I own nothing
So This is Jane Eyre
Rochester stood by his study window a glass of amber liquid clutched firmly in his hand as he looked out at the drizzly weather – reflecting his dark mood perfectly.
What the devil had possessed him to throw a house party?
He was out of his mind!
He raised the glass to his lips and took a gulp of the flaming liquid, enjoying the scorching sensation as it travelled down his throat and set a fire in his stomach.
Eshton! He growled the name in his head.
It had all been his friends fault. During a moment of weakness (or was it madness) he had actually seen some sense in his friend's suggestion of remaking old acquaintances and seeing old friends.
And whatever had came over him it had been prolonged and had lasted more than one day as it tool at least two for the invitations to be sent out.
He slammed his empty hand against the thankfully solid window frame and ignored the dull throb that it brought to his clenched fist.
He turned and stalked to his desk, flicking through the sheets of paper that had gathered there over the past few days. He grimaced as he studied the letters sent to him from those who were accepting the invitation to live at his expense for a month or so.
He threw what remained in the glass down his throat before slamming the glance onto the table.
That meant Blanche was coming. Ever since the Ingrams had attended a Christmas party at Thornfield two or three years previously the women had gotten it into her head that he was harbouring some kind of attraction for her. It didn't help his temper that his house-keeper seemed to think the same thing and continually dropped the young lady's name whenever she could.
He curse Mrs Fairfax's name before slumping into his chair.
He continued to flick through the papers - all 'old friends' of his father.
How the old scrooge had managed to make ANY friends was beyond him. He was the man's youngest son and even he had hated the old man since he was old enough to understand the word.
And what did it matter if he hated the old man with all of his soul? He was destined for the deepest pits of Hades anyway so what were a few more errors and mortal blunders. At least he and his father would burn together.
He mentally checked of all of the names that he recognised before a name he had not seen in years caught his attention.
Rochester cast his mind back to when he had last had dealings with the man. He had been an acquaintance of his fathers and when he had taken over the estate he had taken it upon himself to visit him. It had also helped that he had had the added reason of a tenant taking up residence on the other man's land.
Edward walked from the study of Mr Reed after the necessary niceties. He did not like the other so called gentleman. He was hard, flinty and self serving – made from the same material of his father and brother, damn them both to hell. He would not even have entered the magistrates home if it was not for business reasons.
The fellow's wife was welcoming enough but had the pinch, pale, careful look of a woman reprimanded too many times. Each of her actions was steady and calculated. His children were also agreeable – though high spirited, as was to be expected of such youngsters. The girls had the make-up to be beautiful and no doubt flighty, while the son was steady and reminded him of his good friend Eshton at that age. If only he had been so steady things might have been different for him...
"Where is that child," Reed had suddenly snapped softly towards his wife and Edward had seen her flinch slightly at her husband's words. He also caught the glances that passed between the three siblings. Each of them loosing their happiness and gaiety and becoming worried.
"I...I...John dear, please go and fetch Jane please," she told her son softly and the boy had smiled at his mother and rising quickly he scampered from the room.
Edward quickly took the lull in the room ad an opportunity to excuse himself and impart instructions to his groom.
He strode down the hall stopping when he heard the sound of children's voices coming from a room.
The door had been left ajar and looking through the gap he saw that the boy was with a young girl. She was a small thing – tiny in fact. She had a very pale face and mousy brown hair with large eyes that spoke of a maturity beyond her years.
"Jane, you have to stop making him angry," the boy begged her, taking her hand in his and holding it tightly.
"John my very breathing makes him angry. It does not matter what I do..." she sighed heavily and Edward was shocked by the weight of her words.
"John he is sending me to school," she told him with spirit.
"If I apply myself I could become a teacher...Think of it John, I could maybe even have my own school some day,"
She sounded so excited at the simple prospect that she had for herself that Edward felt a twinge of sadness within him – she could not be any more than ten years old.
"Jane it is not a very nice place that he is sending you," the boy told her and Edward began to pay more attention, seeing that his grounds for not liking that man obviously had a stronger grounding.
"Don't you remember the man who came from the place...?" the boy urged her.
The girl shook her head and her whole body seemed to deflate the spirit that she had shown only a second ago leaving her as quickly as it had came.
"Well Jane, don't you remember what father told them?" the boy continued and it was obvious to Edward that the poor child didn't want to remember.
"That I was a liar..." the girl mumbled her chin nearly touching her chest.
"That I had the devil in me," she continued softly, nearly crying.
Edward felt his anger boil at this. He was eternally bound to a women with such a disposition and this child was as far away from that as you could get.
"That he couldn't trust me around you and Eliza and Georgiana. But...But I'm not a liar John," the child cried out in earnest but just managing to hold back the tears and he found himself being proud of her.
"I...I don't have the devil in me and I am not a liar you believe me don't you John?" her last words died out as she looked up at the boy who was nodding his head before the boy drew the girl to him and hugged her.
Rochester shook his head to shake the memory. He had not thought of that in years and now he could not help but think about what had happened to the little girl.
She was made of strong stuff and he had a feeling that the child would have needed it.
He reached for the decanter and poured another generous measure of liquid into his empty glass, choosing to enjoy the silence when he could because in two more days he would be sharing it with half of the county.
I hope you like this. I thought I would add a little twist to things.
Please let me know what you think.