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He felt his elbow.
“And feel the pain of the fall, too. So you see, my existence, although limited, is not without benefits.”
I sighed. If only life were that simple; if one could jump to the good parts and flick through the bad—
“You have a man you love?” asked Rochester suddenly.
“Yes; but there is much bad air between us. He accused my brother of a crime that I thought unfair to lay upon the shoulders of a dead man; my brother never had a chance to defend himself and the evidence was not strong. I find it hard to forgive.”
“What is there to forgive?” demanded Rochester. “Ignore forgive and concentrate on living. Life for you is short; far too short to allow small jealousies to infringe on the happiness which can be yours only for the briefest of times.”
“Alas!” I countered. “He is engaged to be married!”
“And what of that?” scoffed Rochester. “Probably to someone as unsuitable for him as Blanche Ingram is for me!”
I thought about Daisy Mutlar and there did, indeed, seem to be a strong similarity.
We walked along together in silence until Rochester pulled out a pocket watch and consulted it.
“My Jane is returning from Gateshead as we speak. Where is my pencil and notebook?”
He rummaged within his jacket and produced a bound drawing-book and a pencil.
“I am to meet her as if by accident; she walks across the fields shortly in this direction. How do I look?”
I straightened his necktie and nodded my satisfaction.
“Do you think me handsome, Miss Next?” he asked quite suddenly.
“No,” I answered truthfully.
“Bah!” exclaimed Rochester. “Pixies both! Begone with you; we will talk later!”
I left them to it and walked back to the house by way of the lake, deep in thought.
And so the weeks wore on, the air becoming warmer and the buds starting to shoot on the trees. I hardly saw anything of Rochester or Jane, as they had eyes only for each other. Mrs. Fairfax was not highly impressed by the union but I told her not to be so unreasonable. She flustered like an old hen at this remark and went about her business. The routine of Thornfield didn’t waver from normalcy for the next few months; the season moved into summer and I was there on the day of the wedding, invited specifically by Rochester and hidden in the vestry. I saw the clergyman, a large man named Mr. Wood, ask whether anyone knew of an impediment that might prevent the wedding being lawful or joined by God. I heard the solicitor call out his terrible secret. Rochester, I could see, was beside himself with rage as Briggs read out the affidavit from Mason to declare that the madwoman was Bertha Rochester, Mason’s sister and Rochester’s legal wife. I remained in hiding as the argument ensued, emerging only when the small group was led over to the house by Rochester to meet his mad wife. I didn’t follow; I went for a walk, breathing in the fresh air and avoiding the sadness and anguish in the house as Rochester and Jane realized they could not marry.
By the following day Jane was gone. I followed at a safe distance to see her take the road to Whitcross, looking like a small stray searching for a better life elsewhere. I watched her until she was out of sight and then walked into Millcote for lunch. Once I had finished my meal at The George I played cards with three traveling gamblers; by suppertime I had taken six guineas off them. As I played, a small boy appeared at our table.
“Hello, William!” I said. “What news?”
I bent down to the height of the waif, who was dressed in adult-sized hand-me-downs that had been sewn up to fit.
“Begging your pardon, Miss Next, but Mr. Hedge has vanished.”
I leaped up in some alarm, broke into a run and didn’t stop until I arrived at The Millcote. I flew upstairs to the landing, where one of my most trusted spies was tugging at his flat cap nervously. Hades’ room was empty.
“I’m sorry, miss. I was in the bar downstairs, not drinking, mind; I swear to it. He must have slipped past me—”
“Did anyone else come down the stairs, Daniel? Tell me quick!”
“No one. No one save the old lady . . .”
I took the horse from one of my riders and was at Thornfield in double-quick time. Neither of the guards at the doors had seen anything of Hades. I entered and found Edward in the morning room, toasting himself from a bottle of brandy. He raised his glass as I entered.
“She’s gone, hasn’t she?” he asked.
“She has.”
