ANNE EYRE (Secrets and Lies: chapter Eleven) #Jane Eyre Retelling

Chapter Eleven

Secrets and Lies  

     After a few days’ absence, Mr Rochester returned. He was finalizing some paperwork in relation to the horse sales. Sophie and I were playing piano in the drawing room; there were more off notes than on when Sophie played her part. He could hear us from his desk and seemed to find the whole scenario very funny. Sophie looked up and ran to him until he said, ‘Off me, Sophie!’ Pretending to be annoyed, he added, ‘We have guests arriving this afternoon, I must finish my work.’ It was clear her affection for him existed despite his gruffness. On some level, Rochester’s basic kindness was obvious to Sophie. She would go to hug him regardless of his apparent coldness. It didn’t occur to her that someone raised undemonstratively, might not wish to hug her back. I believe most children have excellent instincts about those closest to them and Rochester responded to her regardless. 

     After music lessons finished, he took us for a long drive around the estate and we had an early lunch at the local pub. It was as far from my inner-city London reality as I could have imagined. I was embarrassed that the girl at the bar, who was new and didn’t know Rochester, assumed we were a family. Deep down, although it was not a vague possibility, the idea brought me a feeling of happiness I’d never previously known. Although Rochester, at twenty-eight, was older than me, I’d never met anyone like him – anyone as interesting or as strong minded as him. He was nothing like the boys or teachers I’d met. If I had known myself better, I would have been able to put words to the feelings I was experiencing for the first time. Instead, I looked away as he glanced at me when he carried a tired Sophie to the car. I was scared of getting close to anyone, much less this powerful man who was officially my employer.

     That afternoon Rochester’s friends, the Ingram’s, arrived. They had already fallen asleep in the upstairs wing after their long trip. Sophie was at her riding lesson so Nate asked me to join him to play pool in the living room. It was a fine afternoon but already the faint glimmer of sunlight had fallen behind clouds in the sky. There was music playing in the drawing room and the kitchen staff were busy shopping in the village to buy extra food.

     A warm silence had settled over the house as Nate told me about the people who were staying for the house party. I’d already heard about the “beautiful” Nicola Ingram from Mrs Fairfax.

    ‘I’m not sure, but I have a hunch he’s thinking of marrying this one,’ she had said. ‘Rochester is probably just biding his time to make sure she is genuine and not after his money. Although the Ingrams are one of the finest families in the district, she doesn’t stand to inherit anything like the fortune that Rochester has and he would never marry a woman who was just after prestige.’

    I suppose that meant Nathanial’s future wife would become Lady Somebody, which all sounded a bit grand in the twenty-first century.  

    I’d never heard Nathanial mention his title and I was pretty sure he never used it. It was a bit embarrassing in this modern day and age. I’d seen so much need in some of the poorer boroughs of central London. I wondered if Mrs Fairfax was exaggerating as she was prone to doing. I knew her generation would be impressed by hereditary titles, but I wasn’t.  I would have just fainted if, for example, he’d introduced himself as Lord Rochester and asked me to address him as Sir. In fact, I may have left.

     I collected Sophie from her riding lesson. When we returned we had to walk past the sitting room. Unbeknownst to me, Sophie had taken pictures on her father’s mobile phone of all my paintings, her riding instructor, the food we had eaten and anything else she had found interesting during the day. When I walked into the kitchen to gather our drinks, Sophie and her father were flicking through the photos together.  I noticed when she stopped at the photo of Enrique, the riding instructor, and added that we had arranged to have lunch together, he paused.

    I couldn’t help but feel a slight thrill at the thought that he seemed jealous.

    Mrs Fairfax came to take the child for her bath after her riding lesson and I picked up the smart phone.

    ‘I asked Sophie not to do that,’ I said, trying to hide my surprise.

    ‘Don’t be silly, Anne. I love your paintings. I enjoyed looking at your work. There are so many fine subjects to paint around here.’

    ‘Yes. There are so many amazing views, amazing architecture, the scenery itself. There are endless subjects to paint and draw. Art is not a chore - it’s fun.’

    ‘And what do you know of fun, Anne?’

    ‘Very little,’ I said wearily. ‘Before I came here, fun existed mostly in my imagination.’

    Rochester nodded agreeably.  

    ‘That is what I like about the country,’ he said heartily, ‘the animals, to ride, to be free here, away from prying eyes.’

     I wondered what he could possibly wish to be free from.

