Continuing the saga that is Across the Sea, let’s catch up with Jane.

**

The children were restless the whole morning, finding a multitude of reasons to stop and fret.

“These sums are so difficult, Miss Eyre.” moaned Lizzy, my precocious nine year old charge. “Please, can we play outside instead?”

“Oh, yes, Miss, can we?” echoed her spirited younger brother, Erroll. “We cannot miss seeing Mamma and Papa arrive home with the beautiful ladies.”

“How do you know the guests will be ladies, Erroll?” I asked amusedly, “It could well be a lady and a gentleman.”

“It cannot be a lady and a gentleman because Mrs. Kirwan said she’s to prepare two rooms.” replied the astute boy.

“I’d rather it be ladies since I do so wish to see their pretty gowns!” chimed his sister.

I smiled inwardly. The master and mistress’s homecoming had been the children’s focus all this week, ever since Lord Blake’s letter arrived informing Ardfry of their imminent return – along with two unnamed guests. Since then the household had been in a whirl of frenzied preparation, sending the children into ecstatic expectation.

“So can we finish early, Miss Eyre?”

Their eager blue eyes gazed at me so excitedly that I struggled not to laugh. “Finish your arithmetic and we shall see about going outside to sketch.”

“By the pond?” asked Lizzy hopefully.

“If you complete all your sums in silence.”

That was motivation enough for the both them since they both loved to draw. They also knew full well that the pond afforded a good view of the drive, and hence of any incoming carriages.

As my pupils scribbled their answers upon their slates, I went to the window to look out upon the bare November garden, the green patchwork fields beyond, and the grey sky mirrored in the blue-grey sea. The sea. Three months ago I had never even glimpsed the sea, and now I was surrounded by it. The waters of Galway Bay encompassed Ardfry on three sides, making it feel as if the house was perpetually afloat.

So different from the refined, pastoral scenes at Thornfield – so wild.

The west coast of Ireland was more rugged than I ever imagined, much wilder than even the moors of Lowood. Here, one had no protection from the untamed squalls that blew in from the Atlantic, and all life seemed geared towards self-preservation. Plants were small and hardy, and the cottages squat and stout, as stout as the people who lived in them.

A world away from Thornfield. A world away from…

A flood of sorrow flowed through me as I thought of Mr. Rochester, of his mournful eyes as he bid me farewell. Where was he now? Far away from here, I was certain. Did he move on as I bid him to? Did he try to rebuild his life? Shall I ever know?

“Miss Eyre, we have finished!” I heard Erroll cry.

I turned around and saw that both the children had laid down their chalks. Their eagerness made me yearn for the simplicity of childhood and its lack of complications, but I knew that one cannot relive the past, just as one cannot predict the future.

Live in the present, Jane Eyre. Think of nothing more than the here and now.

But it is so hard!

Have faith, child.

I returned to the children and cast a quick eye over their work. With a grin I said, “Good work, the both of you. Now if you are quick to put on your warm things, we may go out to sketch before luncheon.”

They raced away after I had instructed them to meet me at the front door, leaving me free to return to my chamber down the corridor. My room here was smaller than my chamber at Thornfield, but what it lacked in dimension it made up for in its cheerfulness. Facing the south, it received the full face of the sun and afforded comforting views of the fields, hills, and mysterious grey mountains of the Burren.

As I put on my merino cloak, bonnet and gloves, I saw that the mountains were hidden under a covering of cloud – a sign that rain may be on its way. Knowing that time was precious, I retrieved my box of drawing materials and a blanket before making my way downstairs to the entrance hall. It was quiet there, most of the activity being in the kitchens where preparations for luncheon were taking place. I stood examining a portrait of a handsome officer, but I was not alone for long.

Mrs. Kirwan suddenly appeared from an adjoining room. Like Mrs. Fairfax, the housekeeper of Ardfry was middle-aged and widowed, but that was where the resemblance ended. Mrs. Kirwan was a formidable character – tall, stern, careful, and efficient. She was well-known for demanding high standards from those under her tutelage, particularly newcomers who had arrived unexpectedly.

“A girl sent all that way – alone?” I had once overheard her say, “She is either brilliant or trouble.”

Since then, she had kept a close eye on me, more so since Lord and Lady Blake departed for England. Now she took in my cloak, drawing box and blanket, and asked sternly, “Where are you going, Miss Eyre?”

“Taking the children to the pond for their art lessons.” I replied as calmly as I could.

“When it’s threatening rain?” she said disapprovingly.

