A/N: Here is the new chapter for "Lost in Bronte." I'm sorry I didn't update for such a long time. I hope you guys enjoy. Let me know what you think :)
Disclaimer: I do not own the plot or the characters of "Jane Eyre." They belong to the wonderful Charlotte Brontë. The main idea is based on "Lost in Austen."
Thanks for your support. Enjoy!
Chapter XVI – The Truth Will Out
The question why Rowland Rochester was at Thornfield Hall in Edward's place, continued to plague me in the coming days, so I made it my mission to try and find out as much information as I could.
The day after the assault, I tried avoiding Rowland as much as possible. After I had my breakfast, I went about my daily tasks as usual. It was, however, unavoidable that I would run into Rowland from time to time. I tried bracing myself for these encounters, but I never truly felt prepared. When I did see him, Rowland acted as if nothing had happened, acting friendly, but aloof. Perhaps erring on the side of caution himself?
I was extremely tired that day due to my lack of sleep from the night before, the shock of having been attacked by Rowland having tormented my mind most of the night, and to be frank, I couldn't have dealt with any more teasing or taunting interactions anyway. I didn't let myself think what could have happened if I hadn't fled the scene. I simply couldn't go there. It seemed that Rowland was nothing like his brother. Edward had his flaws, yes, but if he was to be anything like he was in the novel (which I sincerely hoped), he would still be a gentleman.
As I went about my tasks that day, I could barely concentrate on teaching Adèle English, which was my main task, as she very much preferred to speak in French. Luckily, I spoke French fluently as well due to my father's origins in the North of France and being raised bilingually, but I didn't want to encourage Adèle's laziness. I noticed that she was always looking for an easy way out and had difficulty concentrating, but I made sure to structure my lessons with her with sufficient breaks, so she would be able to stay focused longer. Mostly, I was winging it, though, not really knowing how I could prepare any lessons without owning any textbooks of my own. Luckily, Adèle's English was still very basic at best, although she understood everything I said and seemed to have a better grasp of the language than she was letting on.
During one of those many breaks (which, I dare say, I may have needed more than Adèle that day), the young girl suddenly cried out excitedly:
"Oh, there is my uncle, Mees! Outside! Look Mees Eyre, what eez 'e doing? The weather iz so 'orrible this month," Adèle said in her thick French accent. Indeed, she was right, I had no idea what the date was, but I knew we were deep in wintertime. Adèle was sitting on the windowsill, poking her stubby little finger at the windowpane, urging me to join her there: "Look, Mees, look!" she rejoiced. "Look what 'e 'as brought wiz eem!"
Gazing outside in apprehension, I saw there, as Adèle had indicated, Mr. Rowland Rochester walking towards Thornfield, looking calm and composed, accompanied by a dog and a giant, black horse. Was this Edward's horse? I wondered. What did that mean? And was this Pilot, Edward's dog?
"Mees, Mees!" cried Adèle again, her slightly annoying high-pitched tone starting to grate in my ears. "That eez my papa's 'orse! And eez dog!" The girl was so overwhelmed with excitement that she jumped up from her seat and bolted downstairs to meet Rowland in the gardens.
Did this mean Edward was back or nearby? I felt puzzled, watching Adèle running towards her uncle outside, hugging him and stroking the horse. She must have come to the same conclusion that I had, that where Mesrour was, Edward was not far off - but when she returned to the study, shivering from the cold winter air, she looked glum, disappointed even.
"What is it, Adèle?" I asked her, placing my hand on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. "J'ai pensé que…," she started. "Oui?" I encouraged, letting it slide that she was speaking in French, as she seemed so upset. "J'ai pensé que," Adèle continued, suddenly switching back to English, "I thought my papa was back, but it is only 'eez 'orse. I thought 'e was coming home," she looked at me full of sorrow.
"Where is your papa?" I inquired, practically jumping at the opportunity to ask this question.
Adèle paused before answering, then looked up at me, "I'm not sure, Mees. I sink 'e eez travelling, but I thought 'e had taken eez 'orse as usual. I thought 'e was coming back soon."
"Travelling?" I mused, trying to think on my feet where Edward could be. "Does he travel often, Adèle?"
