Page 14 of Fragile Wicked Things

Seven

T hornfield Hall was aflutter with excitement, with more activity than I had seen there before.

The floors were scrubbed, the silver polished, carpets and curtains beat, yet Lis and Katya promptly left at four each day, pushing unfinished chores to the next day.

Decorating the Christmas tree fell to me, and Catherine had me rummage through boxes for things to put on it.

Each time I pulled out an ornament, her face lit up as she recalled when her late husband, Edward, had presented it to her.

The holiday season brought joy to Thornfield.

All that preparation, Auntie confessed, was for the Roths, who had been invited to Christmas dinner.

A smugness in Auntie's voice led me to believe the Roths had invited themselves.

The widow had two daughters: Isabelle, who married a year beforehand, and India, who was readily available to any appropriate suitor.

Auntie laughed as she worked a cloth around the silver cutlery, engaging in gossip about Mrs. Roth, who had often entertained the thought of a marriage between Rochester and India.

"His heart belongs elsewhere," Auntie explained. To whom? I wanted to know, but I bit my tongue. "She’s a beauty, charming even, but not too bright. Not Mr. Rochester’s kind of bright.

" Here, she looked at me, eyebrows knotted.

"She isn't as bright as you either, Miss Jane. That matters none to menfolk as long as she’s nice to look at.

And, oh." Auntie let out a whistle. "She can sing, too.

Got a nice voice, and she does this little dance.

" She snapped her fingers and shook her hips, and I laughed along with her even though I felt envious of this woman I hadn't met.

"India" sounded like a Southern Belle I had read about in novels.

Oh, how I wished I had been named after a country!

"Mizzez Cousins wants you to be there, too. Best you wear your nicest dress."

This brought fear and anxiety in me. Back in my room, I agonized over what to wear.

My brown dress hung in the closet, my "Sunday best" at Lowood, the one I'd worn countless times in the company of Rochester and Catherine.

It would not do. Anguish consumed me when I entered my room that I hadn't noticed the box on my bed, wrapped in a red satin ribbon.

Not accustomed to receiving gifts, I shook as I unraveled the ribbon, then lifted the lid.

An envelope lay on the tissue, and I ran my finger across my name embossed on it, ripped it open and pulled out the card. It read:

Jane,

My behavior of late is inexcusable. Still, I can't help but wonder, can the gracious lady forgive one who seeks it?

Love,

Edward

I felt unsteady on my feet and sat on the edge of my bed, studying the note, preoccupied with the word "love.

" Did he mean it in a way people sign their letters with "best" or "sincerely?

" Was he so accustomed to toying with a woman's emotion that it formed a standard signature for him?

Or did he mean to demonstrate his affection after that horrible dinner we shared a month ago? I had spoken little to him afterwards.

Pulling back the tissue, I uncovered an ivory-colored evening gown.

When I held it against me, its length fell to the floor.

It was sleeveless with a V-neck, the bodice embroidered with silk lilies of the valley and roses, ribbons, seed pearls, and an unadorned skirt.

Tucked in the corner of the box sat a pair of satin shoes.

This was a fairy tale, and I was unaccustomed to happy endings. Then I remembered what followed Cinderella’s discovery of her magical ball gown: her evil stepsisters ripping her dress off. Something terrible would follow.

* * *

On the way to the drawing room, Catherine, walking with a cane now, greeted me, telling the woman beside her how lovely I looked.

The woman, Mrs. Roth, dressed in black and wearing too much rouge and lipstick, was cordial enough when we were introduced, but I could see her glance over me, wondering who I could be.

Was I one of the E.'s of Charleston? Or perhaps of the Manhattan E.

's? I shook my head and looked away afraid the magic of the evening would disappear once they found me out.

Rochester's eyes fell on me, and mine on him.

My breath caught for he had never looked at me like that with an expression of surprising wonderment.

He had angered me a month ago, but now I felt different towards him and our relationship and considered his gift a step forward.

Had I forgotten all his faults? No, but then he would reveal something about himself and show kindness, and often, I worried about the demons that haunted him.

I hoped, no, I knew, that despite his former faults of morality, he was a man of principle and integrity and desired to be a better man.

