CHAPTER III - RUDE AWAKENING

"Jane!" Rochester bellowed from a few feet away without recognising I was not who he was looking for. "My Jane!" his voice was desperate, lowering as he approached me. A softness was visible in his eyes. "There you are!" he said to me now, not being able to make out my face, as it was concealed by the shadows. "You could not escape me after all!" he continued, getting off his horse, but as I stepped out of the darkness, his face fell upon realising that I was not his Jane.

"Well?!" he snarled, all softness washing from his face suddenly, as he was clearly angry and hurt by Jane's leaving and my disappointing him. "Who in God's name are you?" Mr Rochester demanded in an accusatory tone, taking in my unkempt appearance. I felt provoked. How dare he treat me in such a condescending manner! I was already beneath him, literally, as he towered over me, while I was still kneeling on the ground. I stood up as gracefully as I could, raising myself to his level.

"My name is Ruby Bunting, Sir," I stuttered, carefully draping the cloak over my modern clothing. Mr. Rochester continued glaring at me suspiciously. "I am a friend of Jane's. I came to visit her here, but all my belongings were stolen on the way."

Duh! Couldn't I have thought of a better excuse? I continued, "Jane wrote me a letter that she wished to visit her here. She seemed to need support," my voice trailed off, then I added, "but I never thought she would actually leave. I haven't seen her, unfortunately. I'm sorry." I lied smoothly, hurt that Mr. Rochester seemed so harsh, but I really didn't know what else I expected. For him to fall madly in love with me at first sight?

Yeah, right! Although I admit, I had imagined this many a time. What I was most certainly sure of, was that I was not prepared for this meeting. It threw me of balance, because I tended to avoid confrontations and behaved more or less awkwardly when faced with them.

"You are her friend; you say?" Mr Rochester inquired, scrutinizing my appearance. "Jane has no friends to speak of," he continued bluntly.

"I am a friend from school," I lied, standing my ground. "I have known Jane for a very long time, but I assume, she never expected to see me again, which is why she may never have mentioned me."

"Alright then," he replied gruffly, "we will see who you really are," a threatening undertone audible in his voice, "but for now," he continued, "I am in need of a governess. Do you have experience with children?" he demanded.

"Yes, I do," I lied again smoothly, thinking I would have to manage somehow. I had to learn as I went along, relying on my in-depth knowledge of the characters, but I did have a vague idea of how to take care of children, as I had looked after the neighbour's kids a few times.

"Good," he said, nodding sternly, as if I was a child who needed scolding. I'm sure he wouldn't have allowed for any other answer than the one I had given him. He seemed to demand me to work for him, rather than to ask politely. Then Mr. Rochester held out his hand boldly, commanding, "Well? Aren't you coming? We will ride back together."

Again, there was no room left to argue, and to be honest, I was happy he seemed so intent on hiring me, so I didn't question his motives. Looking back on this moment now, I realise I was being naïve, and should certainly have kept my guard up more. The problem was, I thought I knew him, as well as all the other characters, so I trusted him. I had faith in Rochester and believed it was my duty to 'save' him.

He helped me onto the horse before straddling it himself and we rode back together to the mansion. I had never ridden a horse before, and I was sitting side-saddle, so you can imagine the pain I felt in my bottom by the end of it. What fun! I was rocked up and down on this bumpy ride and felt a sense of nausea overcome me, which I was able to suppress with a little effort.

I now felt like I was on auto-pilot. I couldn't think, I could hardly speak. In short, I couldn't grasp what was happening. An overwhelming desire to sleep suddenly overcame me, as if a giant wave were crashing down on me while I was forced to watch on helplessly. I immediately asked to be led to a private room as soon as we got inside, so I could finally get some rest. I was at the end of my tether.

The events of the evening had robbed me of all my energy, and when I could finally lay down my head on a soft, cushiony pillow, I fell into a deep state of dreamless oblivion.

XXX

The next morning, I awoke to birds chirping merrily by my window. A beam of sunlight shone through the space between the heavy curtains, creating a spectacle of dancing dust particles in its eerie glow. I got up hesitantly from the four-poster bed, still feeling slightly dazed by the events from the night before. I felt disorientated, as if I had just awoken from the most startling dream…or perhaps this was to be a nightmare (let's hope not!) As this harrowing thought crossed my mind, I heard someone knocking on the door. It was one of the maids.

"Good morning, Meess!" she greeted me cheerily in her quirky, French accent. She told me she hailed from Paris where she had been Adèle's mother's maid and travelled with the family to England.