“I shall not keep them out too long.”

“Humph. For your sake, I hope that they do not catch a cold, not with the master and mistress almost home.”

“I shall make certain that they are appropriately dressed, ma’am.”

“I hope so. Be certain to bring them in for luncheon at half past twelve – sharp, you understand.”

“Yes, Mrs. Kirwan.”

The arrival of the children thankfully saved me from further reprimand. Instead, Mrs. Kirwan gave the children an almost cheerful smile, adjusting Erroll’s coat and Lizzy’s bonnet, before sending us all on our way.

The air outside was crisp, but the children, excited to be out-of-doors after a rainy week, chattered and skipped happily along the path. We swiftly passed the carefully clipped hedges and bare flower beds of the ornamental garden, and soon arrived at the pond. There, I set out the blanket, took out the paper and pencils, and bid the children to sketch the pond in front of them.

As they set about this task, I added, “Now children, use your imagination. Imagine that the pond is in somewhere magical, like a jungle or a distant valley, and imagine that your favourite animal lives in it.”

“Like a hippopotamus?” asked Erroll.

“Yes. Imagine it swimming among the reeds.”

“Or a flamingo? They’re so lovely and pink.”

“Yes, Lizzy. Can you see it perched upon its long legs? I want you to draw these animals in your pond.”

As they continued drawing, I too began to sketch the pond. Working quickly, I drew the shoreline with its tall reeds, and then the hills beyond. But there were no hippopotamuses or flamingos to be seen in my drawing, but a lone horse and rider galloping away upon a distant road, followed closely behind by a great, shaggy dog.

“Are they on a hunt, Miss Eyre?” asked Erroll from over my shoulder.

I blushed, and quickly regaining composure, replied, “No, they are on a long journey.”

“Where to?”

“I do not know,” I said sadly, “And I do not think the rider knows either.”

“They are on an adventure!” Erroll concluded joyfully. “I would love to go on an adventure!”

I gave a wistful smile as he told me of his future plans to explore the deepest, darkest Africa. His thirst for travel inevitably reminded me of Mr. Rochester. Was he like this boy as a child, full of dreams and vitality? To my chagrin, I felt a tear well and fall as I thought of how his dreams had been quashed by the cruel heel of life. Would his dreams ever be fulfilled? Would mine?

“Miss Eyre! Miss Eyre!” I heard the children cry. “Are you unwell?”

“No, I am fine.” I managed to reply, hastily wiping the tear away with the back of my hand.

Lizzy came up beside me and took my hand. “Don’t worry, Miss Eyre. We won’t go on any adventures before we are grown up. And you can come with us!”

I drew them both near and kissed each their foreheads. “Thank you. I am honoured to be invited.”

We continued outside for another half an hour until a misty rain began to fall. As we rushed back to the house, we heard a clatter of wheels over gravel, and through the rain I saw four figures alight from the carriage.

**

Of course, you might be thinking what Jane might have seen from Ardfry. Well, it might look something like this:

**

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OR

Catch up on previous sections…
2: Listless
1: Revelations

After some requests, I’ve continued on from where Across the Sea left off…

****

The night was clear, unusual enough for a November evening after weeks of heavy skies. From my opulent suite at the Claredon I looked out on to busy Bond Street. Though night had fallen more than an hour before, there was still plenty of activity as horses and carriages drove by, their lamps like fireflies in the night. On such a night one dreamed of the open countryside, not of grim London, but London was where I was – far away from the gardens, the river, and the fields of Thornfield – far away from any reminders of Jane Eyre.

Determined as I was to await the news of her safe arrival at Ardfry House, I stayed a month after Jane’s departure. But though I had little doubt that life without her would be difficult, little did I know how difficult it would be. There was no escaping her at Thornfield, not when a stroll by the riverside brought back memories of our intimate talks, not when Mrs. Fairfax’s praises reminded me of how much Jane was loved, not when the howl of the storm prompted the recollection of our final night together – how we had embraced beside the flickering fire, so entwined, so in love.

My memories were all that I had left of her, bittersweet remnants that in an instant could lift me to ecstatic heights only to drown me in its murky depths. But was this not better than living in perpetual guilt, better than incurring Jane’s eternal hate when she inevitably found out the truth?

You know it is, Rochester! So bear up and be a man for once! Live the life that she asked of you – one lived to the fullest!

