CHAPTER X - PLAYING WITH FIRE

After several nights had passed by peacefully, I thought we had surpassed the worst of Bertha's fits, but it turned out the worst was yet to come. One morning I woke up in a cold sweat around dawn. There was no apparent reason for this. All I knew was that I felt tense with anguish. There was a quenching feeling of unease in my stomach. It was as if I knew danger loomed ahead. Despite the house now seeming silent, I had been rudely yanked out of my repose by some unknown source. What could possibly have been the reason for my uneasiness?

I felt endangered somehow and my instincts were on high alert. I sat bolt upright on my bed, as if I was a puppet, yanked up by its strings. My instincts seemed to have taken over. I felt like I was no longer in control of my own body. Somehow, I must have subconsciously felt that danger was nigh. My room was still fairly dark, because the curtains were still drawn.

I hastened out of bed to open the curtains. Outside, the moon was shining brightly. A beam of moonlight now illuminated my room, as if a magic spell had been cast. Its peaceful glow made me feel comforted and soothed for a moment. Just when I was beginning to wonder if I was still dreaming, I heard a clanking noise just outside my room. Hesitant to make a move, I stood rooted to the spot, too afraid to face what might be lurking outside in the hallway.

My heart was pounding fiercely in my chest. A female voice was mumbling to herself in front of my door, cackling under her breath. Yes! It was indeed a woman who was lurking nearby. This must be Bertha Mason. Now I could hear her fiddling with the lock on my door.

When I heard a faint clicking sound, I jumped back into bed quickly, knowing the intruder was about to enter my room. I decided to pretend to be asleep. If this was indeed Bertha Mason, I would not want to alarm her.

I knew she was no killer, but she might feel the need to harm me, if she felt I could pose a threat to her. Perhaps Bertha's intention was solely to frighten me, but I could not be sure if she was up to something more sinister. I suppose she must have stolen a spare key to my room from Grace Poole's keyring. I could not imagine how she was otherwise able to get in, unless she had a knack for picking locks.

XXX

I wondered what Bertha was up to. Was it simply to give me a fright or to assess whom she was dealing with? If she was jealous of me, then I would have to watch my back. The door opened then, creaking eerily as a creeping figure entered my room. I heard Bertha's faint footsteps tapping around on the floorboards, which led me to believe she was barefoot. She seemed to be opening cupboard doors and drawers and rummaging through piles of clothing. I heard her floating about the room like a poltergeist. What was it that she was searching for so intently?

Bertha grew quiet for a moment and I could feel her approaching the bed. Her shadow was cast onto my face as she stood over me, blocking out the moonlight for a moment, which had previously illuminated my face. My eyelids fluttered involuntarily at the sudden change in lighting, but I hoped Bertha wouldn't notice. She loomed over me threateningly for quite a while, coming ever closer. One time her nose almost touched mine; her rank, hot breath billowing against my cheeks. She puffed a gust of it onto my face, almost as if she were trying to provoke a reaction out of me. It took everything I had not to cringe in disgust, but I remained calm and succeeded in fooling her that I was sleeping.

I wondered, though, what Bertha was playing at. I was beginning to feel uncomfortable as I lay motionless on the hard mattress. To me, Bertha was an instinctual creature, quite animalistic in nature, which was the very reason I feared her. The way she had sniffed and snorted her way around the room reminded me of a wild animal, unhinged and out of control. Bertha, too, was a creature run by her instincts. She was supposedly savage as well, but I wondered sometimes if she was simply misunderstood. Perhaps she had grown increasingly frustrated due to her mental illness, which was not treated adequately. Hence, she had perhaps suffered unnecessarily. Mr. Rochester had thought it a kindness to keep her at Thornfield Hall, but what was kind about locking someone up in the attic, isolating them from social contacts, from living a real and meaningful life?

I believe Bertha would have needed professional care in order to get well again, or at least, to be able to feel like a human being once more, but Mr. Rochester treated her like an animal, so she essentially became one. Bertha was definitely an unpredictable person, though, which was why I had taken a leaf out of any animal's book, using the method most animals would resort to when in danger: I was basically playing dead. That way, I would seem unthreatening and hopefully no harm would come to me.

I must have played my part well, too, for Bertha quickly seemed bored with staring at me. Perhaps because it did not have the desired effect: intimidation. She may also have left my bedside simply because she seemed convinced now that I was sleeping. As Bertha headed back to her search through my things, it occurred to me that Jane's old stuff was still here as well (as I was sleeping in Jane's old room), and that I had briefly glimpsed her wedding dress hanging at the back of the large oak cupboard one time. This was a cupboard I wasn't really making use of, my belongings being limited to one grey gown and my clothes from home.