She asked me: "Vous êtes la nouvelle gouvernante, Mademoiselle, n'est-ce pas?" as she opened the green velvet curtains. "Monsieur Rochester," she rattled on, "il m'en a raconté hier soir. Comme c'est terrible que la pauvre Meess Eyre n'est plus avec nous! Elle va me manquer, mais ne laissez-nous plus parler d'elle. J'en suis sûre qu'elle va retourner un jour."

I replied that I indeed believed Jane would be alright and would hopefully return to Thornfield Hall soon. I wondered, though, how on Earth I was going to manage to find my way back to her. At least I knew she was safe in my home and not on death's door somewhere on the Yorkshire Moors. Hopefully, my father wouldn't get too much of a fright when he found her in our house. I almost chuckled at the thought.

The maid, whose name I later found out was Marie, continued her inquiries: "Et vous venez d'où, Meess Bunting?" Her accent awoke in me a feeling of nostalgia, as I remembered childhood holidays spent in France with my parents. My mother had loved the French language. I replied that I was from a place called Blackfield, which she claimed never to have heard of.

"Eet eez étrange I must say," she mused, "zat you should appear on our doorstep ze moment Jane 'as left." She glanced at me shrewdly, then shrugged: "Maybe eet was all an act of fate. Per'aps you shall be our new Jane." I opened my mouth in protest, but Marie brushed me off with: "Now, now. I will not 'ave you lookeeng like zees before ze master. Eet will not do!" she said briskly. I was wearing a white flannel nightgown, which had been looked out for me the night before. I was probably looking quite dishevelled. To me it was all a tad bizarre.

The maid then proceeded to bustle me out of the room and along the corridor of the servant's quarters upstairs, as we headed to the bathroom. You know I had been wondering if I was even going to get the chance to clean up. I was a creature of habit after all and I needed my daily 'washing ritual,' as it were, to start my day. Instead of a shower, a bathtub awaited me. So much the better! There was a small fireplace embedded in the wall as well, but it remained unlit. I was kept warm by a cotton robe, which I wore on top of my buttercup yellow nightgown, my feet cushioned by soft woolly slippers.

However, despite being offered all these sources of warmth and comfort, I still felt a slight chill run down my spine. Whether this could be attributed to the gloomy atmosphere of the house or the chilly air that permeated the room, I did not know (but I guessed the former.)

Marie glanced at me worriedly, seeing me shiver: "Would you like me to light the fire, my dear?" she asked me kindly. "We are a frugal 'ousehold 'ere. The master likes to save every penny, but we can make an exception, if it is too cold for you." I politely refused her offer, not wanting to disrupt any rules that had been set in place. If I was to survive, even thrive here, I would have to adapt to the rules. Of course, I wasn't exactly used to a household without any heating, except the fires lit in the main rooms, but I would quickly be able to make do. It was my attitude that counted, and, as a governess now, it was not my place to make a fuss.

"I come from much different circumstances," I explained, "there is a world of difference between the place I am from and this place." (Detect the careful use of the word "world" here.) Marie nodded understandingly, "So, what eez eet you are saying to me, Meess?" I told her I was not accustomed to a household of this grandeur and did not know what was considered appropriate and habitual. I asked her to explain the "washing procedure," as it were. Marie must have thought me odd, but I was not really bothered. It seemed they had running water, but it was cold.

Once the maid had brought two buckets of hot water from the kitchen, I was able to wash in the tub, mixing hot and cold water together until I found a temperature that was pleasant for me. I used the water as sparingly as I could, and, once I was done washing and had finished my toiletries, if you know what I mean (thankfully, there was a decent plumbing system in place), I asked the maid, who had been waiting outside at my request, to help me get dressed. It was impossible to manage this task entirely on my own, as there was a corset involved, a lot of tying and tightening of knots until I was considered halfway decent. I was wearing a bland grey gown and my hair had been arranged in an intricate updo at the back of my head, two bell-shaped strands of hair framing my face.

When I glanced in the nearest mirror, I couldn't recognise myself. I looked pale (no make-up) and proper, yet elegant. My pallor and grey gown gave me a slightly mousy air, but all in all I liked my new look. A real Victorian governess now stood before me. Hopefully, I would not get so lost in this place, possibly never finding my way back to my real self and my real home. It all felt so artificial somehow. I was living in some kind of perpetual daydream-state. I felt like a doll in a dollhouse. The question was, who was pulling the strings? Fitting in was one thing, but letting myself be consumed by this place was another thing entirely. I was somehow scared of losing myself here, of never finding my way out of these breeches, corsets and dresses that were covering me up, layer by layer, burying the real me underneath them.