My Mr. Rochester 1(30)

“Good lord.”

“Nothing good about it,” she said.

“And Mrs. Reed hopes you can help him.” I would never not hate John Reed, but I wouldn’t wish such a fate on anyone.

“Her fair-haired boy,” Georgiana said. “The only person she ever loved beyond herself. But if it’s alz, there’s no help for him in this world. The damage is irreparable. I doubt he’ll follow my advice, but I promised Mother. I’ll try to get him into a sanitarium, but he’ll probably end up in prison or worse.”

I decided not to bring up the fate of the atlas. No need to make her feel worse about her brother.

The packet still lay on the table when we finished dessert, and Georgiana’s words repeated in my mind: helping his fellow lords hide their dirty work. I could swear nothing like that would ever happen to me, but it would be a lie. The world was full of John Reeds and Gideon Blackstones. The John Reeds I could fight. As for another Gideon Blackstone, I’d stay out of the company of handsome and charming men.

Georgiana walked back with me as far as my quarters. “Goodbye, then, little bird. I change trains at an ungodly hour, and I won’t see you again.” She hugged me. “Remember, Jane: It’s all very well to be truly righteous, but be on your guard against self-righteousness.”

Brushing my teeth in my little lavatory, I saw the bright red mark on my cheek where Georgiana had kissed me. I wiped it away and washed my face, still thinking of her as I changed into my nightgown.

I’d known Georgiana all my life, yet she was a stranger to me now. So bold. Self-contained. And yet isolated. She’d spoken of no one with love. No friends. Certainly not her family. I’d forgotten to ask about her Hamlet 1-3-78, but I feared the answer. The way she’d said you Judeans, made me think she’d never come home.

I didn’t want that kind of independence. Maybe it was because of the hole in my orphan’s heart, but I craved to belong to someone, to some place. Somewhere I was respected and equal.

The touch of a button extended one of the seats into a bed, and I lay down to watch the world roll by. The train rounded a bend and entered a tunnel then came out the other side into dark unpopulated country, its sky sparkling with unlimited stars. An ascending half moon hung low and serene. I turned on the overhead reading light.

A few hours later, many chapters into Northern Lights, it struck me: for the first time in five years, I was alone. My thoughts were uninterrupted, my reading uninterrupted.

The absence of other voices was heaven.

I stayed in my compartment all the next day, savoring the solitude, stretched out to read my precious forbidden trilogy. By afternoon I was well into The Subtle Knife, and I understood the novels’ threat. The tale of dust pried open a little further the Pandora’s Box within, first unlocked by Gideon Blackstone.

The train traveled through hours of sublime mountain scenery. Pine trees, waterfalls, and rushing streams gave way to oaks and foothills and down to a panorama of rolling farm country, the oaks mostly cleared away, the fields now bordered by willows and thorn trees.

It was past sundown when the train dropped me at Thornfield Halt. A man waiting beside a one-horse carriage touched the brim of his hat in salute. “Are you Miss Jane Eyre?”

“I am.”

“Well, you’d best get in then.” He smiled pleasantly as he put down the step and opened the door. “I’ll get your trunk.”

“How far is the journey to Thornfield Hall?” I said.

“Six miles, miss, not far. About an hour and a half.”

The carriage was very well built, with pneumatic springs, and the seat was comfortable. The ninety minutes could provide a good nap, but I was too excited to sleep. Soon I’d meet the people I would share my life with in the years to come.

Beyond the one daughter who was to be my pupil, I hoped Mrs. Fairfax had no other relatives living in the house. Hoped. Not expected. Thornfield was a Righteous Estate, and there were bound to be many living there. There would surely be Mr. Fairfax and likely more of the family and who knew how many servants, retainers, and hangers-on.

I began to feel a bit sorry for myself. I’d lived among fine people before, and I was miserable with them. What if Mrs. Fairfax turned out to be another Mrs. Reed! Yes, I wanted to belong somewhere, but belonging to the wrong people—people who didn’t like me, who didn’t understand me—was worse than being alone.

Then we passed through Millcote, and I remembered my guardian angel had guided me here, if only in my fancy. At once I felt better. I’d come to my Hamlet 1-3-78.

After the promised hour and a half, we stopped at the bottom of a hill. The driver got down and opened a large double gate fashioned of two iron gryphons facing each other. We ascended a long drive and stopped at the front of a mansion, foreboding in the dark but for a light in one window.