I laughed bitterly, for I had made a poor effort thus far. As the days passed, I grew ever more morose, so much so that it cast a noticeable air of uneasiness among my household. This was particularly evident among my most valued staff – Leah no longer exchanged pleasantries but flew away as soon as she fulfilled her task, George kept a stern silence whenever I ordered another decanter of brandy – even Mrs. Fairfax cast a concerned motherly eye over me whenever she was in my presence. Only Grace improved, perhaps because her charge had miraculously changed overnight from an irrepressible tiger to a meek kitten.

She was the only one grateful for Jane’s departure; otherwise the household had assumed a state of bereavement for the bright, little governess, thus when a letter from Jane did arrive, one could almost hear the house itself breathe a sigh of relief. The letter confirmed that Jane was safely installed at her new home, but it brought more than just mere reassurances for me – the letter was also my deliverance from the bounds of Thornfield – and my chance to escape the pain that it wrought.

Three days later I was in London, but despite my haste to reach town, I made no further plans to venture beyond it. I dared not cross the Channel, afraid that once crossed, my chord of communion with Jane would snap once and for all, and my precious memories of her would seep away forever. Hence installing myself at the Claredon, my usual London residence, I assiduously devoted my days to remembering.

The Serpentine was a particularly favoured spot for my contemplations. My mornings were spent watching rabbles of nurses and their charges play by the waterside, and as I watched I would picture how our children would have looked among them – how our bright-eyed little girl would giggle as pigeons pecked breadcrumbs from her hand, how our ruddy boy would run through the grass, his dark curls a flutter. The afternoons were no better, for it was the time when young ladies appeared for their daily stroll, their beaus and chaperones in tow. I imagined my Jane among them, where she would inevitably outshine them all with her warmth, honesty and tenderness, so rare among these superficial blooms.

Such scenes lashed upon my soul, each lash cutting ever deeper into my heart, leaving it gaping, bleeding. The only relief came from the blessed bottle, a vice that I indulged in more and more often. Still, I had yet enough strength to not completely succumb, but as the days passed, I felt myself growing a little more careless, a little more dependent on the comfort it brought – for who in the world cared if I did succumb now that Jane was across the Irish Sea? Who in the world would help me now that I was once again alone?

The nights brought a change of venue for my meditations as I shifted from the park to the club. Travellers Club was a place for those who came from or had lived abroad. Consequently, it was a place where my acquaintances generally congregated, but once again I sought to avoid all company by secreting myself in the library – a place I had come to regard as my own.

However, I was in no hurry to reach the library this evening. Instead, I swirled the glass of brandy in my hand and took a generous gulp, feeling the fiery liquid settle in my belly. Then heading to the dresser, I took out a cravat, fixing it haphazardly in front of the mirror. That task was accomplished, I shrugged on my coat and stepped back, studying the reflection before me.

The man I saw was weary, undeniably middle-aged. Though his unruly hair and muscular body imparted an element of youthfulness, his eyes inevitably gave away his true age. Staring into those great orbs, I saw a man not only tired of life, but frightened of the future ahead – a future bleak and doomed by loneliness.

“Take care, Jane.” I had said to her one evening, “Don’t look too closely inside of me – you might not find anything within at all beautiful.”

Yet Jane, my courageous girl, saw beyond this coarse facade, recognised the wild beauty beneath, and had loved me for it.

“She loved me,” I murmured, “Truly loved me.”

I had never been so loved – really loved for love’s sake – and it crushed me to know that I might never be loved again. My eyes burned as I again recalled our final night together, recalled the glimpse I had of the life we would have led if circumstances were different – a life of immeasurable joy and love – a life with the twin of my soul.

Letting out a gasp, I turned away from the mirror, pacing back and forth until I had quelled my emotions. But no amount of pacing could ease the ache within me – an ache that seemed to have pervaded my entire being.

“Jane,” I cried, “How I miss you…”

I finished my brandy in one searing gulp, and after blowing out the lone candle that lit the room, I hurriedly exited my suite. Once outside, I ignored the concierge’s attempts to hail me a cab, preferring to take advantage of the clear night and walk to my destination. The sting of the cold air reinvigorated me, as did the exhilaration of dodging carts, carriages and all manner of obstacles that made its way down Bond Street at this evening hour. But the walk was not long, and soon the ivory buildings of Pall Mall, ever elegant even in the dim gaslight, appeared.

The Travellers Club was housed in one of its smaller buildings. I entered hastily and made my way directly to the library. Expecting it to be deserted at this early hour, I was thus surprised to see a familiar figure perusing its shelves.

****

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