A/N: I hope you enjoy this chapter. I thank you all for following this story and adding it to your favourites.

Reviews are also great motivators or guidelines to know what I'm doing well, but also what I need to work on. You can be honest if you find fault with something, but please also understand that I always do my best and am working on improving both my writing style and plot ideas. Constructive Criticism is always welcome.

I have also uploaded another story based on Jane Eyre with an inserted OC. I uploaded it under the name "Lost in Bronte - A Jane Eyre Story."

My story "The Disappearance of Miss Bronte" is basically a Doctor Who story from Charlotte Bronte's perspective where she time-travels to modern London.

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Until next time,

Dreamatorium

Chapter XVII – Of Madwomen and Madmen

October, 1807:

ROWLAND:

I was quite the madman. Ever since my brother had left me at Thornfield Hall to fend for myself, I was burdened by the same weight he had been tormented by for years. It wasn't entirely my fault, for my father had been a trickster – but, in hindsight, I must admit, I was just as much a fool as Edward had been.

When we were back in Jamaica, I thought the world lay at my feet, thought I was king of the castle, like I had the right to rule over everyone whom I saw as my inferior, especially my little brother, but in particular, I was a raging madman when it came to women. For a long time, I hadn't felt the kind of passion I had been longing for all my life. The women in England were pretty indeed, but it was all too easy for me to have my wicked way with them due to my looks. I had been blessed in that department, but became tired of the lack of excitement I felt by women throwing themselves at me left and right. I could have settled down with any one of them, but I had always known I wouldn't make a good husband, as I so enjoyed the chase involved in courtship. Most women didn't present themselves as much of a challenge, not until I set my eyes on the radiantly beautiful Antoinette Cosway - yet she was neither traditional, nor was she English.

When I first saw her unique beauty, I finally felt the kind of real desire I had always yearned for. The kind of desire that demands attention and doesn't give any significance to reciprocation. My father had sought Bertha (as we would later call her for the sake of simplicity) out for my brother to marry. It was always supposed to be Edward, as I was eight years older than he was, and had never been in full health, intermittently suffering from the consequences of my excessive drinking habits. My body felt frail and old, but I was still a young man at heart.

Once in Jamaica, my one and only occupation was making Antoinette mine. I wanted her to fall deeply in love with me, instead of my brother, for I didn't see why I shouldn't profit from her beauty as well. But marriage? Marriage wasn't really my cup of tea. However, once my father saw my affections for young Antoinette, he suggested I should marry her in Edward's stead. I refused, of course, instead choosing to begin a passionate affair with the woman. I much preferred a forbidden love to a sanctioned one. I knew my brother was also falling for Bertha, and this only made her more enticing to me, more dangerous.

She was an exotic Creole woman with long, curly shimmering black hair, dark skin and tantalising eyes. She always wore dresses that didn't leave much to the imagination. I knew I had to have her from the first moment I set eyes on her. She then became my slave as well as my brother's (though unbeknownst to him). I knew she much preferred me and my looks and would soon become bored with Edward's unremarkable features, so I kept her entertained during our time in Jamaica, while Edward's attention was diverted.

I'm sure he knew Bertha wasn't faithful to him, but he accepted the little love she offered him out of her own lack of opportunities and lack of choice. She was a rebellious woman, a lover of freedom, but she had been practically sold to Edward. He hadn't had much of a choice in marrying her either, but he was intoxicated by her rare beauty as well. Nevertheless, despite my brother's affections for Bertha, my father decided in the end, that I was much better suited to her than Edward was and ordered me to marry her. This of course, would not do. I didn't desire to be chained to any woman, even one as remarkably beautiful as Bertha.

So, knowing of Edward's weakness for the Creole beauty, I asked him for a favour – namely to marry Bertha in my stead, by proxy. Being the trusting brother that he still was at the time, Edward agreed, while I headed off to Europe to travel the world of women over there. But of course, neither of us had known of Bertha's mental illness and her irrational and ill-tempered nature. Unfortunately for Edward, he would soon discover of Bertha's instability and vile behaviour, as he took care of her while I was travelling and enjoying my time in Paris, Rome, London and southern Germany. There came a day, however, when my father demanded of me to return to Thornfield Hall and settle down there. He was on his deathbed when he uttered his last wish, that I should honour my marriage and take care of the family fortune - and Bertha (although she seemed more of an afterthought). So that was what I did.

When I returned to Jamaica to bring Bertha back to England, she became difficult, not wanting to leave Edward's side. She had grown attached to him and had begun to see him as her true husband. There was not much I could do, but after some time, I succeeded in persuading her that her life would be much better in England, where I told her she would be a free woman, sharing in my good fortune. However, she would only leave in the knowledge that Edward was coming with us. So, we hatched a plan, and all three of us headed back to England together. I knew I wasn't going to see a dime, if I didn't hold up my end of the bargain, and it seemed Edward knew how to handle Bertha. For a while we lived together at Thornfield Hall, but Edward soon grew tired of my company and moved to Ferndean Manor after about a year, by which time Bertha's state of mind had already worsened so much that we felt ourselves forced to conceal her from society. Edward had grown attached to Bertha and became tortured with guilt at his faux marriage and my having dragged him into this abyss due to my own selfish nature. I was aware how detestable I was. If I had ever had any redeeming qualities, I'm sure I now had none. All my airs of chivalry and kindness were an act. I didn't even believe my own words sometimes.

