ANNE EYRE (In Dreams: chapter Eight) #Jane Eyre Retelling

Chapter Eight

In Dreams

    That night, I dreamt I was a small girl again, walking through my life before the hurt took over. I was sitting on the doorstep of a huge house, waiting for someone, not my mean aunt, not my actual parents. There was a large garden and a fence and behind it, I felt safe, for the first time. Then I was an adult standing on the shore in a towelling beach robe. When the person I waited for arrived, the sun blocked his identity but he placed my hand in his and together we ran into the ocean. Heat blazed down on us; there were no cares, no worries - just bliss. When I woke, I remembered being told by my aunt that both my parents were drug users who’d abandoned me at birth. There, in the ocean, with this nameless person, I was free again; happy.

    The dream was more comforting than the one I usually had about the handsome young husband of my equally perfect-looking new foster mother. I had lived in Notting Hill back then with a selfish public relations executive who wanted a trial run at looking after a child. Her husband (and his wandering hands and too-close hugs), worked in advertising. He came up with the revolutionary idea of trying to turn me into a child model. I was only eleven but I could pick a dodgy character when I met one and I got out of that house as soon as was humanly possible, before any serious damage was done. His dubious intentions, when he tried to make me pose for photographs for my modelling portfolio, made me wary.

    I tossed and turned in the early hours.

    When I woke at around three in the morning, I had a feeling that someone was watching me. I got up to make a hot chocolate; the house was still and silent. I padded up the stairs in my socks and read for a bit, an old but beautifully written novel: Persuasion. I reached the part where Frederick Wentworth returns, and then I fell back into a deep sleep.

    I woke again, at around three in the morning.

    One of Rochester’s dogs, Pilot, was lapping my hand which I thought was quite strange since I’d shut my door and was yet to meet a dog capable of opening one with his paw.  I’d been having such a nice dream that if it was possible I would have closed my eyes and willed myself back into it; this was never going to happen. I’d arrived without a proper dressing gown so I pulled on my coat as it was still quite cold. Pilot followed me protectively as I got up and headed downstairs again to make some toast.  

    The floorboards creaked and the ancestral portraits haunted me as I crept downstairs.  

    Silence greeted me when I reached the kitchen, no noises but the opening and closing of a cupboard as I prepared my food. I switched on the stove light and boiled more water, feeling comforted by the familiar taste of English Breakfast Tea. As I sipped, I heard it again, unmistakable, a soft scream. I mentally counted all of the people I knew to be sleeping in Thornton Hall:  Mrs Fairfax, Sophie, the maids, the cook, two grooms, Mrs Poole and Rochester. It must be one of the maids, I thought. Then I heard them again - two words as clear as the daylight that would soon arrive - animal and hate.

   I wondered what those shrill words meant out of context and who they were directed towards.

   From nowhere, Edwina Fairfax raced down the stairs in her dressing gown.

   ‘Oh… Anne, I had no idea you were awake. We put you in a room, far away from the rest of the bedrooms so you wouldn’t be disturbed if people woke early.’

   ‘What is the noise?’

   ‘It’s just a maid; she’s been in the village. She brought someone home and there was a fight. It’s nothing for you to worry about. Nathanial has called for help, he’s getting her out. There should be quiet in the house now.’

   ‘I’ll go and check on Sophie,’ I said.

   ‘There is no need. I’m sure she will be asleep. Sophie is used to all kinds of noises. Things quite literally go bump in the night in these ancient houses. Her life in Paris was quite abnormal as well. In fact, from what I gather she is much better off with her father. He told me you know… Anyway, Merida has done this before; she’s on medication for anxiety and then, off she goes to the pub and starts to drink with her friends,’ Mrs Fairfax continued. 

    I thought about Merida and Leah, the kitchen maids. I’d met them the day I’d arrived. They looked at me strangely and said very little; not even hello.

     As I wrapped my coat tightly around my waist, I felt the card that Connor had given me and pulled it out of my pocket. He was a minister’s son, aiming to be a clergyman himself. His sisters were warm and welcoming and I recalled them telling me about their desire to build a school in India; something I might help with, if I retained an interest in teaching. I wanted to forge my own destiny. I stuffed the cardboard back into my purse after I’d checked on Sophie. She was sleeping soundly as Mrs Fairfax predicted.