"Yes, 'e does, Mees," the girl replied. "The last time 'e stayed away for months, and then 'e was living in a 'ouse near 'ere."
"A house? Do you mean Ferndean?" I asked.
Adèle nodded vigorously in agreement. "Yes, yes, Mees. 'e stayed there with eez 'orse and Pilot, eez dog, but now I think 'e eez not there anymore. I feel 'e eez never coming back."
Her gaze dropped then, and she seemed close to tears. In that moment I did what any guardian or caretaker would do and offered Adèle a glimmer of hope with the kind of outwardly confidence parents often use to soothe their offspring, even when they feel uncertain themselves:
"He will come back, Adèle, he will," I said. "I am sure of it," I squeezed her shoulders, and added with a wry smile: "After all, he wants to see how well you're doing with your English, I'm sure! To see all the progress you're making?" My joke seemed to alleviate Adèle's grief for a moment, as she grinned from ear to ear, her former sadness seeming all but forgotten in that instant.
While my gaze was still fixated on the grounds below, admiring the majestic horse Rowland was leading to the stables, I suddenly noticed the party had stopped. Rowland was staring up at us, and gave us a curt wave. Adèle waved back gleefully, but I remained stony-faced and motionless, like an animal faced with a lion. Predator and prey. All I felt I could do to save myself, was to lay low and keep still.
Rowland's eyes were still quite mesmerising and didn't fit at all to his character. He had an arrogant and entitled air about him. But despite having experienced his callous and rough nature first hand, knowing what he had done to me the night before, I still felt myself drawn in to his steady gaze.
My heart began pounding heavily in my chest. It was out of my control. I wished I wasn't still attracted to him, but I couldn't help myself. Rowland was extremely classically handsome, with a strong build and jawline and a mane of thick raven black hair, paired with the deepest ocean-blue eyes. For a moment, I had lost myself, as if hypnotised, but Mrs. Fairfax's entry into the study suddenly interrupted my reverie.
"It's time, Miss Eyre," she announced. "Time for what?" I asked, startled. "Time for dinner, Miss," Mrs. Fairfax laughed heartily. "Oh!" I exclaimed in surprise. "That time already, is it?" Mrs. Fairfax nodded, looking bemused. "Off you go then, Adèle," I said, having only just now managed to tear my gaze away from Rowland's. After Adèle had left, skipping alongside Mrs. Fairfax, I took one last look outside, only to find there was no one to be seen. It was almost as if the previous encounter had never happened.
As I headed back downstairs into the kitchen, I spotted Rowland in the drawing room, examining his bookshelves. He must have heard my footsteps behind him - even though most of the floor was carpeted in this part of the house - for he turned round with an unexpected swiftness, oddly resembling a ballroom dance move. His waistcoat billowed around his ankles as he stood still again, his posture admirably straight.
He smiled broadly at me. What was he so happy about? I thought apprehensively.
"Miss Eyre!" he exclaimed. "I'm glad it's you. I've been meaning to talk to you."
"Yes?" I asked curtly.
"Come, Miss, why don't you join me for dinner?"
Do I have a choice? I asked myself, feeling my body stiffen.
"Well, Sir," I began hesitantly, "I was just about to head into the kitchens actually. Wouldn't it be -" I paused, thinking if I should be this direct, "well- inappropriate, to eat with you?"
"Oh, no, Miss!" Rowland blurted out. "I would really enjoy your company." I stared at him blankly.
He continued unwaveringly: "I would like to apologise to you, Miss. To formally apologise. By inviting you to dinner for a start. It would greatly please me, Miss, if I had the chance to show you how truly sorry I am. Please accept my offer." He gazed at me, almost pleadingly, but this could all just be an act. He seemed sincere enough, but what did I have to gain from sitting down with him?
Nevertheless, I trusted myself enough to be able to stand up to him if need be. He seemed to believe my act of being this meek little thing, but he was also never taken aback by my bluntness. He even seemed to like it when I was more direct.
If he tried anything, he would have another think coming, I thought angrily, but I showed none of these emotions outwardly. I had practiced my poker face for years and only said, "Alright, Sir." What harm could it do?
