A/N: Hello, everyone!
I'm sorry to have kept you waiting for such a long time, but I managed to continue this story at last. I tried to make it as historically accurate as possible, but it may not be entirely correct. I did the best I can, though. Please let me know what you think! Your reviews and follows/favourites are what keep me going! :)
Beware that I have the odd twist in mind, and this story will take a different route when it comes to some of the characters. If you have any plot ideas, you're also welcome to write me a message. I'd also love to hear your ideas or what you would like to see happen.
Much love,
Dreamatorium x
Chapter XI - Stranger in a Strange Land
I saw her struggle her way through the storm from my upstairs window. I watched the whole scene unfurl in front of my eyes.
The girl did not simply wander into my garden, an out-of-towner lost on the premises of Thornfield Hall, no - this girl came through a magical opening in the garden hedge! But I know that nobody would believe me if I told them. I'm insane by their account. I'm oh so mad and unpredictable! Be careful around Bertha, she bites!
This girl must be some sort of witch, some evil-doer; come to curse, bewitch, entice, seduce or even steal my beloved husband away from me!
NO ONE GOES NEAR MR ROCHESTER!
This is MY turf, MY land, MY husband. If she even comes near Rochester, I will send her away, or better yet, kill her in her sleep!
I wouldn't say that I feel threatened, though. I am far too sophisticated in comparison to this little imp. What has she got to offer when Mr. Rochester can have me instead, when he can behold my shapely beauty? Who would want, instead, a coarse frame, an unwomanly little girl?
I do not want any intruders here. If she ever comes close to my husband while I am stuck up here in the attic - like a felon, a madwoman, a dangerous monster to the world outside - I could not bear it!
I don't know how much longer I can continue living like this, but an escape is not out of the question. Grace Poole is not always vigilant enough and if I am discrete, I may be able to steal her spare key.
I will fain an outburst, attack her, and while she is distracted with warding me off and calming me down, I will simply pocket the key and THEN I will be able to control the situation.
I will be able to pay nightly visits to this interloper in my house and make sure her sleep is less than peaceful.
One step at a time, though. I must not rush things or be hasty. I always tend to get over-excited when hatching a new plan.
If I want to rid myself of her, I must do so little by little. It must come as a natural transition, not an unwelcome surprise.
I must make her feel unsafe, unwanted. I will make her despair, make her DESPERATE to leave, hoping she will never come back, nor should any other bride. Not while I'm alive!
I am the only bride in this house, the only wife to Mr Rochester and nobody can take that away from me!
It was dark in the room when I woke. It must still have been fairly early, because all seemed quiet in the house. I had woken up shivering under the thin linen bed sheets and felt confused and disoriented when I first tentatively opened my eyes. All was black around me.
At first, I thought my experiences from last night must all have been a dream after all, but I was quickly jolted out of that dazed state of mind when there was a knock at the door. It was the maid.
I was forced to peel myself out of bed to open the door, as it was still locked from the precautions I had taken the night before. I wouldn't be able to go back to sleep with someone rattling incessantly at the doorknob. I fumbled my way out of bed and found the door at last.
The maid greeted me in French: "Bonjour, Madame! Comment allez-vous? Vous êtes Mees Eyre, n'est-ce pas, la nouvelle gouvernante?"
I affirmed her assumption about my identity politely, introducing myself as Jane Eyre. Now it was official, I was taking Jane's place and I had to stick to that story. There was no turning back.
The maid opened the curtains to let some light into the room, but it was still fairly misty and dim outside. The windowpanes were steamed up from the cold, obscuring the view onto the gardens.
"I'll put on a fire for you Mees," said the maid in her French accent, seeing me shivering and rubbing my hands together. "You will be quite warm enough soon."
She had brought some clothes for me to wear as well. I was now the proud owner of three dark grey gowns. I would have to live with those and only those, wearing them alternately I suppose, during my stay here. I much preferred my own more colourful clothes, of course, and rarely wore dresses at home, but when in Rome, do as the Romans do. This was Victorian England and jeans were not an option. My personal comfort would just have to take a backseat for now.
Besides, I shouldn't be complaining. Maybe this trip into a Brontë universe wasn't a vacation on an exotic island, but it sure was what I had always hoped for. Then again, nothing about the thick mist clouding my window or the freezing temperatures in this room seemed dream-like. It was more like a test of what I was made of, but I was sure things would look up soon. It would take some time to adjust to my new life here, as is always the case when moving house or country...or in my case, moving into a different century. Yikes! I still couldn't wrap my head around that fact.
It wasn't exactly a four star hotel, but I needed to keep a pragmatic mind-set and try to stay hopeful that things would soon improve. I might feel at home here sooner than I thought. For this era, it was a comfortable home. Many poorer people were off a lot worse, as I was very well aware. I wondered what Adèle would be like...and Edward. Yes, I especially wondered what he would look like. Would I feel attracted to him or would he be more beast-like, as described in the novel? I always thought the novel Jane Eyre had many similarities with Beauty and the Beast in many ways, although it was more a story of a plain Jane and a beast, which doesn't make for a very catchy title, but there's some truth to it.
