blissfully ignorant of the existence of my Master's wife, despite several misgivings I had had as the wedding day grew closer.

I walked around the room slowly, giving some thought to Bertha Antoinette Mason. Mr. Rochester had told me about their unhappy marriage before I had attempted my escape. Who was to blame for the state of affairs?

While it was cruel that he had been tricked into an unhappy marriage, many marriages are unhappy. I do not think my Uncle and Aunt Reed had had a happy marriage, but many people find reasons to be content in their situation. Could Mr. Rochester not have been content? No, I answered my own question. Mr. Rochester was not one for contentment. If he was trapped, he would struggle and fight for his freedom. Was that not one of the things that had drawn us together?

But what of Bertha? Had she always been like that? It is easy for men to paint a narrative for females, whether it is true or not. Had Mr. Brocklehurst not told the entire school that I was a liar? My own nature and Miss Templeton's inquiries had laid the matter to rest eventually, but my face still burned at the memories of that horrible day. I thought that I was ruined.

Had Mr. Rochester ruined Bertha? When she was not the woman he had expected or wanted her to be, did he create his own narrative that eventually led to the loss of her mental health?

I sat by the window, musing these thoughts without any hope of an answer, at least for now. There was a clatter in the yard and I looked down to see my Master's carriage.

I stood up, my heart beating painfully. I did not want to see him and yet I did. I heard loud murmurs from downstairs and heavy boots on the staircase. There was a knock at my door soon after.

Could I not answer it? I shrank from the repeated raps on the door. I steeled myself. I would not be a coward.

As I opened the door, he strode in, whirled around, and faced me. His eyes were blazing, his features were taut and angry, and he was barely holding himself in check.

"WHAT THE DEUCE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING!?" he roared.