CHAPTER II

I led him into the main room of the modest two-room cottage attached to the school, using the separate entrance to the left of the schoolroom. It had been mine for many months, and Alice kept the main room clean and neat, knowing I liked to sit here for a half hour after lessons were over before I began my marking.

I saw him settled into the more comfortable armchair and then proceeded to watch over the kettle.

He looked stiff and on edge, gripping the armrests with his hands, every now and again reaching for his stick to assure himself it was still there. It pained me to see him like this, so different to his former relaxed self-assured self.

At last the kettle began to whistle and I prepared two cups of tea, bringing his over to him.

'Here,' I said, placing his cup on the table next to him, gently taking his hand in mine and touching it against the cup so that he knew where to find it. His hand jolted slightly at the contact with mine, warm under my fingers. As I withdrew my hand he suddenly seized it, reaching for it with his other, and feeling my fingers.

'I would know these hands anywhere,' he said softly. 'These are Jane Eyre's hands. This is no dream.'

Indeed, the same uncertainty had occurred to me already several times, though in my case quickly dismissed. This scene was so different to the many dreams I had had over the last nine months, so utterly devoid of storm clouds and lightning and tossing seas, that I was entirely convinced this meeting was real, even if I did not yet know why he was so afflicted, or how he had found me, or what his purpose was here.

'No, it cannot be a dream,' he went on. 'For this is so far unlike my dreams as to be laughable.'

I smiled: once again our thoughts ran in parallel, perhaps even our dreams.

At last he released my hand and again the guarded expression closed his features.

I retrieved my own tea and sat in the chair opposite his so that I could watch his expression.

'How did you find me?' I asked, thinking this would be the least painful question to begin with, the least likely to evoke raw memories.

'Leah, John's wife, came to a village near here over Easter, to visit some relative or other, and heard a story about a young woman who had been lost on the moors, almost dying, but had been saved from the brink of death and was now a teacher at a local girls' school. Told that the woman's name was Jane Elliot, she thought no more of it, but to tell Mrs Fairfax and Adele the tale, saying wistfully that it could almost have been Jane Eyre. Adele then told me the story, and I could not get it out of my thoughts that Jane Elliot must be Jane Eyre, who had taken an alias to hide from me.

'For two months I managed to stay away, telling myself she would not wish to see me. But at last I could delay no longer.' He faltered. 'I hope you do not think too hard of me for coming. I suppose I must seem like a hideous, pitiful beast seeking the company of an angel.'

'I am very glad to see you,' I said truthfully, and his face lifted, seeking mine though he could not see me.

'And now will you tell me what happened at Thornfield Hall?'

He was silent for a long while. 'It happened two months after – after you left.' He was evidently having difficulty keeping his voice steady and I found tears pricking my eyes once again, knowing how he must have suffered. 'The house had been boarded up all that time. I wanted no visitors, no company. One night there were strong winds, and I woke to the smell of smoke.'

In quick, pained words, he described how his wife had set the house on fire, then climbed up to the rooftops, all the while lost in a dream state from which his calls could not wake her. 'She would not listen.' His voice was low and rushed. 'Some instinct had taken hold of her. She spread her arms like wings – and then she was gone.'

A terrible silence fell. I shivered, imagining the scene his words painted, the orange glow of the flames against the black sky, the woman in a white nightdress, falling.

'I tried to save her, Jane,' he said suddenly, with urgency. 'I tried – but –'

'No one could have done more,' I said, my complete belief evident despite the quietness of my voice; the story he had just told cast a pall over the room, and it did not seem right to speak above a whisper. 'Your injuries attest to that. Few men would have followed her up the tower in such an inferno. Though I was not there, I believe that no one could have prevented her from acting as she did.'

He sighed heavily, head bowed, but after a while some of the tension seemed to leave him. I guessed why it had cost him so much to speak of these events – knowing it was not just his regret for the loss of Thornfield, and for how his wife, however much a burden she had been to him, had died in such a horrible manner. My suspicions were confirmed when he spoke with sudden bitterness.

'I am now free to wed again, though little good it does me.' He loathed being the one to tell me of how his wife had died and he was now free to marry again, sure that it must seem as though he would now renew his suit of previously – and equally certain that I could never entertain the feelings I once had for him now that his face was spoiled and his hall gone and he could no longer see.

I decided it was best to distract him from these thoughts.

'You have timed your visit well, for I will not be here much longer,' I said, as though he had not spoken. 'I mean to give up my teaching post in a week's time.'

He looked up in surprise. 'Why? Where will you go?'

I was about to answer when there was a knock on the door. I rose at once to answer it, glad that Rochester's chair was set back so that whoever was at the door would not be able to see him.

As I had expected, the caller was St John. 'What brings you here?' I asked him, smiling, but my hand remaining on the door, nonetheless.

'I have been sent here by Hannah. Knowing I would pass close by here on my way to an old man's sickbed, she instructed me to bring you these breadcakes, fearing you are not eating well enough.'

'That is very kind of her. I shall enjoy these greatly.'

All the while I was very much aware that Rochester must be straining to hear every word and amusement was bubbling within me like a lively fountain.