Of course, trusting the likes of Mr. Rowland Rochester could do a great deal of harm. And I should have known better, for it seemed Rowland was the type of person who took the whole hand when you only offered him a finger.
At dinner, he did apologise to me profusely, and I must admit, he was very charming while doing so. I caught myself forgetting who was sitting opposite me several times during our (mostly one-sided) conversation.
Rowland probably still saw himself entitled to my body, simply because I worked for him. Perhaps I seemed like an easy target, but I would change that line of thinking in a heartbeat, as I had was quite good at self-defence and had taken regular classes in Aikido the last couple of years. I hadn't had to use them yet in real life situations, but I was willing to.
Despite feeling I could see through Rowland's charms, it was obvious they still worked on me, at least a little bit. I am generally a trusting person, sometimes to me detriment, and have always tended to believe in the good in people. In this case, that wasn't a very good idea at all. It was very difficult for me to see a monster in someone who beguiled me with his conversation and drew me in with his practically flawless facial features. I had rarely seen such a handsome man. Were all the good genes only passed down to him? I hoped beyond hope that Edward wouldn't be a completely ugly oaf. It seems vain and superficial, but we're attracted to what we're attracted to, and it's very hard to change.
I knew it was all a façade, a mere mask, to lure me in like the prey he saw me as, to assuage me, to butter me up. And the reason it worked so well was because I was starving for such attention and validation from a man. I had never been in a relationship, but that was mostly of my own choosing, as I never felt ready, but I had also never really had any admirers - or so I thought at least. I was so avoidant in so many ways that I couldn't really know, because I kept my distance from men most of the time and didn't engage with them in a romantic setting. I never tried to find someone, because I was so afraid of being vulnerable, but Rowland made it easy. He made me feel comfortable.
How was he so good at luring me into a false sense of security? Was he really that manipulative? Damn these men! I thought. Why do I always fall for the wrong ones?
But I wasn't falling. Not really at least. No - actually, I felt like I was plummeting to my downfall, headed straight for heartbreak.
Mr. Rowland Rochester had me in the palm of his hand for the greater part of dinner. I felt like I couldn't take my eyes off him, until a gnawing feeling in my stomach reminded me that I wasn't safe around him and needed to use my common sense. I couldn't much focus on the food I was eating, for I felt that Rowland had his eye on me. Even when I was looking down, I could still feel his piercing gaze. Perhaps this was part of his attempt to assert his dominance or maybe he was used to getting his way with women.
He smiled at me broadly when he noticed my apprehension in his presence, but this did not do any good, for even though he was able to put on airs of charm and innocence, I could no longer trust him. I was startled by the grandfather clock in the corner of the dining room chiming four o'clock. It was 4pm. We must have been dining for the last hour or so. The meal had been tasty enough, starting with a flavourful soup and ending with a sweet sort of pudding. I usually had quite the sweet tooth back home, but for some reason, I was able to restrain myself much better here at Thornfield. Perhaps it had something to do with the general expectation that women should show restraint here and be blank canvasses. The worst thing you could probably do was explode with anger or start shouting at your superiors. The scariest thing to men like Rowland was a "madwoman" like Bertha, who would probably have fitted in just fine in the 21st century - if she hadn't been locked up, that is. I didn't really know why Bertha was seen as "mad" and if she even really was, but what I gathered from the novel, is that being locked up for so many years could easily turn anyone into a madman or madwoman.
I must have been deep in thought, for I was startled when Rowland suddenly asked, "Did you enjoy your meal, Miss Eyre?" It felt like we hadn't spoken in a while and this question came somewhat out of the blue. "Yes, Sir," I said laying down my cutlery on the plate and taking another sip of wine. Perhaps I did so for Dutch courage, or simply to get through this ordeal – either way, it was working. I began feeling slightly light-headed. I wasn't a big drinker usually.
I had noticed that Rowland had been chugging away glass after glass during our meal as well. I wondered: Did he have a drinking problem? That would be the last thing we needed. The last thing I needed.
"To your health!" he chortled, raising his glass and taking another big swig of his wine, gulping it down like he was dying of thirst. Oh boy! I thought. Not a good sign. If this type of unruly and volatile type of man was already so comfortable with violating other people's boundaries while sober, what mischief would he be getting up to while drunk? Hopefully we weren't there yet. But getting there! I thought in disgust. I stared out of the window, not knowing where to look.