I felt the flash of embarrassment on my face and looked away, breaking the bond between us, wondering if the others had noticed.

Catherine introduced me to Isabelle and her rather boorish husband, Lewellyn.

Unlike her mother, Isabelle wore very little makeup, her eyes were small, her lips thin and while she wasn't considered beautiful, I thought she could have done better than the man standing beside her with his broad nose and bushy eyebrows.

I'm cruel in my description of him, and I must admit there was something in his countenance that reminded me of Mr. Brocklehurst. Then I found myself immediately drawn to the beautiful woman sitting in an armchair next to Rochester who I knew must be India.

She looked at me, just as her mother had done earlier and she sat up a little straighter in her chair, a little stiffer and continued to stare. Rochester motioned me over.

"Miss India Roth, may I introduce you to Miss Jane E., Catherine's caregiver," Rochester said.

India's face lit up at the word "caregiver," and her body relaxed; I understood that any thought of competition from me had been eliminated.

At first, Rochester's introduction confused me, but then I understood he did so to avert a public display of his affection towards me when nothing was certain between us.

But when dinnertime arrived, it was India he escorted into the dining room, followed by Isabelle and her husband, Catherine with Mrs. Roth, leaving me to enter on my own.

Rochester pulled the chair out for India and pushed it in as she sat down.

Then, he took the chair next to her, avoiding my direction.

"Jane, sit next to Edward. I insist on it being boy, girl, boy." Here, Catherine stopped mid-sentence and looked around the table. "Oh, not enough boys."

We took our seats, India and myself to either side of Rochester, Lewellyn next to me, Isabelle by him, and Catherine and Mrs. Roth sat opposite.

I had never seen the table prepared as it had been that night, with the finest china and polished silverware, but the sheer number of pieces worried me—who needs that many forks in one meal?

Isabelle took a cloth napkin and placed it on her husband's lap before putting one on hers.

I envisioned doing the same for Rochester and imagining the look of surprise on their faces made me smirk.

"Do share, Jane," India said, catching me by surprise.

"Oh, it was just a silly thought...something amusing that happened earlier today."

India then focused her attention on Rochester, discussing matters I knew nothing about and people I didn't know. She showed no interest in what I had to say; her intention was only to point out my inappropriateness. For a while, I said nothing more to anyone.

The appetizer was a panko-crusted eggplant topped with crabmeat and smoked tomato hollandaise and although I had watched it prepared earlier in the kitchen, I didn't bother to consider how to eat it.

I stared at the forks to the side of my plate.

Deep in conversation, no one had picked up their forks yet either.

"Is there something wrong, Jane? You're not eating," India said.

Rochester turned to me and picked up the fork farthest on the outside without hesitation.

"Everything is fine," I said, picking up the appropriate fork.

The courses continued to be served, and the wine was poured by staff hired for the evening.

Lis and Katya were offered the extra hours but both adamantly turned down the offer.

Rochester spent most of the dinner in deep conversation with India; Mrs. Roth looked on and commented to Catherine about a 'desired' coupling.

At one point, India spoke to her mother in what resembled perfect French, for she said it fluently and with all manner of pride.

It seemed to me that one of her greatest achievements was taking pleasure in showing off.

Isabelle, on the other hand, appeared quiet with softer features, not an extrovert like her younger sister. She listened as her husband spoke with such earnestness about his college days and I wondered if she only pretended to enjoy his stories.

"...of course, some Wellesley girls were there also. Do you remember that Izzy girl?"

"I was there that night, but we hadn't met yet. I wasn't with your party."

"Oh, yes, that's right. That was the night I was set up on a blind date with that awful girl from your school."

"Eva something." Isabelle's eyebrows knotted as she tried to remember.

"More like Eva Nobody. Her father owned a hardware store somewhere in the Midwest, and a friend thought her a good match for me."

"He owned a few stores. They were successful," Isabelle said in a low voice.

I had seen this before, another Christmas long ago when I met Mrs. Brocklehurst.

"You went to Wellesley? What did you study?" I asked.

Isabelle looked at me and blushed, but she seemed happy that I should ask her. "Art mostly and English literature. Some law."