Something of my feelings must have showed in my face for St John's eyebrows rose with curiosity. 'Is everything all right? You are quite well, Jane?'

'I am quite well, I promise. Please thank Hannah for me.'

He touched his hat and left. I closed the door, placed the basket with breadcakes on a side table and went back to my chair, schooling my expression into one of perfect neutrality.

Rochester had risen to his feet, supported by his cane, unwilling to remain seated in case my visitor entered the room. He was scowling.

'Who was that man? Why did he call you Jane? What is he to you that you seemed to know him so well?'

'That man was St John Rivers, clergyman of the parish in Morton. He has been very good to me. Indeed, he has been almost my sole benefactor these last nine months. He and his sisters offered me a home with them for some months and I accepted. They have been kind beyond measure, and his sisters were the best of companions before they left to become governesses far from here, and I moved here to live by the school.' There was more to be said on the nature of the bond between myself and the three siblings, but I thought it was best not to say too much at present.

His features remained drawn and tense as he lowered himself back into the armchair, his free hand grasping for the arm to guide his movement.

When I did not resume speaking immediately he grew impatient.

'Well? Go on – tell me of this generous benefactor. What sort of man is he? His voice was more cultivated than what I might expect of a country clergyman. He sounded a young man. But dull, I expect. Longwinded. Do you find yourself growing bored in his sermons?'

'Not at all. I find his sermons to be wise and full of genuine insights.'

He snorted. 'For all that you sent him packing very quickly. I dare say he is a great admirer of yours. Perhaps the very hills are teeming with admirers of the unattached schoolmistress.' His voice took on a sharp, fierce edge. 'You are unattached? You are not leaving your post because you have become engaged?'

'I am not engaged,' I said calmly.

'Ha,' he harrumphed. 'How serenely you say that. Almost as though an engagement were all but a done thing. And what of this St John man – is he handsome?'

'Very. Tall, fair, with blue eyes and a Grecian profile. And I have heard it remarked that he dresses well, and am inclined to agree.'

The more I spoke the more wretched my master looked, until at last I took pity on him.

'He is handsome, but he is very cold, and if he were ever to ask for my hand in marriage as you seem to anticipate – though you should know that he is thoroughly in love with a girl he has known since childhood, though he tries to deny it – I would not accept. I could not love a man who is so cold and aloof.'

He looked up at this. 'No,' he said at last. 'No, you could not.'

There was a silence. By now I was almost certain that John was deliberately staying away to force his master to speak to me, and to give us a chance to have a long tête-à-tête, knowing we would have much to say to each other. I doubted Pilot had run off at all.

'Why are you leaving your post as a schoolmistress?' Mr Rochester asked at last. 'Do you long to teach more cultivated children, who have use for more than simple arithmetic and sewing?'

'I am giving up teaching altogether.' I paused, gathering myself. 'Two months ago I received news that I inherited money from an uncle who I never met. A sum of twenty thousand pounds. On the same day I discovered that St John and his sisters are my cousins, the nieces and nephew of the uncle who died. I have shared my fortune with them, for it would have been a burden to me to be the sole possessor of such wealth, and I wanted to share it with those who had been so good to me, and who are my family.'

He was silent for a while, taking all this in.

'You must have been overjoyed to learn that you have family members who care so much for you, and whom you care for in turn,' he said at last, smiling softly. 'I remember well what you told me of your childhood. This news must have gone some way towards healing the loneliness of spirit you endured as a child.'

His words were exactly the opposite of St John's. He knew instinctively how much more the news that I had three kind-hearted cousins could mean to me than the news of inheriting any amount of money.

Warmth and love flooded my heart as I looked at him. Nine months ago I would have gone to him and kissed him to thank him for his words. The distance between us now was painfully wide, and I longed to cross it.

He was leaning forwards, towards me. 'Jane,' he began.

At that moment there was a bark outside, and he started bodily, his features twisting with annoyance. 'Blast that dog. Why could he not have run a mile or two further?' There was real aggravation in his words, along with something almost like fear, as though time were racing away from him.

I held my breath, torn between a sudden burst of half-panicky amusement at his words and the same leaping fear as his that time was rushing away from us, and that once John arrived he would leave for ever.

He sat frozen, burying his head in his hands, gripped by some strong emotion as the sound of barking drew closer.

I spoke, grateful for the steadiness of my voice. 'Will you still be in the area tomorrow? I would be glad to see you again.'

He lowered his hands, a look of such relief crossing his face that I longed to go to him and kiss him right there and then; but not yet.

'Come a little after three o'clock,' I continued. 'There is a river beyond the hill behind the school. Wait there for me, and I will come and walk with you a while.'

He nodded, reaching for his stick and rising to his feet. 'I will be there.'

I took his arm and led him outside. John was coming up the path towards us, Pilot at his heels.

'Until tomorrow, Jane,' my master said in a low voice, his hand on mine.

My mouth was suddenly dry, but I returned the pressure of his hand.

Then John was there, taking Mr Rochester's arm and greeting me cheerfully. We exchanged a few words, and I caressed Pilot's shaggy head and soft ears, before John led my master away.