It dawned on me that Bertha might be searching for Jane's wedding dress. If so, then we were all in grave danger. After a few more minutes, Bertha suddenly exclaimed in delight and giggled gleefully. She must have found what she was looking for. Next I knew, she was shuffling back into the hallway, dragging a long piece of clothing behind her. When the door finally shut with a soft "click," I sighed in relief. I waited a moment to make sure Bertha was out of earshot. When I could no longer hear her scuffling along back to the attic, dragging the wedding dress behind her, I jumped out of bed again, covering myself with a flannel nightgown before heading for the door. There was no time to lose.


The first person on my mind was Adèle. The whole house would have to be evacuated. I hastened to Adèle's room and brought her to Mrs. Fairfax, whom I woke next, all the while mumbling something about an impending fire and everyone needing to get the hell out of the building now (or something to that effect.) I was clearly upset and felt like the urgency of the situation was not coming across to Mrs. Fairfax at first, but she did as I asked in the end.

Although she seemed slightly puzzled, Mrs. Fairfax did not ask me too many questions and seemed to take my warning seriously. She began by informing the maids, then headed to Grace Poole's bedroom who was snoozing there peacefully. Once that was done, and Mrs Fairfax was about to wake Mr. Rochester, I told her that I would take care of him. She should make sure everyone else was safely outside, we would soon follow. "Alright, my dear," Mrs. Fairfax said calmly, "I know how much Mr. Rochester trusts you, so I will first make sure all the castle staff is safe. You take care of the master."

Mrs. Fairfax then proceeded to wake all the servants and usher them outside. Most of them joined her willingly, but some protested, eager to do their jobs and help. Grace Poole also lingered, saying she wanted to see to the matter herself. She was Bertha's caretaker after all, but I knew that this could end fatally, therefore almost begging the woman to head to safety, but she would not budge, so I took her along with me, as I headed to Mr. Rochester's bedchamber. On the way there, Grace headed directly to the attic while I woke Mr. Rochester.

I shook him roughly, shouting his name. When he woke, he was briefly disoriented and looked at me dazedly: "What the blazes-?" he grumbled angrily.

"Mr. Rochester. It is urgent," I panted, "You have to listen to me. We are all in grave danger. Bertha is about to set the house on fire. I know this for a fact."

When Mr. Rochester looked at me in disbelief, seeming angered further, I went on, "Mr. Rochester, Jane told you to trust me. You said that you did. Please remember that. I know it sounds crazy, but I know your story and how it is meant to be. Now come. Grace is already in the attic. See for yourself."

Mr. Rochester must have decided it was better to be safe than sorry, for he replied, "What about Mrs. Fairfax and the others?"

"All safe, Sir," I answered. Then Mr. Rochester suddenly seemed to be taken over by some higher power, for he began staring at me robotically, before grabbing his shirt and trousers and rushing off to the attic. Perhaps the realisation had struck him, that it was very possible for Bertha to act out like this. She had set his bed on fire before, after all.

I followed Mr. Rochester as fast as I could. "We need to leave as fast as we can!" I yelled, thinking all the while of Jane and my responsibility in this moment to make sure Mr. Rochester left the building unscathed, but he had his own mind. As I grew close the attic, I could already smell smoke in the hallway. This did not stop Mr. Rochester from running upstairs, quickly skipping up the steps.

I came upon a chaotic scene. A fire already seemed to have been kindled. Bertha Mason was struggling by the window. Grace Poole was attempting to hold her back while Bertha attempted to set fire to Jane's wedding dress, straining to let the burning candle she was holding come into contact with the fabric. The dress had already been singed in various places. There were black-rimmed circles on the corset of the dress in various places. It seemed the veil had already been set alight, but Grace or Mr. Rochester must have succeeded in putting out the fire, for now the veil lay like a skeleton on the floor, the fabric having been charred to pieces. It was lying near the curtain, which covered the panelling on one of the walls. As I gazed in that direction, it occurred to me how quickly this room could be burnt down, if the curtain were set alight.