    Before I got back into bed with the morning paper and my tea, I thought about what Connor had meant when he said, ‘call me, if you need to.’ His sisters, Rainbow and Daisy, had looked solemnly at me and nodded.

    I was fairly sure Thornton, like Rochester, was full of secrets, a mystery wrapped inside a riddle.

    I closed my eyes and eventually fell into a deep sleep.

    After the incident that morning, my days continued in an easy way.

     Nathanial only stayed for a week. I called him by his surname, Rochester, in my own mind and occasionally Nate as I grew to know him better. He had stayed long enough to choose some livestock and horses to raise, check with the grooms and sort out the expenditure of the property with his various staff. He then said goodbye to everyone and prepared to pack up and leave for a holiday in the South of France. He said he’d return to Thornton soon and bring his friends, the Ingram’s, to visit for the rest of the summer.

    ‘He never stays here long,’ Mrs Fairfax explained. ‘Each time he comes back I get very little notice, so I have to keep the house in a constant state of readiness. Sometimes he brings his American friends from university. Other times, it’s his European ones. He has so many friends; I’ve lost track of them all over the years. Nathanial lives in a social whirl of money and miscreants. He has managed the money so well; his father would be proud of him. We never lack for anything around here. He is very well-educated, studied Mathematics and Finance at university.  He worked in the City while his father was still alive but he doesn’t need a real job. I think he’s too young, really, to be so wealthy. It might have helped had he become interested in a profession but I’m hoping he’ll settle down soon. I’d like the house to be filled with some more children.’ Mrs Fairfax was staring at a photograph of Nathanial with a woman called Nicola Ingram on the social pages of a magazine.  The woman was everything I’m not; tall, blonde, glamorous.

     I nodded. I wasn’t sure what to say, since my pay, although generous, was hardly a pathway to riches; but I knew Rochester was ridiculously wealthy. Just the estate alone would take some serious upkeep. The view from my window was expansive and breathtaking.

    In the mornings, I often woke to the sound of Pilot, Rochester’s dog, barking and the two of them would go out walking along the path that led from Thornton. I could see them below my window but they never looked up. It was so early almost the entire household slept in except me and Sophie. Rochester normally returned almost as breathless as the dog after running along the cliffs. I could see them from the window after I dressed. Sometimes, Sophie would run in and yell out to her father. Then, he looked up and waved at us. He seemed so happy and free with the dog, and much younger than his twenty-eight years on those mornings.

    During the day, while he was away or working with the horses, Sophie and I would commence lessons. By lunchtime our academic work and English classes were finished.  

     ‘Your English has improved so much, Sophie,’ I told her. ‘By September you will be fluent and able to speak easily with all your new school friends.’

     Sophie looked quite alarmed.

    ‘I am not going to school. I have always been home schooled.’

    ‘Well, perhaps that will change after summer,’ I said hesitantly, fearing I had mentioned something I probably shouldn’t have.

ANNE EYRE (Success: chapter Nine) #Jane Eyre Retelling

Chapter Nine

Success

     In the afternoon, while Sophie was riding, I’d commenced driving lessons in the village. With my driving instructor barking instructions at my side all the way, I practised. Mr Rochester had insisted I learn to drive along the country lanes, and after two weeks, I was driving almost as fast as him (though I tried to heed the speed limit – as a learner, I had to).

    The day of my driving test arrived and was the cause of much excitement in the house. Leah and Mrs Fairfax had even baked a cake in anticipation of my success.

    The previous afternoon Rochester had offered to take me out to practise my parking, particularly between two cars on a hill. I think he thought my hesitancy would amuse him. Since my driving course was officially over, I knew this extra practise could make all the difference. He turned on the stereo as we drove along the esplanade. We reached the flat expansive car park with the stereo on all the way. He turned it up and sang along with the words to a song he liked. It was refreshing to spend time with him like this – he was a different person outside the stuffy confines of his duty and work.

    After two hours’ practise, neither of us were surprised when I gained my driver’s licence.    