     Rochester looked away, as if he was suddenly bored with my conversation. I noticed the riding jacket he wore was made of black velvet; it suited him, made him look like the rich heir of a dynasty, the experienced, confident, older man that he was.

    He flicked to the portrait I had done of him, standing in jeans and a t-shirt in the sun, hunched over and looking quite solemn at the pool table. He looked a lot younger than his twenty-eight years in that moment - almost innocent.

     ‘Is that how you view me?’

     ‘It was just a sketch. Not meant for other people to see.’

     By other people, it was clear I meant him.

    He smiled. His eyes were warm. I suppose he‘d suspected my little schoolgirl crush by now, but he was too polite to make me any more embarrassed than I already was.

    He wandered over to the music, turned it down and announced, ‘My friends will be down soon. We are going riding; then I expect you to have dinner with us tonight, and every night, until they leave.’

    ‘Is that really necessary?’ I said. The thought of too much socializing with strangers made me want to hide from the world.

    ‘Yes, as your employer,’ he said jokingly, ‘I’m asking you to be there, Anne. We could use some young adult company. We are all older than you and rich and bored with ourselves. Besides, it will be good practice for Sophie to speak English in company.’   

    I made a mental note to wear the new items of clothing I’d bought from the village store; black denim jeans and a wine coloured sweater. I thought the outfit was fashionable and new and not too overdone. The main street of the village had a small selection of stores that sold clothes for young women and girls and Sophie and I had spent more than two hours shopping there recently. Sophie had squealed in delight at everything in the shop until I reminded her how I expected her to behave when we were outside the house. I looked at her sternly, but she just smiled, knowing, after weeks of being around each other every day, that she could almost twist me around her little finger. She also knew that, although neither gruff nor impatient like her father sometimes appeared to be, I meant what I said. She instantly stopped winding her coat around the dressing room partition and sat on the chair, humming softly, the songs we’d been teaching each other around the piano.

    That night I took Sophie down to dinner. The child was dressed for the occasion wearing a burgundy velvet dress with matching stockings and ballet slippers.

     The house guests were making more noise than Sophie ever had as they laughed uproariously at the punch line of a joke. Apparently, we’d missed both the set up and the ending.

     Only the men, of whom there were three, smiled at me.

     Nicola, dressed in a low top, short skirt and stilettos with her long hair straightened and falling down to her waist, remained blank faced and unwelcoming. The house guests spoke mostly amongst themselves and did their best to exclude me and Sophie.

     Rochester was busy telling stories and when Sophie started to yawn, I excused myself, tired, and took her upstairs.

      I’d been teaching her various English words previously unknown to her and she’d been teaching me a French song which we hummed as we walked. Then I sang some of a new song we’d heard on the radio and Sophie insisted on making up a dance to it when we reached her room. She looked like one of those kids on a reality show and I found myself laughing, despite myself, at her antics as I searched for her nightgown.

     I made sure she cleaned her teeth properly by promising to tell her the story of Cinderella to help her fall asleep. Sophie loved that story; all about the beautiful girl with a wicked step-mother and the handsome Prince Charming who falls in love with the girl and identifies her from her missing slipper. It was a popular fairy tale for a reason and one I used to tell some of the smaller girls in foster care. We all loved it and it seemed to resonate with Sophie as she closed her eyes.

     It had been a long day and I was grateful for the luxury of my own room when I too, fell fast asleep. 

ANNE EYRE (Fire: chapter Twelve) #Jane Eyre Retelling

Chapter Twelve

Fire

     Hacking and coughing, I was awoken at two in the morning, barely able to breathe. The faint trace of smoke had started to funnel under the door of my bedroom. I wore only a light t-shirt and pyjama pants to bed, and it was cold when I threw the covers off me; but there was no time to pause and dress or even grab my coat.

     Gasping, I heard a piercing scream from above. I could smell more smoke as I began to cough. I ran down the hallway, pushing my messy bed hair from my eyes.   

     The trail of smoke seemed to lead to Rochester’s room, six doors down. Everyone had stayed up to all hours and the rest of the house guests seemed oblivious to the danger.  

     I knocked frantically on the door. When I turned the handle it opened easily.

     The room itself was enormous, with high, Baroque ceilings and a wide old-fashioned bed situated in the middle. There was no time to think. I ran to the bed where Rochester lay. Perhaps he’d already inhaled smoke because he didn’t move when I said his name.

   ‘Wake up Nathanial,’ I said, shaking him. He didn’t stir. I reached over his bare chest and grabbed his broad shoulders and shook him again. He finally opened his eyes, then coughed and spluttered in the greying air.