Presently, Grace was still struggling with Bertha, attempting to hold her down, but Bertha clearly had the upper hand, almost having broken free. She shouted: "I will burn this house down and everyone in it!" Her voice was gruff and hoarse from all the shouting she must have done beforehand. "No, you won't!" Mr. Rochester bellowed as if scolding a child, striding across the room and ripping the dress from Bertha's grasp. When Grace looked up at him in surprise, he said gravely, "I will take care of her," ripping the candle out of Bertha's hands and holding her hands behind her back. "Grace," Mr. Rochester said, "leave now please! Hurry outside!" I was surprised when Grace obeyed the orders without question, leaving the room, but Bertha would simply not stop fighting. I worried that Mr. Rochester would lose his grip on the woman.

Then he took notice of me standing in the corner and shouted: "Ruby! What are you doing? Get out now! Go with Grace!" He sounded exasperated, but even though I would have liked nothing more than to scurry off like the timid little mouse I sometimes was, I knew Mr. Rochester needed me now. I also knew that I would have to get over my fear of the blotchy-faced woman by the window with those deep purple rings under her eyes and her straggly, long black hair - the madwoman who was causing all this ruckus.


Bertha truly did look monstrous in this moment, and she was cunning too. She took the chance she had when Mr. Rochester slightly loosened his grip on her wrists while talking to me. As she struggled, she grabbed the candle, which was now standing on the windowsill, lit it with a burning match and threw it on top of the dress, letting the flame lick across the fabric. The dress immediately caught fire. In the kafuffle of Mr. Rochester trying to reach the woollen blanket Grace had previously used to put out the fire, Bertha ran free with the candle with a wild look in her eye, now setting fire to the curtain, now to the furniture.

We had to act fast now. The curtain could be parted in the middle and as the left side was still unscathed, I ripped it aside to reveal the panelling on the wall. The right side of the curtain was slowly being consumed by an angry flame, spreading ever faster. The smoke was now invading my lungs, as it permeated the air. Bertha cackled maniacally, rushing back to the window, as she watched Mr. Rochester throw the blanket over the dress to abate the flame, but it had risen too high now and had begun eating its way across the floorboards. In an act of desperation, and because I was already standing by the panelled wall, I pushed against the panelling once more, as I had done once before on my night time journey to the attic, but this time the panel yielded. "Mr. Rochester!" I shouted, seeing my actual house in Blackfield, my living room in fact, on the other side of the doorway. "We have to get out of here!"

Smoke was now engulfing the entire room. In an act of complete insanity, Bertha ripped open the window, fuelling the fire, which now billowed towards the ceiling. I could hardly see Mr. Rochester anymore, but I took a few steps towards him, as I saw he was inclined to rescue Bertha, who was obviously going to jump, because she stood by the window ledge determinedly, shouting "Free at last!" I grabbed Mr. Rochester by the hand, pulling him away from her, "You have to let her go. She doesn't want to be saved."

Then I pushed him through the portal into my home in Blackfield, before stepping through myself. We were just in time, too. I took a brief look back, only to see Bertha step onto the ledge, about to jump. The flames were already too high and my view was obscured, but that I could make out. I do not know to this day if I made the right decision by forcing Rochester to leave Bertha alone, but I have to live with that decision now. The door snapped shut behind me immediately once I had stepped through.

I panted and coughed. Mr. Rochester was bending over catching his breath. Our clothes and faces were grey with ash, our hair thick with smoke. But, just as suddenly as the onslaught of coughing had begun, my lungs suddenly cleared of smoke and I could breathe again. Mr. Rochester must have experienced the same sensation, for he suddenly straightened up in wonder. His clothes were also rapidly returning to their former splendour until we both stood there as good as new, me in my nightgown, Mr. Rochester in his proper attire. We looked veritably pristine. "What in the…?" Mr. Rochester exclaimed. I did not stop to think about what had just happened for too long, because I was still reeling from the sheer terror I had previously felt.

"Here," I said to Mr. Rochester, "sit down." Jane must have been alerted by the commotion, for she came rushing into the living room, her face flushed. "Ruby! Oh, Ruby! You're back," she exclaimed, embracing me tightly. Then she took notice of Mr. Rochester sitting on the sofa, looking slightly stunned.

"Edward," she coaxed, "oh, Edward!" He looked up at her in amazement and pulled her towards him in a long and slightly awkward embrace, ending up with Jane falling onto Rochester's lap. Mr. Rochester chortled slightly. "Jane! My pale little elf! Is it really you?"

He was back. Good old Rochester was back! And I was finally home. I could not put into words how relieved I now felt, but I was also entirely overwhelmed by everything that had happened. I sunk heavily onto the sofa next to Mr. Rochester to catch my breath. I couldn't believe I was finally home! At long last, I was really home!