    I walked into the kitchen where Mrs Fairfax and Sophie were waiting expectantly.  I had purposely made Rochester drive me home. I covered the happiness I felt and instead wore a very long face with a downcast expression as we entered the kitchen. So did Rochester.

    Sophie raced up to me and put her hands on either side of my cheeks.

   ‘Never mind Anne… Ne vous inquietez pas!’

   I looked into her eyes and smiled, a true smile and one of many I’d shown since I’d arrived at Thornton.

    ‘Don’t look so worried Sophie. Guess what?’ I whispered, ‘I’m licensed to drive!’

    ‘Wow!’ the child exclaimed.

    I scooped her up in my arms and even Leah and Merida clapped. Mrs Fairfax brought out the plates for afternoon tea on the manicured lawn.

    Rochester walked in from the stables commenting, ‘We should all celebrate your achievement tonight, Anne; it means I can send you out to buy me whisky from the village.’

    I looked at him, knowing he must be joking, almost understanding his upper class, country humour by now.

     That night we all had a delicious roast dinner prepared by Leah who seemed, as Mrs Fairfax noted, to be in better humour these days which, according to Merida, had, ‘more to do with a boy she had met in the village than job satisfaction.’ After the meal, we went to the drawing room to watch some home movies Rochester made of Sophie; and more recently, there were scenes of parties and a group of young men trying to fly a plane to France. The plane barely got off the ground before filming was halted.

     ‘Those are friends of mine from university. You’ll meet them soon; they’re coming to stay.’

      The images were colourful, playful even. Caught unawares by some friends, you could see the look of care and wonder in Rochester’s eyes as he raced Sophie and twirled her around in the air. The films were a collage of colour, sound and music, pool parties and apparently infamous house parties. I’d searched the family name on the internet (in a village café) while he was away. The Rochesters were quite notorious in these parts of England for their upper crust lineage, Nathanial’s generosity and adherence to charity, and various scandals involving most of his relatives.

     I told myself the whisper of scandal was just cyber space gossip. The living room lights flickered while Rochester turned down the sound and put on some music, ‘a better soundtrack to our lives’, he assured me. The movies needn’t have been silent but he said he preferred them that way.

   Mrs Fairfax excused herself by then to go to bed. Merida and Leah had left to go into town to meet their boyfriends and play pool on their night off. Sophie had fallen asleep on the couch, her head on Rochester’s thigh. Rochester was not normally demonstrative, but for the first time, I saw him lovingly scoop the child into his arms and take her upstairs to her room.

    When he came back, I was watching an old movie in the drawing room on the large screen.

    ‘I love this film,’ he said. He was sipping a drink. ‘Sometimes I prefer films to real life.’

    I thought it was a strange statement for a guy whose real life was pretty amazing.

   ‘Do you want a brandy?’ he asked.

    ‘No thank you,’ I replied.

    ‘Why not? Everyone out in the country drinks in the evening. There’s little else to do,’ he laughed.

    ‘I just don’t like the taste,’ I replied.

    I hadn’t touched alcohol since Irma had had her drink spiked. Perhaps my new found sobriety was for the best. But who knew? If I was cold, brandy might be hard to resist. Seated by the fire, the night was warm and the atmosphere comforting.  

     ‘Everything in moderation,’ Rochester said. ‘That’s what my father used to say. But then he died a washed up alcoholic, so what would he know?’

    I was shocked that Rochester would say that about his father. It sounded so disrespectful, but later, when I learned more of his upbringing, I realized he was only being honest.

    It had been such a nice day. If I went to the wall, past where Rochester was seated, pulled back the curtain and opened the window, I’d hear the ocean in the distance.

    Meanwhile, Rochester took a few more sips of his drink, smiled and said, ‘Dutch courage,’ as he wandered over to the piano.

    He played a few notes, then a few bars of a classical tune which was familiar to me, but not familiar enough for me to name. Then he started messing around with some jazz and a song that I’d once rocked out to at a karaoke party at the house of one of my classmates; another excuse to escape from school. That song, I knew. It was about hardship and survival and it had a memorable melody. I hummed along with it as I read my magazine, trying to find something interesting to say about the society ladies who lunched in these parts and held charity auctions after the meal.

