12 years later

If one were to walk into the study at Ferndean, they would see Abraham Rochester, the first born Rochester child crouched intently over three already heavily perused volumes: he was a small, rather thin boy with a thick mane of red hair and large, piercing dark eyes.

"Abe?" his mother's voice, gentle in its quizzical request, made him twist sharply to see his parents standing in the doorway, their faces straightening in recognition of the trio of books their son was observing.

"I kept those locked" Jane said sternly, raising her eyebrows at him. Abe's eyes stuttered to the far right corner of the room where a white conical hat and an untidy abundance of white hair was perched in a comfortable armchair: as she peered brightly, Jane could discern a smile.

"Conlis" Edward declared knowingly.

"I do hope you do not mind, my dear, the key was very easy to imitate! The little scamp was so curious and eager: takes after his mama and papa, I'll wager!" the old Witch tittered

Abe's quick, percieving gaze batted between them. "It's all right, I have known that we are... not ordinary for a time" he said surely, hanging his head in embarassed but slightly proud shame "I... I... Just once or twice, picked the locks and read them - but you musn't get angry! I am sorry, but I desired to know so dearly!"

Conlis chuckled a grin "a bright boy, to be sure!" she said "no child: you, as well as your mama and papa, are not of ordinary origins…"

The End