    ‘Anne,’ he whispered, ‘what’s happening?’

    ‘The curtain!  Look, fire - Nathanial, get up!’

     I tried to drag him but he was tall and twice my weight in muscle. He managed to get out of bed and with my help sat upright and then he moved suddenly.

    ‘Get the blanket Anne, quickly!’

     He ripped the mats up and threw the blankets onto the curtains and the edge of the bed. I turned on the tap in the bathroom and filled a bucket that was sitting under the basin. I started throwing water at the drapes, wondering where I could dial for the fire department, but in just a few minutes we managed to contain the fire. The stone floors where the carpet had been ripped up prevented the fire from spreading beyond the curtains. Rochester had been planning renovations for a while and the lack of floor covering curtailed the heat at the foot of his bed.

    When the flames had been put out, I felt intense relief mixed with exhaustion. 

    I leaned on the wall then slumped to the floor.

   Rochester collapsed at the foot of the bed, head in hands. Then, it seemed like the only thing left to kill us was smoke inhalation.

    Slowly, he rose. He was shirtless and beautiful in the moonlight as I looked out for a moment from behind my own hands. I was shivering from the open window, the icy water sloshing at my feet.

    He brought me a towelling robe from the bathroom and handed it to me.

    ‘You are cold, put this on. Tell no one about the fire.’

    ‘What?’

    ‘Tell no one about what has happened here tonight.’

    ‘Why?’

    He paused.

    ‘Can I trust you Anne?’

    I looked at him from behind my messed up hair, my cold feet suckered together.

    ‘Yes,’ I answered, hesitantly.

    He knelt down beside me in the dark, finally the same height as me, eye to eye.

    ‘Promise me.’

    ‘I promise. You can trust me,’ I said slowly.

    ‘Stay here for a moment, it’s safe now. I’ll be back.’

     I was frozen and in shock but somehow, curled in his dressing gown after moving to the dry couch on the other side of the room, I fell fast asleep. I heard him walking into the room; it seemed like moments later, but was in reality probably half an hour.

    He leaned over me; he’d hastily put on a t-shirt, one printed with a photograph of some old rock band he must have liked from about ten years ago. He smelled of a person freshly showered, so close was he when I opened my eyes I could see his chest moving, breathing heavily; I was bleary eyed, deep in dreams. Suddenly he looked like no one I trusted, like one of the numerous strangers who’d beaten down a door to my path in life. He reached towards me but I pushed him away. He wasn’t easily dissuaded.

     Without asking, Rochester scooped me up close and carried me in his arms quietly, down the hall to my bedroom, and placed me on my bed. The covers were already pulled back where I’d hastily left them. I was tired, sleepy, and almost delirious. He leant over me as if he was checking my breathing which was steady.

    ‘Anne?’

    He touched my wrist.

    ‘Open your eyes.’

    ‘What happened? Who lit the fire?’ I asked. My questions fell over themselves without care.

    ‘I think one of the maids dropped a match; Merida was smoking when she returned from the village; it’s nothing for you to worry about. The extra staff will be leaving soon enough and I’ll get Mrs Fairfax to talk to them and my guests about fire safety over the next few days,’ he mused.

     ‘Don’t joke,’ I said. ‘We could have been killed.’

     ‘It wasn’t that bad.’

     ‘It could have been.’

      Instinct told me he was lying, lying to protect someone, but I couldn’t put all of my suspicions together to form another accusation in the dark. Nor would I question a person who obviously did not trust me enough to share the truth, whatever that was.  

      The handsome man in the night paused before he looked down at me and spoke again, ‘You saved my life tonight, Anne. Thank you. I owe you.’ He leant closer to me and took my hand. I pulled it away, sensing his lie in the dark.

    ‘You owe me nothing, Rochester,’ I said.

     I would be lying if I didn’t say the memory of his flat, hard chest against me as he held me and carried me to my bed, did not conjure unexpected feelings of warmth and security that had always eluded me.

     There was also a new sensation, one I’d pushed aside and never allowed myself to feel before - desire. Wanting the closeness of another human being was new to me; trusting someone was almost incomprehensible. I’d avoided human contact for years, ever since my aunt had abandoned me. I pulled the covers to my chest as I lay on my side, thinking he’d go soon enough.  

     ‘Are you just going to let me leave Anne?’ He asked.

     I turned around, my eyes made out his shadow in the moonlight.

     ‘I want to know the rest,’ I whispered, reaching to touch his face.

