I rode with Pilot bounding along my side, the weather almost seeming to reflect my mind.
It was the sort of night that might send chills down the spines of weaker men. The streets were
lined with ice and the fog kissed the moonlit earth. It was damp with a strong north wind blowing
around the ears as I looked forward to the gray horizon.
It was after a long time that I returned to Thornfield, its hooded paths, dark secrets and dreadful
inmates— and yet it was far too soon. The shadow of my wife- a deuced fine one at that!- hung
over the very memory of Thornfield, consecrating it. A part of me, entirely irrational and
fantastical to be sure, had once hoped that all higher sentiment and good feeling hadn't
forsaken me, that perhaps Thornfield could be made a home again….a damned, utopian dream!
There was no woman on any part of this world who…..hark! What is that slender figure walking
through the fog towards me? Eerie, magical, the first thing that came to mind was a fairy, or
perhaps an elf?
Lost in my perusal, I missed the sheet of ice glazing the road, and my horse slid and came
crashing down with me on it.
Hearing me, Pilot immediately returned to my side and proceeded to rend my ears with long
soulful barks and suddenly ran off into the fog, as I vigorously attempted to extricate myself from
under my horse.
"What the deuce is to do now! The cursed, bloody ice and…."
"Are you injured sir?" A clear voice asked.
Ahh, so this was the truth of the elf I had seen in the mist. Just an ordinary lady, of course.
"Can I do anything?" The voice repeated.
Finally managing to get my horse off me, I started to get up with a groan.
"You must just stand on one side" I said.
After some more efforts, I managed to get my horse upright and Pilot quiet. It was then that I
stooped down to feel my leg and foot lightly.
Deuce it, I was injured. Finding a stile nearby, I promptly collapsed on it.
"If you are hurt sir, and want help, I can fetch someone either from Thornfield Hall or from Hay."
the lady offered.
Perhaps John could be sent for...but the thought of sending for a carriage when only such a
short distance remained between myself and Thornfield, rankled me.
"Thank You: I shall do: I have no broken bones,- just a sprain" I answered brusquely, dismissing
the woman.
My effort to walk on my sprain just sent a lingering shot of pain up my leg. What was to be done
now? If only I could get to my horse, then Thornfield could be easily reached….but..,
I frowned as I tried to figure a way out of my predicament.
"I cannot think of leaving you, sir, at so late an hour, in this solitary lane, till I see you are fit to
mount your horse."
What? Hadn't the woman left me yet? And her words….bold for a simple peasant woman. I
turned my head to study her properly.
She was rather little for a woman of her age- possibly around five and twenty–and quite plain
with a pale face and fragile figure. She looked like a nun–with a pious, grave countenance–
quite at odds with her dark, wild and windy surroundings. Quite a strange creature.
But possibly she was just a peasant woman from Hay who had recognized him as the Lord of
Thornfield and hence offered to help, hoping for some favour later.
"I should think you ought to be at home yourself," said I, "if you have a home in this
neighbourhood: where do you come from?"
"From just below; and I am not at all afraid of being out late when it is moonlight: I will run over
to Hay for you with pleasure, if you wish it: indeed, I am going there to post a letter." came the
prompt reply.
Down below?! The only thing down below was Thornfield–unless I was actually conversing with
some folktale creature that made its home underground?
"You live just below—do you mean at that house with the battlements?" I said pointing to
Thornfield Hall, on which the moon cast a hoary gleam, bringing it out distinct and pale from the
woods that, by contrast with the western sky, now seemed one mass of shadow.
"Yes, sir."
My interest was kindled.
"Whose house is it?"
"Mr. Rochester's."
"Do you know Mr. Rochester?"
"No, I have never seen him."
"He is not resident, then?"
"No."
"Can you tell me where he is?"
"I cannot."
"You are not a servant at the hall, of course. You are—"
I stopped and ran my eye over her dress, which was quite simple: a black merino cloak, a black
beaver bonnet; neither of which were fine enough for a lady with some fortune or consequence.
Who was this woman after all? She seemed too respectable to be just a common maid or
something similar, even ignoring the fact that all new hires were first approved by myself.
The woman said obligingly, "I am the governess."
Governess?! What governe… Of Course! I suddenly recollected reading that letter sent to me
by Mrs. Fairfax mentioning the hire of a governess for Adele. I had signed off on it without
reading the particulars.
"Ah, the governess!" I repeated; "deuce take me, if I had not forgotten! The governess!"
I studied her a little further. Where humbling myself before an unknown peasant woman would
have been mortifying to my pride, it was not so–or atleast as much so- for a woman who was to
be an educator to my ward. I finally made a decision- even if grudgingly.
