Page 9 of Fragile Wicked Things

When I began my walk, it was light enough to see, but as I progressed, a grey-blue mist enveloped me and soon became so dense that the light ahead of me disappeared.

I spun around to head back, but no light from the mansion was discernible in that fog.

Still, I marched forward, certain I traveled in the right direction, but I soon doubted myself and turned around again.

I couldn't tell north from south, nor could I swear if I was near the main house, the driveway or the road.

I had seen the moon when I first began my walk, but now the mist had masked it, too.

I grew agitated. After some time, I suspected I walked in a circle.

Leaning against a weeping willow tree, I rested to catch my breath and shivered when a breeze swept past me, swinging the overhanging leaves.

Again, I ventured out into the unknown, determined to make my way back, but the foliage devoured me, intent on keeping me, toying with my growing fear.

The countryside grew quiet. Then something rustled a bush near me, and I jumped from fright.

A strange noise followed, like a gallop.

Was I near the horses? I couldn't have been since I had set out on one side of the house and would have had to cross the driveway to get to the other side.

Quickly, I moved forward and stepped onto the path of a great beast who threw his legs out at me and uttered a neigh.

There followed a thud on the ground as something fell from the beast, but I knew my childish imagination got the better of me and that it was a horse I had frightened.

A moan came from the darkness, low to the ground. The something that fell was someone.

"Buddy? Buddy, is that you?" I asked.

"Get back here," a voice with a distinct British accent yelled at the horse fleeing into the darkness. "Who's there? Who are you?"

"Jane E." I squinted through the mist but could not make out the man's features.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm a caregiver for Mrs. Cou..."

"I mean, at this time of night, you stupid girl. I could have killed you, or worse, you could have injured my horse."

"I...I got lost. And why are you riding a horse on a night like tonight with a fog this thick?"

The question blurted out, sounding more like an accusation than anything else, which I didn't mean to do.

How stubborn of me to argue with a stranger, lost in a fog with no others around.

He took a step towards me, and I, one back.

No doubt I could outrun him if needed, but when he stepped out from the shadows and stood three feet away, I found myself gazing at Edward Rochester.

He was more handsome in person than in the portrait, although his character made him undesirable and the anger in his voice disconcerting.

"I wished to ride when I returned from...Damn it, I don't answer to you."

It was rare for me to hear that language and even rarer for it to be spoken to me in such anger.

He glared and ran his eyes over me, but I couldn't tell what he thought—if he was contemplating ending my employment or punishing me for my insolence.

He tore off his jacket and held it to me. "Here, you're cold."

"I'm fine," I said between chattering teeth.

"Take it, or you'll catch pneumonia, and I'll need to hire another who will no doubt be more presentable and agreeable."

Thus ended my cordial time at Thornfield. I grabbed the jacket from him, put my arms through the sleeves in a hurry and walked past him.

"Where are you going now?"

"To the house."

"This way," he said, wandering in the opposite direction.

"How can you tell? I can't see a thing in this fog."

"I see everything."

We walked mostly in silence. Every so often, he muttered something about his horse, which had not returned.

When we were a short distance from the house, the fog dissipated, clearing the way home.

A neigh sounded behind us and, as if in a dream, the horse galloped out from the blackness.

Rochester smiled, called out, "There you are, girl," and went to her, whispered in her ear, stroked her glistening coat, then led her towards the stables, disappearing into the darkness.

"Who are you speaking to?" Auntie asked when I entered the main home.

"Mr. Rochester has returned."

"He’ll be up to see Mizzez then. I better tell her he’s back early.”

Auntie ascended the staircase at a slow pace, lifting one foot and then the other to the same step before continuing.

Although she wasn't much younger than Catherine, she worked all day to care for them.

I followed her upstairs and continued past her as she entered Catherine's room.

I could hear Catherine's excitement at the news of Rochester's early return.

Near ten at night, I wasn't in the mood for bed and walked out onto my bedroom balcony.

The wind gave me a slight chill, and I buttoned Rochester's jacket around me, lifting the collar to shield my neck.

When I looked to the grounds, I found Rochester staring at me just like the creature in my nightmare had done all those years before.

A shiver shot through my body. I was grown-up and no longer afraid of make-believe creatures in fairy tales, yet he unnerved me.

I returned inside, shut the door, and drew the heavy drape panels together to change into my nightgown.

Plain, white and long, it was a standard Lowood issue.

Muffled voices carried from the corridor towards my room, one male.

They came from Catherine's room, and I was puzzled over who she spoke to; Rochester remained outside, and Buddy had left hours earlier.

I slid from my room and tiptoed to Catherine's, whose door stood ajar.

There was Rochester, but how could he have come up the steps so quickly when he was outside my window a moment before?

His back to me, he knelt by his grandmother's bed, held her hand and enquired about her health, which prompted her to smile.

"My dear Edward, I'm fine now that Jane has arrived."

"That plain girl? I've had the pleasure of meeting her."

I couldn't see the expression on his face, but I knew he was being facetious. It was wrong to eavesdrop, yet curiosity got the better of me.

"Edward, be pleasant. She's moved in to care for me."

"I see what this is, Catherine. I knew the moment I saw her in the field."

It was strange to hear him call his grandmother by her first name.

"She's here for me."

He started at this and became annoyed. "For you, yes. You persuaded me to get a caregiver, but I assumed it would be a middle-aged, heavyset, hairy beast of a woman. And here I return home to find a plain, young child..."

"She's eighteen, not a child."

"Fine. Plain, young woman. Catherine, I know you. I know how you think." He reached out and touched her cheek, pressing the palm of his hand against her wrinkles as she leaned into it.

"You'll see I'm right, Edward. You need her."

He stood and paced about her bed, his body tense, and waved his hands. "There is no replacement for you."

"My time is ending."

He rushed to her on the other side of the bed, presenting me with a clear view of him, a pained expression on his face, his eyes soft and brows arched. "It doesn't have to be," he whispered, as if to tempt her.

"No, Edward. I didn't when I was young and beautiful.

I'm not going to at this age. Look at me.

I've grown old." Rochester tilted his head down towards her breast and leaned into her while she cradled him, stroking his hair, fingering a curl.

Suddenly, I felt uncomfortable by my voyeurism, my intrusion into this intimate scene.

Rochester shifted his head. His eyes flickered and were upon me, glowering at me for the invasion.

I gasped, stepped back into the corridor and its darkness, and headed for my room.

Rochester suddenly appeared between myself and my bedroom door.

He pressed me up against the door frame, frightening me with his violence and quickness, making me feel like that frightened little girl I used to be who wet the bed, too afraid to walk down the corridor to the bathroom for fear of the creature.

"You were eavesdropping."

"I'm sorry. I wasn't. I was checking up on Mrs. Cousins.

" The words jumbled out in quick succession.

My breaths were deep and fast, and I told myself it was because I was frightened.

But I had never had a man stand that close to me, press his body up against mine.

I felt the sensation of drowning in him, his presence all around me.

One of his hands clasped my wrist, and his other held me at my waist, cold hands against my warm, bare skin.

Or did I imagine him against my nakedness, owing in part to my flimsy nightgown, owing the other part to my cloistered life?

Again, I gasped for air as he advanced towards me.

His eyes were darker than most, and the longer I stared into them, the deeper I fell into that eternal abyss. I swayed a little. That made him smirk.

"You fear me."

"I do not," I lied.

"There is much to fear."

Rochester then let go, leaving me unsteady on my feet, and I had to lean against the doorjamb. He walked back to Catherine's room, never once looking back.