      His voice cracked, as he spoke, low and hesitant.

    ‘When I was younger, a year older than you, I made a terrible mistake; one that has haunted me to this day.’

     He stopped talking. The room was filled with silence. I reached out and touched his chest, leant into him, listened to his beating heart. He knelt on the bed and held me close and warm, whispering my name in the night. Then he pulled me tighter, slightly, wrapping his arms around me and breathing into me as if his breath could also sustain my own. Nate was warm and close enough to hear my heart beat for the first time. I listened to his breathing as he seemed to contemplate whether or not to tell me something. 

     Then, for a moment, I wanted to kiss him, wanted him to stay with me. But it was only for a moment and I’d never admit it to a man who appeared to have the upper hand in all aspects of knowledge.   

     Instead, I pushed him away from me, annoyed that he held back whilst expecting so much from me. He seemed wary of offering me more information or even a plausible explanation for the inexplicable.

     Besides, I thought, the last thing I needed was an older, more experienced man taking what was, for a moment, freely offered, then surely laughing in my face.

     I wrapped my blanket around my shoulders, got off the bed and stood at the door.

     ‘Please leave now. It is time for me to go to sleep.’

     He got up reluctantly and left the room. The door slapped behind him softly and all was quiet in the house except my breathing which was deep as I crawled under my covers and drifted back into an unsettled sleep and an even more unsettling dream.        

    In my dream, I was getting married.

    It was my wedding day and I was dressed in a long cream gown with the finest lace and flowers in a posy of pink that spilled out across the front of my dress. Then I looked across the room as I prepared to walk down the aisle and Sophie was smiling, dressed in ivory and lace, excited to be my bridesmaid.

    Music played as we began to walk down the aisle.

    I walked alone. This bothered me, initially; but little Sophie caught the train of my dress and I didn’t notice my aloneness at all, because I was about to be joined to someone… but who? I couldn’t remember his name and when I reached the front of the church after passing hundreds of seated guests whose faces were unfamiliar to me, Nicola, dressed as a bride, greeted me with a smile and pushed me to one side.

    ‘What are you doing here?’ She demanded to know. ‘This is my wedding and this man is to be my husband.’

    The man who stood in the corner talking to his best man was Nathanial Rochester. In silence, he turned to face us.

    ‘Get out,’ Nicola said. ‘Get out you poor, plain, uninteresting girl! Leave this place!’

     It was more like a nightmare than a dream.      

ANNE EYRE (Sounds In The Silence: chapter Thirteen) #Jane Eyre Retelling

Chapter Thirteen

Sounds In The Silence

     Rochester behaved as if nothing was amiss the next day.

     After lessons, Sophie and I heard the house party arrive back from the stables.   We were padding upstairs, our hair wet from swimming. Sophie was so good now; she didn’t need her floaties but I still watched her like a hawk. We were both laughing and dripping water on the floor. Meanwhile Leah was, tut tutting us as the group entered the hallway.

    I pulled my long robe around me and Sophie stood close; I needn’t have bothered. Neither the house guests nor Rochester appeared to notice us at all as we walked upstairs. When I turned around as we reached the top, all of the visitors were deep in conversation. I could hear their upper class accents spinning off the walls. As I glanced downward, Rochester was in the middle of the group – the centre of everyone’s attention.

    Nicola Ingram was tall and graceful. She’d had her tumble of blonde hair styled   fashionably around her shoulders. Nicola, who wore long riding boots and jeans with a designer label, was busy laughing at everything Rochester said. I saw her flick something off his scarlet riding jacket and link her arm through his. She clasped his firm hand to hers behind their backs.

    Sophie was playing quietly that afternoon and I could hear animated conversation coming from the drawing room. The men were getting ready to go swimming after finishing a game of pool. When their voices became softer, I walked downstairs with the car keys, preparing to go the village.

    The drawing room, which I was required to walk past, was filled with stale smoke and recent conversation.

    ‘Anne?’

    ‘I… I thought you’d left.’

    Rochester walked out from the connecting library.

    ‘Are you hiding from us?’

    ‘No. I was with Sophie.’

    ‘Never mind. I want to introduce you to someone properly. Anne, this is Nicola Ingram.’

    I smiled at the woman who was maybe a few years older than me and very self-possessed.

    ‘Nicola and her brother are close friends of mine from London,’ Rochester stated.

    I noticed her frown when he said the word friend. The haughty woman looked me up and down from her secure position next to Rochester.

    ‘Hello. And who are you?’