    ‘You have a nice voice,’ he said, when he stopped playing.

    ‘Thank you,’ I replied. ‘You play well; I didn’t know you were a musician.’

    ‘I’m not. I manage a band sometimes. It’s just a hobby, if people still use that word. My friends stay here to rehearse in the vacant ball room. It has good acoustics,’ he chuckled.  

     I looked at the guitars stacked in the corner.

    ‘They’re sort of for show. The Ingram’s, my oldest friends from school, used to live across the village on one of the neighbouring houses, Highcliff. Now they live in the States but when they come home to visit their family… well, we put together the band; they play a few gigs in the village. I graduated from university as you’d call it, with first class honours but I don’t really use my education as it was intended. It’s not what father had in mind for me.’

    ‘Perhaps it’s true that no education is wasted.’

    ‘Do you really believe that Anne?’

    ‘I’m only eighteen. I try to believe what I’m told,’ I smiled.

     He laughed. I doubted my father knew of my existence and I was pretty sure he’d never had anything in mind for me, so to speak. I could tell Rochester felt hemmed in by family expectations but all that bluster had changed along with a sadness that seemed to have washed over him since we first met.  

    ‘You’re looking straight at me for once, Anne. Do you think I’m… hot?’ he joked.

    I laughed out loud and shook my head at his conceit.

    ‘No,’ I lied, perhaps a bit too swiftly.

    ‘Well, that was quick,’ he mused.

    ‘It’s just that… I didn’t mean you are not… attractive; I should have made it clear that what people are like on the surface is not always of interest to me.’

    ‘Really? That betrays depth beyond your years. You should explain yourself further Anne. There aren’t too many schoolgirls who would have given me that answer.’

     ‘I should have said that beauty, although memorable, is not as meaningful as a person’s actions. I think society places too much emphasis on what people look like and not what people do.’  I glanced dismissively at a famous celebrity on the cover of a magazine near my feet.

      Rochester laughed out loud as if my childish comments amused him endlessly.

      ‘You’re blushing, Anne.’

      ‘It’s the fire, it’s hot in here,’ I covered.  

       He laughed in my face over his brandy.

       I got up.

      ‘Good night… Rochester… Nathanial… Nate,’ I hedged.

      He smiled.

      ‘Are you leaving? Stay and play pool with me; we can watch the sunrise.’

     ‘I have to be up early.’

     ‘Sophie will sleep in on Sunday. She always does.’

     ‘Goodnight… Nathanial.’

     ‘Of course you are free to leave me, Anne, but won’t you sit for a moment while I play?’ He gestured to the piano, ‘…  Anyway, we’ll be lucky to see the sun tomorrow; according to the weather report, no need to wake early.’

    I smiled.

    ‘Goodnight,’ I said as I went to leave.

     ‘Goodnight Anne. Congratulations on getting your driver’s licence,’ he smiled as I walked out of the room.

    The lights in the hallway were low and I couldn’t see a clear path to my bedroom so I put my hand on the rail. The house was long and the halls wide. I picked a torch out of the little cupboard at the top of the stairs, kept there for power blackouts.  I found my way to my door and went to the bathroom. I noticed my bed had been turned down and a hot water bottle placed under the covers, along with a chocolate on the pillow. I think the chocolate was from Sophie but the water bottle was from Mrs Fairfax. I could have been forgiven for thinking Thornton was more like a six star hotel than a country house.

    As I brushed my hair and cleaned my teeth, I heard laughter from another room - the one upstairs, again. I turned off the tap and pressed my ear to the wallpaper. I heard only silence.

    That night, I tossed and turned for a while before falling into a deep sleep of perfect dreams, sunlight and ocean. Sophie and I were running along the beach barefoot through the sand. We were flying a kite we’d made from an online kit. The kite flew high, touching the sky.

     When I woke up at nine in the morning, it was raining. The sky was overcast. Once again I heard laughter and music from the rooms upstairs although I’d assumed Mrs Poole had already gone out for her morning walk.

ANNE EYRE (House Guests: chapter Ten) #Jane Eyre Retelling

Chapter Ten

House Guests

    That afternoon, after Sophie had finished her riding lesson, we raced each other up to the main house. Mrs Fairfax came walking out of the entrance hall, waving a note.