I wasn't particularly plain to look at, as my violently red hair always made me stand out against my will, but I was extremely introverted and able to stay unnoticed in large groups due to my lack of participation. I had always struggled against that tendency of mine to stay quiet. I often attempted to be more active, to join in group discussions for instance, rather than to stay on the side lines and simply observe, but for me that meant leaving my comfort-zone and it cost me a lot of effort.
Sometimes I wondered if I was simply sensitive or if I was just weak. I always hoped for the former since my endurance levels were surely fairly high on account of what I had gone through at the Grateley's and in high school. Coming out the other end of those trying times fairly unharmed, except for some emotional scarring - which I believe is part of many people's baggage - must mean that I was stronger than I thought. At least I hoped so. I wondered how red hair was perceived during this century. Maybe, instead of being seen as one of two extremes: either too exotic to be beautiful or gorgeous by a select few, I would be seen as attractive. I sometimes yearned to be looked at in a way that was appreciative and loving by someone who took an interest in me. I have never seen that kind of interest in anyone's eyes when they looked at me. Am I not special enough, not extraordinary in any way or is it all in my head?
I myself have never really been in love either, of course. I wish I could really feel a connection with someone for once, really be swept off my feet - driven crazy, even - by someone I couldn't stop thinking about. That kind of passion was, however, very much lacking from my life. If someone fancied me, that would certainly boost up my self-confidence, as I never really thought of myself as pretty. My features were symmetrical and I had large blue eyes, but I also had very pale skin and freckles, which wasn't what the mainstream saw as beautiful. My flaming red hair wasn't everyone's cup of tea, either. It was hard sometimes looking so different from everyone else around me, as I had no one to compare myself to.
Maybe I should have travelled to Ireland or Scotland. It would have been interesting to see if I felt like I fitted in more there, at least where my looks were concerned. I did have Irish heritage, which is why I have always wanted to travel there and the breath-taking landscape would be worth a trip in itself. Some of my older relatives live there, from my mother's side, but my contact to that part of the family broke off when my mother left. She had taken that with her, too - another branch of the family I could have turned to when I could no longer stand living at the Grateley's.
I did want to see my mother again, but how was I supposed to contact her now? My chances of ever seeing her again in the future had just about dwindled to zero. All I had was a half-written letter and now I didn't even have that anymore. It was probably still sitting on the garden table and might as well stay there eternally for all I knew. I had no control over anything that went on in my home any more. I was stuck here in a completely different world and who knew if I would ever be able to get back home?
How fortuitous! No, let me rephrase that. Reading too much Brontë has warped my mind into using words that have no place being used by a 22 year-old from the 21st century. What I meant to say was, things couldn't have come together more perfectly. Of course, I say this with a hint of sarcasm. I was swept off to another world and my mother would presume I hadn't shown any interest in seeing her. If she didn't take the initiative herself, I don't know if I would ever see her again. Great! Fantastic! I was ecstatic, delighted, bursting with happiness! Not.
This world may be fictional, but it seemed quite real to me right about now, as was evidenced by what the maid was currently showing me: the bathroom facilities. If you can call them that. Things were getting a little too real when I saw how I was supposed to wash. People during this day and age didn't take much stock in personal hygiene. I was happy there was a bath here, though. Even if it took a while, I would be able to bathe every other day...I hoped. I really wanted to avoid starting to smell at any cost. Yes, I did just say that. Make-up would not be necessary here, a big adjustment for me. I always wore a tinted cream to smooth over my skin and never left the house without mascara. I felt surer of myself with make-up on. I knew I looked fine without it, just a little pale maybe. I would have to find my confidence somewhere else then. I would start by trying to feel comfortable with just being me. I needed to feel good in my own skin. No protection. No masks.
The maid's voice had slowly drifted into the background, mere white noise while I had sunk into my reverie, but I heard her now as she asked me, "Would you rather wash in here or would you prefer to bathe in your room? You could wash there by the fireside if you so desired. We don't have a fire yet in here, but you look - how do you English say it? Thin-skinned?" The maid cocked her head inquisitively. I was standing in the bathroom, a pair of slippers now cushioning my feet, a robe covering my willowy nightgown. Without waiting for my response, the maid rattled on, "You are so skinny, Mees! You need to eat more. I will make sure you get a good breakfast once you've washed and dressed."
"Thank you," I half-laughed. "You're very kind, but I do have a few questions. How do you normally wash? Do you have warm water?" I felt like an idiot, but I needed to know. I wanted to make a good impression and I would take looking foolish into account if I could get the lay of the land more quickly that way.
"I will bring two buckets of hot water up for you. You can wash in or beside the bathtub, depending on what you're accustomed to." She looked at me speculatively.