    ‘I’m Anne Eyre, Sophie’s governess.’

    ‘Oh, so you’re the nanny; I grew up with loads of nannies; we used to play tricks on them. They were all just awful,’ she said disdainfully, looking straight at me.

     I ignored her insulting remarks.

    ‘I also tutor Sophie in English. I’m preparing her for school.’

    ‘Yes, and doing a brilliant job,’ Rochester said, backs turned to us as he went to make drinks.

    ‘I must go,’ I added. ‘I don’t want to miss the post office.’

    ‘Perhaps she’s off to meet her boyfriend in town,’ I heard another girl snipe. Nicola’s friend giggled.

     I heard fading whispers from the females as I attempted to leave the room.

    ‘Why doesn’t she just use email? Oh but of course, Rochester, it doesn’t work all the way out here in the wilderness,’ Nicola scoffed. ‘I really don’t know why you left London. We must do something about that next summer, darling.’

    This woman, Nicola, was clearly making plans for their life together. If he was using her to make me jealous, it was working.

     I felt superfluous. I didn’t want to listen to any more of their idle conversation and was glad to be out of the house as I navigated the not overly familiar terrain, stumbling along Hay Lane and towards the pathway that lead to the village.

     I needed a walk to clear my head, and the longer the better.

     The summer days were becoming brisker, with autumn approaching. I couldn’t really understand why my eyes were smarting with tears as I walked. I knew I could drive but I wanted to take as long as possible to get to the village, and then to return would take up the entire afternoon. I wanted to stay out of the house that had previously been so welcoming to me now that it had been invaded by an unfriendly adversary. I’d met girls like Nicola at school. When they set their sights on their male prey, they marked any other female, even one who didn’t rate by their standards, as competition.

   That night was just as bad.

    I was compelled to go to the dining room with Sophie and we were asked by Mrs Fairfax to dress for dinner again, something I’d been previously annoyed about.

    ‘I’ve nothing to wear,’ I said. ‘Perhaps I’ll just take tea in the play room and read.’

    ‘No, you are invited, Anne. Nathanial especially asked for you though I daresay he wouldn’t miss either me or Sophie,’ she joked. ‘And never mind about your outfit, dear, just wear a different top and make sure Sophie looks her prettiest. Mr Rochester doesn’t like her not to be well presented around his friends. We’re expecting an engagement announcement very soon. He’s ordered some jewellery to be brought down from London next week. They do make a lovely couple, don’t you think?’

    ‘Yes,’ I said. There was no point in showing my hesitation. I was used to being overlooked, underestimated and ignored. It was normal for me from my past, but not now, not here and never in my future.

    ‘Oh, and Anne? It wouldn’t hurt you to put on a little lipstick and blush tonight. It’s a party – there is no need for a teenage girl to look so unhappy and severe.’

     She touched my cheek in what I could only describe as a motherly gesture. It was what I occasionally did to Sophie when she’d said or done something particularly sweet. I smiled tepidly.

     Mrs Fairfax left the room.

    After Sophie was dressed in a beautiful sapphire blue outfit (a newly bought design from one of Rochester’s recent trips to France), I looked properly at myself in the mirror. I washed my face and did my best to hide the damage of recent tears staining my cheeks. 

ANNE EYRE (Dinner Party: chapter Fourteen) #Jane Eyre Retelling

Chapter Fourteen

Dinner Party

    I decided to dress for dinner, to give Nicola something to worry about.  

    I bathed and dried and used tongs on my hair in a fairly good attempt to imitate the fashionable models I’d noticed in magazines discarded where Nicola had left them.

    It is true I only had one dress; I’d spent the part of my salary I wasn’t saving at the local village shop on brushes and paper and art supplies; but the dress was new and very fashionable – a dark, above the knee, fitted sixties style. I wore it over a cherry coloured polo sweater, black opaque stockings and knee length, black riding boots - the ones I’d been mysteriously provided with even after I’d said I did not wish to take lessons.   

    Sophie wore a pink dress with a bow at the back and flat, ballet slippers. She looked like the flower girl at a wedding as she skipped across the ballroom and into the dining room.

     The table was lit up with candles and flowers. Mrs Fairfax had been told to hire extra staff from the village specifically for the weekend. The dinner party was in full swing when Sophie and I entered the room. Although Rochester looked up momentarily and smiled, his eyes noting that I was more appropriately dressed as Mrs Fairfax had remarked, he did not stop talking to Nicola. There were other friends, a guy named Riff and another woman called Jess. Riff wore a black leather jacket. He was the lead singer in Riffraff, the band Rochester managed. Riff was half asleep throughout dinner but still managed to drink at regular intervals. His girlfriend hung off his every word, nuzzling his shoulder.