    ‘I just received a message, Anne. The house is going to be a bit chaotic for the next few days. Mr Rochester is preparing to leave soon and when he returns he’s bringing a party of guests back with him, friends and a family from the neighbouring properties, who are visiting. It’s traditional to be welcoming out here in the country Anne. You and Sophie will be expected to attend dinner every evening. He’s bringing his girlfriend, Nicola Ingram, back with him.’

    My face froze.      

    I wasn’t aware he had a girlfriend though I suppose it was not really any of my business. The previous evening we’d spent together as friends more than employer and employee. I’d just assumed, like me, he was alone in the world apart from casual acquaintances. Though he had Sophie and the monetary advantages his inheritance had given him, he had no close relatives. But of course, his extreme wealth and his noble lineage really meant he was nothing like me, apart from a shared experience we’d both felt, a common bond of childhood neglect.     

   The next morning over breakfast Mrs Fairfax tried to warn me.

   ‘This is a strange place for a young girl Anne; not much to do apart from looking after Sophie and once the house guests arrive, well, it becomes more like a hotel with, let’s just say, rambunctious guests.’

   ‘You forget, I used to live with wild kids in foster homes before my expensive schooling. I am happy here Mrs Fairfax, perhaps for the first time. This is one of the most beautiful places I’ve visited or lived in.’

   ‘Just be careful Anne. You know little of the real world or of men like Rochester.’

   ‘I suppose you must think I’m very naïve for an eighteen-year-old from London but I’ve been shut up in a girls’ school for the past few years and there was no topic off limits and no cruelty other girls wouldn’t stoop to in order to rise to the top, so to speak. There is a kind of serenity to my days here, something missing that I longed for. Sometimes, my judgments are flawed. Perhaps I have been harsh in my assessments of people. You have all been so kind to me here in a way I was not used to, and I have learnt to take things at face value and not look for the bad in the good.’

     Mrs Fairfax smiled.

    ‘Just be careful, Anne, like I said. And remember, sometimes when we are young, we have the most clarity.’

    I wasn’t sure what she meant.  

    That afternoon when we were playing with Sophie’s doll family and her house in the school room, Sophie started telling me about a dark-haired lady that roamed the halls at night. In the weeks I’d been with her, Sophie had literally started talking to me almost totally in English. 

    ‘I saw her once, well, heard her. She was singing a song in French and I understood all the words. She wore a full length dress and had wild hair. The maid, Leah, told me there are strange creatures upstairs who only come out when we are asleep and if you see them they reach for you and squeeze you and make you scream until you beg them to stop!’

   Suddenly Sophie, who was always demonstrative with people she liked, wrapped her arms around me and squealed.

   ‘Shh, Sophie. What have I told you about shrieking? You’ll frighten the entire house.’

   ‘Well, it’s a scary story. And anyway, she’s not a ghost, this lady, she’s a creature with fangs and once she bites you, she goes crazy from the blood and yells the place down.’

   ‘Utter nonsense,’ I said as Sophie tried to tickle me, quite successfully I might add.

   Sophie was laughing by then and winding herself around me until we both ended up in a bunch on the floor and Mrs Fairfax came hurrying in with tea.

    Sophie had a note she pulled out from her jean’s pocket.

   ‘Oh, I nearly forgot,’ Sophie said, ‘it’s from my riding instructor. I said you were eighteen and single. He wants to meet you.’

    I laughed at Sophie playing matchmaker. I wanted to see in myself what others might see – a person worthy of friendship and love, as we all are. But something, or someone, held me back from responding to the note – just a few words of friendship offering a riding lesson saying, ‘you must be a very special person for Sophie to think so highly of you.’

    It was sweet and funny and I said we could invite him to have lunch with us one day after lessons in the meadow. I hadn’t agreed to the riding lesson since I was slightly afraid of horses and getting too used to living at Thornton.

     Already, I was intrigued, attracted, possibly enraptured by Nathanial Rochester; but I would never let him know that. There was no way he could possibly return my feelings and I wanted to save myself the embarrassment of sharing them.

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.