"I cannot commission you to fetch help," I said. "But you may help me a little yourself, if you will
be so kind."
"Yes, sir."
"You have not an umbrella that I can use as a stick?"
"No." came the cool reply.
"Try to get hold of my horse's bridle and lead him to me, you are not afraid?"
I then watched as the little figure confidently went up to my steed and attempted to catch its
bridle. But- along with her being too short to reach it easily- my horse was still somewhat ruffled
by its fall and spirited by nature and would not let her come near its head. She was also
obviously trying to maintain a safe distance from my horse's trampling forefeet. It was mildly
amusing to see the small wo…no- governess, attempting to calm the tall, feisty horse, but drat
it- this would not do! An alternative had to be thought of, an only one option presented itself.
I laughed,
"I see," I said, "the mountain will never be brought to Mahomet, so all you can do is to aid
Mahomet to go to the mountain; I must beg of you to come here."
She came. A doubt struck me- the governess looked fragile, it was unlikely she would be able to
hold my weight. Oh deuce it!- if she could walk so many miles to Hay in this weather, she
probably could manage to support my own self for a few moments. The lady herself looked at
once entirely calm and composed, and still looked at me with her piercing green eyes as if
asking me, "Tell me what to do, and I shall oblige". And oblige I did.
"Excuse me," I continued: "necessity compels me to make you useful."
I placed my heavy hand on her delicate and shoulder and leaned heavily on her. Surprisingly
enough, she did not quake under the pressure, but like a reed- with formidable strength- did
bend but not break. Where most other ladies would have abandoned me to this injury, some
hemmed and haw-ed about the impropriety of this interaction and a blessed select few- blushed
and swooned about having a rich man- even one as ugly as me- leaning on them, the little
governess was only filled with a plain, single minded courage and purpose.
She helped me to my horse, and on reaching it, I finally managed to catch the bridle, and with a
swift movement- that sent a terrible shot of pain up my leg- mounted my horse.
"Now," said I, releasing my under lip from a hard bite, "just hand me my whip; it lies there under
the hedge."
With a brisk movement, she sought it and found it. I realized–with a small amount of
disappointment- that it was time to part….wait, I am a bloody fool! How could I forget?- the
woman was residing in Thornfield after all.
With a little more spring, I ordered,
"Thank you; now make haste with the letter to Hay, and return as fast as you can.",
And there you will find me, little governess, and I will observe how your manner changes on
discovering me to be your employer.
A touch of a spurred heel made my horse first start and rear, and then bound away; Pilot rushed
in my traces; and soon the figure behind me vanished.
A singularly peculiar woman, this governess. So calm and cool, with her monosyllabic answers
and phlegmatic manner, but there was something about her eyes, that revealed a depth of
emotion- hidden and condemned by her. I dared not hope for more– at worst, she might be a
pompous, artificially virtuous, judgemental woman- disgusted by one as immoral as him. And at
best- a taciturn creature with no opinions of her own, perhaps a good mind, but not in the habit
of expressing it.
Yes, the most I could expect was a decent conversation from Miss…., Dammit, what was her
name? I remember reading her name on Mrs. Fairfax's letter. It was a peculiar name, much like
it's owner.
Edwards?
Ernest?
Janet Ernest? No that sounds wrong, though I believe I'm close.
Jane…..Eyre. It was Eyre.
That's what her name is….Jane Eyre.
.
.
.
.
My Jane had gone. Her room lay with some of her belongings still inside, but money, coat and
occupant gone. She had left for Heavens knew where? In what condition? How!
Virtuous, independent, intelligent, passionate, beautiful, heartless creature….and I loved her
more than my own self, my spirit and my soul. But after what I did!
"Come back."
She had left me to my empty home, mad wife and broken heart. Abandoned me to my life of
dissipation and debauchery, mindless wandering, bitterness and sucked away all my hope for a
brighter future, tender feelings and a home.
"COME BACK!"
No, no…..the bitterness, the darkness, the apathy, it wouldn't return. My heart wouldn't revert to
the way it was before the first day I met Jane. It isn't empty, it is filled with love, with excruciating
anguish and with the unabating light, she gave me.
"I cannot exist without you"
And I know– whatever I do, or what happens to myself. Even after a hundred years. Even when
Thornfield was a ruin and all its residents long gone. I will forever love, remember and grieve
her.
"I will ask nothing of you, just come back to Thornfield. As a governess, my wife or just as
yourself.
Return, just return, please return, my…
love
my life
my light,
Jane Eyre.