    As the first course was served, Jess started to nibble Riff’s ear which made Sophie giggle.  Meanwhile, Nicola looked enraptured at the man seated opposite her, Nathanial, and even made a point of getting up out of her seat to cut up his food for him while he’d excused himself to take a phone call. I’m not sure that was the best move on her part. He didn’t look entirely pleased when he returned.

    Sophie and I were seated near the end of the long table.

    To my right was a good-looking stranger, a man who did not seem to know the rest of the party. He had dark brown hair with a long fringe and was around the same age as Rochester. He smiled warmly and introduced himself to me.

     ‘How do you do? I’m Christopher Mason. May I ask who I have the pleasure of sitting alongside?’

     His accent was from somewhere across the sea; America or Ireland; perhaps both. I noticed Mr Rochester’s casual glance in my direction and it pleased me that now it was his turn to see my attention diverted elsewhere.

     ‘I’m Anne Eyre, Sophie’s English tutor. I’m also her nanny,’ I said, quite loudly and proudly.

    The young man smiled at me, then looked coldly at Sophie, who smiled back at him in her trusting way. Sophie looked particularly adorable with her curls tied in a pink ribbon. She was an enchanting child, (like a pet Rochester had noted, when Sophie was out of earshot, with his usual droll humour).

    I noticed Christopher again glanced at the child coldly, and I wondered why.

   ‘And… how old is the child?’ he asked me, almost impatiently, as the first course of lobster bisque was served.

   ‘Sophie is six,’ I said, quietly.

    He nodded as if mentally doing some arithmetic that I couldn’t possibly understand. I broke some bread and took the soup spoon, grateful for the etiquette lessons I’d considered stupid at Lockwood School. I knew to use the round spoon first and to eat using utensils from the outside in. I’d taught Sophie to do the same and she was behaving extremely well for a soon-to-be tired six-year-old.

    The conversation around the table grew more animated, the smoke thicker and the music louder. Mrs Fairfax had taken Sophie off to bed after pudding, which was covered in a delicious cloud of caramel sauce over cream and strawberries. After I’d finished eating, I decided it was time for me to also escape.

     Nathanial Rochester had been happily talking with Nicola all evening, barely acknowledging my presence and not bothering to speak to me even once. On the other side of Nicola was a good-looking man called Matthew Eaton. He ate with relish, talked animatedly all evening and was extremely good natured. Matthew had also been to university with Rochester and every now and then tapped on his glass to tell jokes that were vaguely funny.

    The only time Nathanial looked over at me was when I spoke to Christopher Mason  and he only appeared to be interested in our conversation when Christopher  started telling me about his life in New Orleans (where he’d come from before his legal office transferred him to London).  

    After coffee was served, Christopher excused himself on the grounds of being tired from his long journey.

    ‘Nonsense, man,’ Rochester said. ‘London is just a few miles…’

    ‘Yes, but Ireland is a few hours, by plane and before that I was in America so I’m afraid I’ve had a long week…’

    He smiled and said, ‘It’s been nice to talk to you Anne, I hope I see you in the morning.’

    I wasn’t sure what he meant by that comment. After he left, the conversation became rowdier as Riff and Jess started playing guitar and bickering between chord progressions.

     Finally, I managed to get up and leave the room unnoticed. 

    I wound up the stairs, haunted by the generations of Rochesters that lined the wall along with statues and paintings of birds and other exotic creatures that had been lured to this place from other lands; captured and kept here. The wind outside was howling as I made my way to my room. When I got ready for bed, I again had the sense that I was not alone.

     A loud thump was followed by a scream beyond the rafters. The house guests, to my knowledge, had remained in the dining room. Mrs Poole was normally asleep at this hour but I thought Edwina Fairfax had told me she had gone into the village to meet a friend. It was unusual that she hadn’t made an appearance at dinner, although she tended to eat in the village on most occasions. The sound was not of this world. It definitely wasn’t Mrs Fairfax or Sophie who were both asleep by now, or either of the maids who weren’t in bed yet.   

      The next morning, at breakfast, most of the guests were still asleep. Nicola was bleary eyed but had obviously decided to eat breakfast and be civil. She made an effort to smile at me, saying, ‘Good morning Anne,’ in a way that could almost have been described as warm. I suppose once she felt secure in her perceived superiority there was no need to treat me like a threat.

