I'm not mad, I promise. My brother says I am, that I get it from Mama, but Mama told me she wasn't mad, and what has the world come to when a mother lies to her daughter? Besides, If I was mad, I wouldn't be here, in England. In this big house (trapped in these walls of grey). Waiting for my wonderful, clever, (deserter), rich husband. No. Because mad women don't get married,especially not to people like my Edward.

I don't know why they think I'm mad, but at least Edward doesn't think so. He loves me. He took me here, to England, to Thornfield. He gave me this room, away from the evils of cold, dark England. He gave me a maid, he gave me safety and quiet (lonely, empty quiet ). Sometimes I need quiet. But everybody does. I don't need quiet now. I want company, music, pretty dresses and laughter. I (want colour in this grey and red world. I think I should go and ask Edward for a ball. I've never had a ball in England. I want to meet these English people the maid tells me about. These Lords and Ladies (and lovers) I wonder why we haven't had one already, he knows I love company. But of course, he's been busy. He's been away looking for insects and bugs. I never did like insects. Buzzing and flapping, in my face, getting under my skin, biting my flesh raw. But my Edward, he loves them, they fascinate him (remember when he was fascinated with you darling?). I used to love the way he could talk about them for hours, and never tire of it. He would let me do the same about dresses and perfumes. So patient, so generous (where are you Edward? ) . He stays away so long, keeps me at home. I sometimes wonder if it really is just for my safety, what if he doesn't love me any more? He never speaks to me, never visits me, never holds me like he used to. I haven't had word of him since he returned from his latest expedition, and it hurts (like those ropes that bind you when it all gets too much). I wish he would come and see me. It takes every memory I have of those starry nights and heavily perfumed, smoky rooms, to remind myself that he does still love me, even though I don't wear beautiful silk gowns, or glittering, expensive jewels any more. Nowadays I wear rags, and I can't remember wear they got those rips and stains (oh, but if you really wanted to you'd remember). I do have some jewels left, Grace lets me wear them sometimes (you have to be a good girl if you want those pretty things). She's very controlling. Too much so for paid help. And that drinking! It's beneficial sometimes, when she drinks herself into such a stupor I can get out, and feel free (that's all we want, isn't it Bertha?). I think I'll talk to Edward about her behaviour next time he visits (will he ever visit again?). I wonder when that'll be (a month of Sundays). It's been a long time, too long. I do wonder if he'll ever come back to me. Because to be honest, I feel like I've been forgotten up here, in my attic (he could never forget you). I wait and I waste away. I wish I could do something about it. Do something for myself but I'm (trappedandstuckandfallingapa rt, in a confined

Space) up here in my attic, waiting for my impertinent maid to hurry up and let her drinking habits carry her away and set me free. I here the telltale thump of her head hit the table and I know that the tiny taste of freedom I'm stealing is getting closer. I stand and pick my way across my cluttered room (prison cell, my love). I hear her slow and steady breathing quicken as I get closer. I freeze. If she wakes up it means ropes and burns and pain. And the little taste of freedom disappears. I reach out to the cool metal of the keys strapped to her apron. As soon as my skin makes contact with it I'm gone. (So this is freedom Bertha, here we go, put the key in the lock my dear, we're so close!) I run the metal freedom along my tongue and I can taste the emotions that I really shouldn't feel, not if I'm being a respectable woman. I trip along the winding damp corridors I've raced through in my dreams. My heart is in my mouth and my head is spinning. I've never felt so infinite. I'm getting closer, the candles flicker and (half the fun is getting caught! ) I laugh because they don't know what they've been missing, these lovely English people, these stayed servants and these misty hills. But I'm free now (freedom at last!) and I am never going back. I laugh because I don't know what else I should do to convey the tropical storm (hotandcoldandswirlinghumidst eam) in my head. I stop suddenly. I hear the creak of floorboards and one of those damned servants is awake. This is a catastrophe (MOVE BERTHA MOVE!). I'm running faster than I've ever run before until I get to Edward's door. I fling it open and there he is. He's older, his hair is thinning (has it really been so long?). He lies there, unmoving, the opposite of me. I have to wake him, we have to talk. How can he be so still, whilst I'm so agitated. Shouldn't he be affected. Is there not some celestial bond that makes him move when I do. It used to feel like there was. His lips move (he knows! He can feel it too!) and he's trying to tell me something.


I'm not Jane.

(Who's Jane? Jane Jane Jane! Where are you? Who are you? So much pain so much fire, never felt like THIS before did it Edward? Shushshushshush, don't wake up my love!I just want you to feel the fire again! You remember the fire? I do. Oh you never understood did you? You're locking me away. I'm burningburningburning like those stars you showed me once and oh! Now you're burning too! Celestial bonds, we are the fire. TAKEMEHOMETAKEMEHOME! Understand me, we'll understand under the stars of spanishtown! Freefreefree! I have to go my love)

I'm not mad. (oh but you are).

So…more English Homework… hope you enjoy!