"So, Miss!" Rowland began, his air of confident arrogance at last shimmering through his charming façade.
"Let's talk a little more about you! I am very interested to hear more." I stayed silent, knowing he would soon prompt me to speak anyway.
"Well?" he asked, expectantly. I smiled half-heartedly. "What would you like to know, Sir?" I asked, grimacing in discomfort. Couldn't we leave the table already? I felt like I was being held hostage.
"For one thing," Rowland asked, slightly slurring his words, "I would like to know if you have always had such beautiful, glowing red hair!" He chuckled, seeming to relish in the possibility to once again have crossed the line.
I had had enough, saying: "Actually, Mr. Rochester, I would answer your question," I paused, now looking him straight in the eye, "but I'm sure you only asked it in jest, did you not? You wouldn't actually ask one of your employees this sort of question, would you? One of your subordinates? What right do you have to ask me a question like that? Are we so familiar with each other, that you can address me thus?" I could feel the heat rising to my face. Maybe it was the wine, maybe the excitement or more probably, my nerves, giving me away and revealing the pretence of confidence I had attempted to muster. Either way, Rowland didn't seem to mind.
"Well, well, well," he chuckled gleefully. "What do we have here, Janey, eh? Are you talking back to me?" It didn't seem to bother him, that I had spoken to him in this direct manner, it even seemed to entice him. My God! What was wrong with Rowland? Did he see teasing me as foreplay? I hoped not. "You are talking out of terms, my girl. What an unruly tongue you have! I'd like to see more of that!"
"More of what?" I spat. "My tongue?"
Mr. Rowland let out a loud guffaw. "Ha! My dear, I think you will find that I have already had the pleasure of knowing your tongue."
"Excuse me!" I yelled, pushing the chair back abruptly. Not again! I thought in disgust, I don't care if they fire me.
I suddenly heard frantic footsteps approaching the room, attracted by the commotion, but I barely registered John and Mary entering the room hastily. Even in my dissociated state, I was glad to see them, nonetheless.
"Sorry, Sir," panted Mary. "We know your orders, but we came to see if the young lady was quite well."
"We heard raised voices, Sir," added John, glancing at me worriedly.
"We're fine, just fine," said Rowland unconvincingly. "Just grand," he added, hiccupping.
"Oh, Sir!" exclaimed Mary, "I think you'd better lie down. Your face is all flushed"
Rowland could barely stand on his own, swaying slightly as he attempted to get up, John and Mary helping him walk to his bedroom.
What a disaster! I was glad to see this side or Rowland again in a sense, because I had almost succumbed to his charms again, despite knowing better. Now I had learned my lesson absolutely and unequivocally. It was another narrow escape. I stayed in the dining room for a while after the three of them had left, only to find Mrs. Fairfax enter a short while later.
"Are you quite alright, Miss?" she asked, sounding concerned. "Yes, Ma'am. I think I am." "Dear, dear, dear," she tutted then, seeing the empty wine bottle at Rowland's end and the red wine stains on the tablecloth.
"Has he got into the drink again? That silly man. I always thought he could take his liquor, but what a sorry sight he is now, eh?"
That's one way of putting it, I thought, staying mute.
"I'm very sorry, Miss Eyre," Mrs. Fairfax said matter-of-factly. "I didn't realise the master was into his bad habits again. What can we do, eh? We must soldier on."
Soldier on?! Paah! Mrs. Fairfax's passive attitude was starting to bug me. Added to that, she was constantly making excuses for Rowland's bad behaviour. I didn't realise this at first, thinking she was as naïve as I was, but now I saw it clearly: she knew about Rowland's bad habits and had simply chosen to stay silent and not to warn me, letting me "learn" about his drunkard, tyrannical ways the hard way - like a lamb to the slaughter. I could count her out as a real ally for now, knowing that she wouldn't help me, if I were in real trouble - that is, if worst came to worst - because I wasn't whom she was working for. She was under the employ of Rowland Rochester. Therefore her loyalties lay with the poorest excuse of a "master" I had ever seen.
A/N: If you got this far, dear reader, please let me know what you thought ;)