     Mrs Fairfax announced that the entire party would be leaving to go to a recording   session in London. One of their friends, Matthew Eaton, owned a music studio there. They had left after breakfast without so much as a goodbye. I was told they would return when they were finished.

    Sophie looked quite dismayed that she hadn’t had the chance to wave them off. ‘Come on Sophie,’ I said. ‘It’s just us again. Let’s go over our sentences for the week then go outside.’ Reluctantly, she walked upstairs with me after breakfast. Mrs Fairfax shook her head, clearly not impressed by Nathanial’s thoughtless behaviour. 

    After our English lesson, Sophie and I walked around the estate that morning repeating our bilingual game of naming every object in sight in both French and English. This helped my language skills as well.

    At one point, after we’d exhausted the words to describe everything we saw, Sophie grabbed my fingers and asked me why I wasn’t listening to her chatter or her jokes. For some reason, today, I didn’t find them funny. Together we walked around the frosty grounds back towards Thornton Hall. I found myself glancing at the trees and the sky with my young charge, hardly thinking about our conversation or the answers I gave to Sophie’s many questions. I was distracted, thinking about Nathanial, wondering when he would return.

     When he did return, the following evening, I was seated in the drawing room, enduring the mundane chatter of the female guests who basically ignored my presence in their company. Tonight, Christopher Mason was noticeably absent and the seat beside me was empty. Sophie had been taken upstairs early after she had been passed around the group like a toy. Her prattle had become decidedly irritating to Nicola who disliked anything or anyone that took Nathanial’s attention away from her.

      After the evening meal was served, I ate just enough pudding, before I felt I could leave the crowded room without being missed.

     Nathanial Rochester and I stood up simultaneously as he announced, ‘Anne, I hope you are not leaving us. We have arranged after dinner party games - a magician has arrived to entertain us with card tricks and illusions,’ he stated.

     I had never really enjoyed fairground entertainment but it would be extremely obvious if I left in full view of everyone.

     Nicola stood up and tapped her glass with a spoon before stating, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we have organised, for your entertainment and because it is my birthday request, a fortune teller! A palmist from the local country fair is visiting for the evening to read everyone’s fortunes!’ Nicola then clapped her hands loudly.

   ‘Come Anne, she will be set up in the library in ten minutes… you must go early since you are always the first to leave.’

    Nicola nodded, clearly happy to be rid of me sooner than she expected. My absence would allow her to linger exclusively with her intended husband.  

    Rochester stood and whispered something about, ‘I’ll just finalize the payment.’  Nicola looked extremely self-satisfied. The most amiable of our house guests, Matthew Eaton, jumped up and said, ‘Okay, I’ll go first then.’

    Nicola smiled approvingly. ‘Each time slot goes for ten minutes,’ she said. ‘Anne, I’ve scheduled you in next.’

    Having once worked as a society party planner, Nicola was in her element  organising others. I had no doubt both the magician, who was happily pulling a card from behind my ear as I inwardly cringed, and the fortune teller, were the result of her suggestions and probably known to her.   

ANNE EYRE (Fortune: chapter Fifteen) #Jane Eyre Retelling

Chapter Fifteen

Fortune

     It was easier to comply with everyone’s wishes but I had little faith in so-called fortune tellers. Matthew and I were clearly the guinea pigs for this form of entertainment but I wasn’t particularly bothered either way since I didn’t believe in the validity of it. Whether the reader said good or bad to me or about me was not of any particular concern.

    The library was dark when I entered as if the novels themselves were whispering their secrets. Matthew Eaton was leaving sheepishly as I entered. ‘She’s good, but a bit spooky,’ was his only comment.

    At the far end of the hall there was a shadowy figure seated in a lazy chair, apparently hunched behind a curtain. Her voice was raspy and deep.

   I hesitated as I approached.

   ‘Do I… do I get to see you?’

   ‘Reveal myself to you? No dear, I work better incognito.’

   ‘Oh.’

   I sat down. 

   ‘You are a sceptic dear.’

   ‘Excuse me?’

   ‘You do not believe in these dark arts.’

   ‘Um… no, not really.’

   ‘I can hear disbelief in your voice. Why have you come here then?’

   ‘Out of politeness.’

   ‘Mmm… I see.’

   ‘My employer requested it.’

   ‘Oh. Is he the tall, dark and very handsome one?’

   I laughed.

   ‘Um… you could say that, I suppose so.’