I had lost hope and drowned my sorrows in alcohol and women. I hosted so many parties over the years, I had lost count. My reputation as a scoundrel soon preceded me and I became tired of chasing after women who could have been my own daughters. But the drinking never really stopped, especially when Edward began sporadically leaving Ferndean to travel in Europe. He became similarly destructive as I. And so, we were both burdened by the same secret. The same secret that would unwittingly bind us together forever: Bertha Mason.

That night I made sure to lock my bedroom door. Rowland seemed too unpredictable in his drunken stupor. He started chanting and chortling randomly once he was left alone. I could also hear his thumping footsteps in the corridor, as he drunkenly mumbled to himself. For a moment he even hovered by my door, which I knew due to the shadows of his feet lingering underneath. By nightfall, Rowland had calmed down a bit, but was still talking in an overly loud tone of voice every time the servants checked up on him. I'm sure they didn't dare to lock his door, as he was their master, but perhaps they should have.

When I could finally get some shut-eye and Rowland must have fallen into a deep slumber, I was suddenly woken up by a loud cackling noise echoing through the hallways upstairs. The noise sounded like the soul of long-forgotten ghost haunting the house. I knew that Thornfield Hall was haunted by Bertha Mason, but I hadn't yet heard her until now. I listened intensely to hear what was going on, but it remained eerily silent from that point forward, until I was again awakened by another noise. This time it was clearly a woman shrieking loudly. Then I heard frantic footsteps rushing upstairs. Rowland's voice was also audible, as he growled at Grace Poole to "get that disgusting animal under control." It was impossible to sleep another wink with all the commotion going on in the house, so I decided to tentatively peep my head round my door, a lit candle in hand, to see what was going on. Of course, I would run into none other than Rowland Rochester.

"What are you doing up?" he said disgruntled. "Go back to bed."

"I heard the commotion, Sir," I said hesitantly, thinking him quite rude.

"Oh yes, yes. Nothing to worry about," Rowland shrugged off my question, curtly.

"Is someone hurt?" I asked. "I heard a loud shriek. It sounded awful."

"It was only Grace Poole, Miss. She must have had too much liquor. It happens sometimes, I'm afraid," he chortled, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Sure it does! I thought. I wouldn't be so easily warded off, but headed back inside my room and shut the door. I waited until Rowland had gone back upstairs and things had quietened down a bit, but the struggle with Bertha still seemed ongoing, moments of silence, intermittently interrupted by loud cries. I felt I needed to investigate, so I headed back into the corridor, my candle in hand, lighting the way, and followed the noise of hushed voices and the occasional outburst of laughter from Bertha. I wasn't exactly sure where the attic was yet, so it took me a minute to find it. When I reached the staircase to the attic, I immediately knew I was in the right place, because I could clearly hear the argument Rowland was having with Bertha upstairs, with Grace Poole intermittently trying to calm Bertha down.

Bertha was crying in agitation, asking about Edward's return. She kept repeating the same question over and over again: "Where is Edward? I want to see Edward!" She was in hysterics and shouted at Rowland every time he tried to assuage her with false promises of "He will be back soon." Then she shouted in agitation: "And what about George! When will I see George again? It has been long enough!" Who was George? I thought. Then I heard more commotion and breaking glass. "BERTHA!" yelled Rowland. "Stop this nonsense at once, or I swear you will never see George again!" This only led to Bertha sobbing even harder. In her agitated state, she snarled through gritted teeth: "I deserve to see my SON!" She must have managed to push Rowland against the wall, for I suddenly heard a loud thud, followed by a grown. Her son! I gasped loudly in surprise. "What was THAT?!" Rowland bellowed. Oh crap! He had heard me! When I heard his hurried footsteps approaching, I turned round immediately and sprinted back towards my room as fast as I could. My candle was almost blown out by the sudden gust of wind caused by my hasty escape. When I reached my room, I shut and locked my door quietly and sat on my bed, panting.

Bertha had a son! I thought in amazement. Oh my goodness! I'm sure I wasn't supposed to hear that piece of information, but it couldn't be helped. They couldn't expect me to sleep through all the noise they were making. It most certainly woke up the whole house. Later that night, I heard someone's footsteps treading carefully along the corridor past my room, hesitating briefly again in front of my door, but whoever it was, didn't linger too long and headed back to their bedroom across the hall. Rowland was back in his layer, and I hoped desperately that he hadn't seen me lurking by the attic or fleeing the scene.

I didn't get much sleep that night, as I couldn't help puzzling over Bertha having a son. This evening had been anything but peaceful. As I lay in my four-poster bed, snuggled under the covers, I heard the rain pelting against my window-pane and the wind howling in the trees. A storm was brewing. I was afraid to close my eyes, so I lay there for a while in the darkness, only a faint beam of moonlight lighting up my room, casting shadows on the walls that looked a lot like ghosts, haunting the halls of Thornfield Hall.

~To be continued~