A/N: The idea of writing a story of a 21st century girl suddenly landing in the world of fiction, sprung from the BBC mini series "Lost in Austen". I felt like it had to be done again. This time for my favourite novel "Jane Eyre."
As this is my main story, it is most dear to my heart. I started writing this version as a university project, but another version exists on my page, called "Lost in Bronte" as well. It is as yet unfinished, but if you'd like to read that version as well, you'd be welcome to.
I'm excited to hear your thoughts on what I've written so far. I appreciate your opinion and support. Your reviews and constructive criticism are much appreciated.
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 reviews and general support. Enjoy!
CHAPTER VIII - HOODWINKED
"May I ask what you are doing up here?" Grace Poole demanded, glaring at me resentfully. I seemed to be in quite the pickle. Despite her polite wording, Grace's stare was ferocious. I was in shock at first, just standing there speechless for a moment, until Grace continued, "I heard someone mumbling up here and I came to investigate. I had only gone downstairs to fetch my dinner." She placed the tray she was holding - obviously meant for Bertha - on the little table by the wall. "Well?" she pressed, "What do you have to say for yourself?" I then forced myself to speak, because I knew this whole situation looked worse than it was. "I promise you," I said as soothingly as I could, "I pose no threat to you. Please fetch Mr. Rochester. He will confirm this."
At least when it came to trusting me, Mr. Rochester had relied on Jane's word, and I was sure that trust could not so easily be broken, but when it came to my speaking to a 'virtual Jane,' the explanation may be a little trickier. If Grace Poole had overheard the last part of our conversation, I was sure she knew that I was not who I had said I was, and if my identity would be questioned even for a second, then the letter Jane had written to Rochester would mean nothing, because it would become evident that Jane had lied.
"Well?" Grace Poole spat at me again, "Talk!" Was I a robot? I thought, feeling provoked. Did this woman have no respect for me at all or had she forgotten her manners? I apparently could not reply fast enough for her anyway, as she stormed downstairs impatiently without waiting for my answer, bellowing as she went: "I will certainly be having a word with Mr. Rochester now." Her thunderous steps were still audible to me upstairs, even as she had reached the floor below. While she was marching off like a soldier heading for battle, I stood stiffly in the same place she had left me, paralysed. I could hardly move and felt agonised at the thought of losing Mr. Rochester's respect. If he stopped trusting me, then he would never listen to me again, and I could forget reuniting him with Jane. But – as my mother always said: Where there's a will, there's a way!
I began thinking frantically. Technically, I hadn't done anything wrong, apart from being in the attic (the forbidden place of this house), but Mr. Rochester knew I was aware of Bertha's presence, so as soon as that could be cleared up, everything should be fine. Still, there was a lingering feeling of doubt in my mind, because I wasn't sure what exactly Grace had witnessed and overheard. If she had seen me talking to Jane through the mirror, there was no way for me to give a rational explanation. I would perhaps seem equally as insane as Bertha, but I would be telling the truth, which at this point, was probably the best thing to do.
Another question was, why Jane had panicked and disappeared on me. If she could only return, Mr. Rochester could see for himself that I was not completely batty. I could admit that I had lied about the way I got to Thornfield and where I was actually from, but he would surely be able to see that I had lied for good reason. My situation was rather unbelievable, even to me. If Grace Poole acknowledged what she had seen, it may make things easier, as I would have a witness. If Mr. Rochester believed in one magical event, he might believe another. Perhaps that was how I could gain his trust back, but I was afraid that Grace would accuse me of being an evil witch, which was exactly what happened.
After about fifteen minutes, I heard Grace return with Mr. Rochester in tow. This woman's heavy footsteps were very easily distinguishable from Mr. Rochester's light-footed, swinging steps. As the both of them entered the attic room, Grace scowled at me in distrust, saying accusingly: "There she is! The devilsh thing!" Alright! Alright! No need to be so dramatic! I thought reproachfully. Mr. Rochester chuckled under his breath, "Now, now, Grace. There is no need for that tone. I will talk with Ruby privately now, if you please." Grace looked a little down in the mouth, as if she had been looking forward to watching me being scolded. Perhaps she found it joyful, watching other people suffer, but she left grudgingly at her master's request.