   ‘Mm… let’s see. Do you have anything to offer me my dear?’

   ‘What? Oh, you mean a question?’

    ‘Questions come later. I mean a donation.’

   ‘Oh.’ I thought she had been paid but I searched the pocket hidden in my waistband and found some gold coins which I placed on the table.

    ‘Thank you,’ she said.

     A long pause precluded her first observation. 

    ‘You are slightly conflicted.’

    ‘What makes you say that?’

    ‘You are not an easy person to understand. Most of my clients come in here, shivering. Why aren’t you cold?’

    ‘It’s summer.’

     ‘It is quite drafty in here. You are afraid of something or someone.’

     ‘I don’t think so. I try not to be afraid of anyone.’

     ‘Nevertheless, there is someone, a man who has you perplexed.’

     ‘Prove it,’ I said.

     ‘These are not things that can be proven. My words simply are or they… are not. In this case, they are.

      I nodded casually.

      ‘You are solitary but dependent… do you… do you teach a child in this mansion?’

      ‘Yes.’ I hesitated.

     She jumped on my answer.

      ‘You see, I was right, solitary but dependent. You seek love but you do not know it when you see it.’

     I paused, trying to work out her previous comment before thinking about the next one.

     ‘Don’t you mean independent?’

     ‘No, dependent. You have grown dependent on others, more than you ever thought you would…’

      I screwed up my face, more than a little irritated.

      ‘You could say what you said to just about any young woman.’

      ‘Not in this house. In this house, you have a rival.’

       I couldn’t believe she’d picked up Nicola Ingram.

      ‘A rival? For what?’ I challenged her to spell it out.

      ‘For the affections of another.’

      I was silent.

      ‘Do you disagree with an elderly lady?’

      ‘If that is what you say you are,’ I added. I was starting to get suspicious. The older woman had hidden her large hands behind gloves as she took my coins, just a little too swiftly to be well mannered.

       ‘In your circumstances, you have many choices.’

       ‘Really?’ I asked sarcastically.

       ‘You have not had an easy upbringing. I can see that in your face. Now, if you wish to know more, I must read your palm.’

       ‘Whatever,’ I said under my breath, exasperated.

       I held my hand out to her across the table. 

       ‘Mmm…. Normally I can see lines for marriage and children but I…. I have to… ah, there they are. I see both in your future although in truth, your destiny is not clear since both of these are a matter of choice.’

     ‘I believe you,’ I said.

     ‘I look into your hand and it does not reveal your inner most secrets. I wonder what is in your mind as you sit there and what rests in your heart. Are you happy? Are you sad? You see, with a hand like this… it is hard to tell, you do not reveal your true feelings to anyone. Although, I see a great fondness that you have here and here (she pointed to a random line on my palm) for children,’ she whispered eerily. ‘You had a harsh childhood and in a way, to make up for that, you are extra kind to the children that come into your life.’

     I really had started to twig that this whole scenario was some sort of a set up. Obviously, this fortune teller had been given information about me in advance. For fun, I decided to play along with the joke.

    ‘May I ask you a question?’

    ‘Of course Anne, that is what I am here for.’

    ‘What… what I really want to talk about is… a man…’

    ‘Ah, the tall, dark and handsome one? The one who is your employer?’

    ‘No, the one who was seated next to me recently at dinner.’

     The voice behind the curtain sounded more agitated.

     ‘Do you have feelings for this person?’

     ‘I believe so.’

     ‘Not for the dark, handsome one?’

     ‘Oh, I have feelings for him too; feelings of irritation, anger and annoyance! Shall I add to those feelings Nathanial Rochester?’

      I pulled the curtains apart to reveal Nathanial and Jess, who was seated on his knee, doing her actress voice as she later told me, with prompting of questions quickly scribbled by Nathanial on pen and paper.

    Both of them laughed uproariously as I stood up, smiling ever so slightly.

   ‘Don’t tell the others, Anne,’ Jess pleaded.

   ‘We always play practical jokes at these dinner parties. Please don’t spoil it, Anne. Didn’t you think it was funny?’ Nathanial asked.

   ‘It was quite funny, Nathanial, but let me give you a tip. Big hands give you away.’

    I think I’d caught on to the practical joke about half way through and I hadn’t in all honesty found it as hysterical as they did, but I suppose it wiled away the evening. Of course, if Nathanial thought his obnoxious questions would reveal my inner most thoughts, he was sadly mistaken. From the start - well, almost - I’d guessed it was him.