Chapter One
The heiress
Early one afternoon, twenty four year old James Rochester awakened. His head throbbed and the inside of his mouth felt like it was lined with cotton. Gingerly he raised his head, bracing himself for the inevitable vertigo and nausea. When the room ceased spinning and his eyes began to focus, James realized that he was in his rooms at his club, "The Siena". He also realized that he must have been lying in a stupor on the parlor carpet for several hours. How many hours was a mystery, but young James had long ago decided not to keep track. He had awakened many times in the past on the floor of his London club, or in the easy chair of one of his drinking partners' drawing rooms or libraries. Once (though James winced at the memory) he found himself in the filthy bed of a whore's den in Whitechapel.
The Rochester children, James, Richard and Helen, grew up with nannies and tutors. Even though they were a mere thirteen months apart in age and full brothers, no two men could possibly have been as different from one another as James and Richard Rochester. James was bright, witty and had a gift for conversation. He was more than able to do what was asked, but it was so much easier to have brother Richard do the tedious schoolwork while James tormented or charmed the teachers. It was difficult to punish James as he had a ready smile, a wit and irresistible charm when he wanted favors. Serious and quiet Richard applied himself to his schoolwork. Helen was a beautiful child, adored by their father and tolerated by their mother. Helen dreamed of marrying a rich man or a soldier and becoming a mother. She spent more time in front of a mirror than in front of a book. Their father, ever the patron of all that was beautiful, indulged Helen with abandon.
James was already well on the path of the kind of man he eventually became by the time he and his younger brother Richard were sent to Eton. James never applied himself to his studies, but always was ready to sneak out of the rooms and find a local farmer who made liquor. Later, the nocturnal trips included the local farmer's daughters' and the whores.
Only father's name, ancestry, influence and money gained James' entrance to Cambridge. Brother Richard entered Cambridge a year later on invitation and was offered many scholarships. As with everything, the sober and focused Richard Rochester excelled in his studies and had even co-authored a book on Geology of West Africa by his second year. "Such a shame, that young master Richard won't inherit the title and Thornfield…" James heard the many whispers comparing the always-successful Richard to the elder dissolute James.
As dull and punctual little brother was, that same scrupulous nature made him a loyal friend. Never did Richard show that he chafed at being the second son. As children, the two boys were inseparable. The long summer days with Richard were James' happiest memories. He remembered the fireworks on the beach at the Minorca house, playing toy soldiers, and climbing the trees at Thornfield Hall. Often Richard quietly accepted punishments for the pranks that James invented. Richard would never betray his elder brother.
Richard inherited Ferndean. Already the smaller manor was showing a profit in the agriculture endeavors. Richard's science and travel books were widely read and had many reprints. And, the marriage to the granddaughter of their neighbor and friend, Colonel Dent, added land and wealth to the estate. In fact, over the past five years, James had to quietly float more than one loan from Richard.
Maybe Ferndean was more manageable than the ponderous family seat of Thornfield, thought James with bitter irony. Would Richard have been as successful with the social obligations and responsibilities of Thornfield if HE had to play the part of Baron Rochester? It was now being said that the days of the great houses were over. Even the summer home in Minorca, mother's pride and joy, had to be sold to maintain the façade of the great gentleman's seat of Thornfield Manor and fund a proper dowry for their sister Helen Jane. None of the Rochester children were attached to the property. Their widowed mother did not wish to live in Minorca without their father.
James Rochester had no skills to help him survive. The only talent he cultivated was how to be a gentleman. The only accomplishments he acquired was how to spend money on clothes, food, wine and women. His sister Helen did like to hear him play the piano. James also had a fine singing voice and some minor dilettante talent for painting and drawing.
True terror came when James was sent to Cambridge. He knew, in his heart, that it was not the place for him. But, mother had her heart set on it. "It was your father's wish,…" she said to him. Her profound sadness as she sat in her widow weeds stopped James or anyone from presenting serious misgivings about just how unsuitable the elder Rochester boy was for Cambridge. Perhaps the Edward Rochester would have been a refuge, would have listened and understood that his elder son was not made for the university. But, father was dead.
By the time Edward Rochester died, James had already compromised much of his inheritance with a dissolute life. It was never said aloud, but mother's accusing eyes were all too eloquent in confirming her own opinion that the disappointment in the elder Rochester son brought on his father's death. Mother was born at the same time as the Queen, so it was natural, James supposed, that mother would also treat HER first son the way Queen Victoria was treating the Prince of Wales.
Well, was mother any better? Within the year, she was remarried to a missionary, her cousin St. John Rivers. It came out that for many years Parson Rivers had nursed a secret passion for Jane. The Rochester children had always disliked the cold St. John Rivers. Mother held him up as an exemplary model of a true man of God and a tireless doer of Good Deeds. The Rochester children only remembered the family reunions where Parson Rivers had endless table prayers and dull mandatory evening devotions. James was often rebuked for becoming restless or encouraging Helen to giggle during the prayers. The cold eyes St. John cast upon them while they interrupted the devotions and their mother's warning of further punishment only increased their mirth. Father simply loathed the man and often quietly encouraged the boys in their mockery of the humorless parson Rivers. Now they understood their father's feelings.
As far as James was concerned, father's bed was barely cold when mother and St. John abandoned the Rochester children and left England for a mission in Jamaica. And, a baby son born less than a year later. Indecent, at mother's age, said James. Lovely sister Helen Rochester agreed. She announced that mother would never see nor hear of her again, this side of heaven.