Once Grace was out of earshot, Mr. Rochester simply gazed at me without saying a word for a while. After a minute or two, it seemed he had made his decision. I did not notice any changes in the way he addressed me. He remained respectful, soothing even, when he said: "You need not worry about Grace. She sees herself as the protector of this house, and your behaviour has her fretting." After a brief moment of silence, he continued, "Tell me, Ruby, what secrets have you been keeping from me? And what are you, exactly? I always thought my Jane had something of a witch or fairy about her, but I never meant this in a literal sense. Grace claims to have seen you talk to Jane through that mirror yonder," he gestured towards it while he spoke, "but unless I have lost my wits, that is entirely impossible."
I was almost inclined to say that I enjoyed doing no less than six impossible things before breakfast, but this was no Wonderland and Mr. Rochester wasn't The Mad Hatter. Still, I was tempted to simply throw the truth in his face and let him deal with it however he pleased, but it was also my survival that was at stake, and Mr. Rochester did not seem particularly angry, so I might just get by unscathed. "Well," I began, "to tell you the truth, I know exactly where Jane is at the moment, only it would be very hard for you to believe. Let's just say she is in my home in Blackfield, gathering her thoughts, while I am here in her stead. We have known each other for a long time, like I said, and there seems to be some sort of connection between us, which has brought about what one might call 'magic.' I was able to speak to Jane through the mirror, but I cannot explain how this is possible. It is as if some line of communication has opened up between us. I think that is enough to digest for now…it is all a little bit out of this world."
Mr. Rochester was gazing deeply into my eyes, as if he were seeking the truth within them. "If I could only speak to Jane myself," he then said, "everything would be so much easier, but she is not here." He seemed genuinely sad. "For now, I do not know what to think. There are people who believe in witchcraft, but I am not one of them. If they do exist, witches are known to be evil-doers, but I am not a menacing man. Grace suggested I should lock you up with Bertha, but that would be like throwing you to the wolves, and it is certainly no feasible suggestion. I will, however, need to keep a close eye on you," Mr. Rochester said sternly, "and I would rather you ceased in teaching Adèle until I have made a decision. That is, as to whether you may prolong your stay here. I know nothing about you. I trusted you on a whim. Now, I am uncertain whether that was a mistake. I am not a man who is easily hoodwinked. Perhaps you have fooled me, but you seem honest, which is why I am inclined to give you the benefit of the doubt, and I am sure stranger things have occurred in this world."
All the while he was speaking, Mr. Rochester seemed crestfallen somehow. He had an air about him that I had never seen before. It was because he was disappointed. He did seem to be willing to trust me, but he was also acting a little wary of me. When I didn't reply, Mr. Rochester sighed. "All I really wish for is for Jane to return to me," he said mournfully, "and if you can accomplish this, I will be forever in your debt. I will not question your methods of returning her to me, for I am desperate. As long as no harm comes to Jane-" his words drifted off, as if he believed harm could have already befallen her.
I quickly interrupted his train of thought. "Mr. Rochester," I said as sincerely as I could, "I promise I only have the best of intentions when it comes to you and Jane, but there are some things I have experienced, which cannot be explained by logic and reason." Mr. Rochester nodded, "Indeed," he said earnestly. Then he glanced at the mirror, walking towards it and running his fingers over the glass, as if he were caressing someone's face – one very particular someone. He really seemed to miss Jane. "Perhaps she is a fairy," he smiled wistfully, staring into the glass with a little smile on his face. "I wish she would show herself to me." I decided it was time for me to leave the room, as Mr. Rochester seemed to need a moment of privacy. As I headed downstairs, I could hear him whispering melancholically, "Jane…Jane! Oh! My Jane! My sweet little mustard seed! When will you return to me?" This was truly the last straw. It was now high time for me to get my act together.