"Oh, I'm not really used to any of this...I come from much different circumstances." I paused for a moment. "My world is very different," I mused. Maybe I shouldn't have used the word "world", but the maid would probably interpret it as meaning my social background being impoverished, not me being an alien from another planet. Although that was exactly what I felt like right now.
"I know very well what you mean, Mees," the maid nodded understandingly. "My mother was a maid in this house before me and her mother before her. We were lucky enough to be able to live here, but I have many friends who live in veritable 'orreeble conditions," she shook her head sadly. Her French accent seemed more pronounced when she was upset.
There was one more burning question left on my mind, which I couldn't help spilling out now. "And..." I hesitated before I dared to speak his name, "when will I meet Mr Rochester?" I stared at my feet coyly, not wanting to meet the maid's eyes.
Her answer was straightforward. She didn't seem to notice my embarrassment. "Well, he's not home at the moment, but he wants to meet you when he returns this evening."
"Oh!" I gasped in surprise. He wanted to meet me? Oh my! I hadn't expected to meet him this early, and as usual, I didn't feel ready at all.
"But first, you must freshen up. Stay here, I will bring you hot water from the kitchen, soap is already by the tub," the maid took a brief look around the room, "and here is your dress," she said, placing the gown she had kept carefully draped over her arm down carefully on a wooden chair by the window.
"Thank you for everything," I smiled at the maid in gratitude. Then, I added, "And what is your name? I'm sorry I never asked."
"That is alright. We aren't important in a household like this. Nobody has ever really asked me my name. I am Mlle Lefèvre, but you can call me Sophie if you like."
"Nice to meet you, Sophie!" She beamed at me before heading back downstairs. I was pleased to have made a possible future friend on my first day. It would make me feel less lonely. Besides, her help might come in useful later on. She had already helped me immensely today.
All of this would take some getting used to. I wasn't too cold anymore at least. It seemed warmer in the bathroom, but it was still not exactly cosy. After the maid had left to get the water buckets for me, I began looking around the room. I took a closer look at the furniture. Not only was there a brass bathtub standing in the middle of the room, perched on four decorative feet, there was also a sink with a small square mirror above it and what resembled a toilet with a mahogany seat next to the tub. Praise the Lord for indoor plumbing! I was not the religious type, but that I was thankful for! I wondered how I would be able to brush my teeth, if toothpaste hadn't been invented yet. Did they even have toothbrushes during this era? Well, I would just have to worry about that later.
What I couldn't stop thinking about as I stood there, lost and confused, was the fact that I would soon meet Mr Rochester. What would he be like? What would he sound like? Would I like him or would he be so disagreeable that I would despise him? My expectations of him were already too high, how would he ever be able to live up to them? I needed to take this experience day by day; otherwise all the unknowns would drive me insane. Yes, I admit it. I was a control freak. I needed to know what to expect at all times. I wasn't stuck up or stiff, I was just generally a worried person. Knowing what to expect made me feel secure, but here, in this fictional world, everything was new to me and I wasn't sure how close to the novel events would transpire, if humongous changes were already made at the very start. Jane wasn't supposed to meet Edward until much later. I suppose that iconic encounter would be lost on me. This was unsettling. What else would happen differently? Would anything be the same?
I was abruptly pulled out of my train of thought when the maid returned, two clanging brass water buckets in her hands. This procedure seemed excessive, but there was otherwise only cold running water, which would make the morning routine rather unpleasant. I would be able to mix the hot water from the buckets with the cold tap water in the bathtub. Even if I didn't fill it to the brim and dip into the tub, I would still be able to give myself a decent wash. There was no getting around cutting corners when it came to my personal hygiene. I couldn't possibly take a long bath every day, so I would keep myself clean where it counts.
Sophie placed the buckets by the tub, giving me a brief nod. Before she headed for the door, she explained, "I am only your maid for today. If you ever need any more 'elp, ask Mees Mary or Mees Louise, but I am sure you will be just fine," she smiled at me reassuringly. "Mary will be the one to wake and dress you, and when she is taken ill, Louise will make sure you are very comfortable, Mees."
"Thank you," I said faintly, feeling slightly overwhelmed.
"Once you've 'ad your bath, call my name. I will be waiting outside to give you your privacy, Mees."
"Oh - OK. I mean, yes that will be fine," I said unsure of myself.
After I had bathed and dried off as best I could, I struggled into the white undergarment before calling out Sophie's name. She helped me get dressed and arranged my hair in an intricate updo at the back of my head. By the time she was finished, my hairstyle was complimented with two loops of hair on each side of my head.
Very Jane Eyre! I thought appreciatively.
When I looked decent by Sophie's account, I hardly recognised myself. I really looked like a Victorian woman now.
Now for breakfast! I thought, pleased with myself. I would need my strength for what lay before me. I would soon be faced with many challenges, including teaching Adèle. Today would be my first day as a Victorian governess in my favourite novel. Go figure!