What Richard thought was hidden in the young man's enigmatic character. He never mentioned mother, St. John or the baby. Richard immersed himself in his research and books and in making Ferndean thrive.
James had his father's fine dark eyes and brilliance of conversation. But from his mother he had the smallish stature, the light brown hair and an elfish face. Richard had the darker colors of the Rochesters, but their mother's greenish eyes. Helen was a true beauty. She was tall, with the dark looks of the Rochesters combined with her mother's smaller features to create a face and form of rare piquant loveliness. It was ironic that Helen Rochester was the belle of London at her coming out as neither of her parents was noted for their looks.
James often resented his mother for giving him that small stature. Shouldn't the Lord of the Manor be tall and imposing? No one, not one tenant nor anyone in the family took James seriously. The only time young James felt confident was when he was deep into his cups. Then, he could talk and felt himself to be the best of companions.
Slowly, James sat up. The waves of nausea were past, just a dull ache in his head remained of the previous night's activities. His last memory was of a jolly little public house in the East End. How did he get back to his rooms at the Siena?
No matter, it was time for action. The beautiful rooms at the Siena were in arrears for payment. James' tailor refused to hand over the new waistcoat until payment was made. It was imperative that he return to Thornfield next week to supervise Helen's engagement party. How fortunate that Richard was in London to fund the journey and provide him companionship. But, until then, where was the cash to be found?
James hoisted himself up to his feet and called out for his valet. Then, he remembered that Osbert had left his service. Richard paid the back wages, of course. James had been brushing his own clothes and tying his own cravat for weeks. Well, what of it? Fortune would change, the wheel always moved.
James already had a plan in motion. There were more Americans coming to London society soirees every season. As much as the British upper class had contempt for these people, the Americans had one redeeming feature---ready fortunes and cold cash to spend. Every ambassador wanted their daughter to have a London coming out as a seal on their climb to the top of the New York or Philadelphia social ladder. And, they were not too particular about whom their daughters married or how impoverished a titled fop had become, as long as there was the promise of a title with an ancient name to be bought.
Dear father was "Sir Edward Rochester" at the time of his death. Thornfield had become a Baron's holding. Dear father was the MP for the district, too. Mother did not enjoy being Lady Jane. But, James relished becoming Baron James Rochester.
And, at the ambassador's ball two nights ago, seventeen-year-old Miss Caroline Awe of New York was speechless when introduced to James Rochester, esq. of Thornfield Hall. She finally managed to stammer, "You are a real English noble lord?" James had smothered his wince at the flat New World twang in her speech. The millions she was to inherit from her father's industrial holdings would certainly make him deaf to any distasteful or laughable patterns of Yankee elocution.
Miss Caroline was tall, red haired, statuesque with pretty blue eyes. At least, James thought as he looked for a presentable coat for afternoon tea, he could bear looking at her across Thornfield's breakfast room every morning. As long as she didn't talk with her nasal New York voice. When she was safely encroached as Lady James Rochester, they could get busy and produce strapping heirs and perhaps a daughter to present in London. Hopefully he could get Miss Caroline, or, Lady James Rochester to take some elocution.
James stopped brushing his jacket and frowned. Miss Caroline had the physique that could maybe go to fat in later years, especially after child bearing. Well, no matter. As lady Caroline Rochester, she would have everything that a title and marriage to an old name could give. After giving birth to the Heir, The Spare second son and a beautiful daughter, husbandly duties would no longer be necessary. Lady Rochester would be continuously occupied while ordering servants, arranging nannies and governesses, writing letters, planning the menus, presiding over historical societies, needlework at house parties, hunt breakfasts and planning the social events of the county. James could leave the running of Thornfield in her capable hands while he spent her money in London. After all, as a shopkeeper's daughter and a brash American, Miss Caroline surely must be intrinsically skilled with managing houses and money.
Clearly, fortune was going to smile. Miss Caroline watched James all evening from behind her fan. James put his best foot forward to win the heiress from America. He scrawled "James Rochester of Thornfield Hall" on her dance card as many times as it was decently possible. She blushed and stammered and giggled every time he danced with her. When James was not dancing with Miss Caroline, he stood in the corner, arms folded and glowering—the very picture of the jealous suitor. He even endeavored to restrict his intake of alcohol and thus presented himself as the very picture of proper British gentlemanly decorum. This was in case anyone had whispered to Miss Caroline the history of his usual nocturnal activities.
James knew from much experience when a woman was taken in by his formidable charms and it was most clear that Miss Caroline was smitten. The number of times they danced was noted in the next day's social register. They exchanged calling cards. He promised to call on her within the week.
What matter if Miss Caroline's father, Dwight Awe was born David Issur Auer in Memel Lithuania or Poland or Russia? A latent upper class disdain against Jews was prevalent in James' social circles. It was of no consequence that the old Mr. Awe still looked like a shopkeeper in his expensive London suit of clothes. The money, as far as James was concerned, had a fit and color that outdid the skills of the smartest Saville Row tailor!
James did not want to cut his face while shaving or have a cravat that was sloppy while he went courting. Surely Richard would loan him money for a manservant one last time. This was not vanity or an evening of carousing but an investment in the future of Thornfield and the salvation of the Rochester name. With the Awe millions, debts to Richard could be repaid tenfold!