Page 13 of Euphoria
“I have Miss Doe to thank for this sprain,” he went on, gesturing to his ankle.
Her embarrassment turned to bewilderment. “Jane?”
“I didn’t think to mention it,” I said hastily. “I didn’t know it was him.”
“No, you did not,” he said. “I doubt you would have spoken to me as you did if you understood.”
His unlikable manner gave me a rush of confidence. Feeling like I could regard him now, I decided his words marked him as a kind of tortured soul who was not yet experienced enough to come to terms with their past, much like I was. Perhaps he wasn’t a day over thirty-five. Neither a young man or old or middle-aged but mature. He wasn’t always angry, but he’d faced his own hardships. As hard as the life of a rich man could be, I supposed. Perhaps he squandered his fortune and was sour about it.
Regardless, I felt drawn to him. Not because he was handsome and powerful, or from my need to bring his pompous temper down a peg or two, but because of the emotion I saw in his eyes. There was sadness about him I was tempted to unravel, but no matter how I dwelt upon it now, I couldn’t make sense of it. Perhaps in time, I would see more of the man underneath the mask.
“You may go,” he said to me as he reached for his glass of whiskey. I rose to my feet, and before I could take a step, he added, “Are you satisfied here, Jane?”
I stilled as the sound of my name rolled from his sharp tongue. I glanced at Alice before answering, “As satisfied as I can be.”
He didn’t answer as he raised the glass to his lips, and taking it as his signal for ultimate dismissal, Alice and I retired from the room while the going was good.
“You were right,” I said as we walked down the hall. “He is very…changeful.”
“Arrogant, more like it,” she replied harshly, her cheery demeanor dulled. “I’m embarrassed.”
“You shouldn’t be. It was his choice to talk to you as he did.”
“You truly caused him to fall from his motorcycle?”
I nodded and relayed the basic elements of the story.
“Why, it must have been funny to see him fall flat on his ass,” she said as we returned to the employee quarters. “I’m used to his whims and fancies, so I can see why he seems so strange to you, Jane. I do think he needs some allowances for it, though.”
“Allowances for being mean?” I asked, my mouth falling open. “How so?”
“Well, partly because of his nature—no one can help who they are to a certain point—and partly because of his past troubles. Painful thoughts drive people to do terrible things, especially if they are constantly reminded of them.”
“What kind of things?” I felt the sinful rise of curiosity and wished to hear more of this gossip.
“Family troubles. Rocky is very rich, but they say he never wanted the responsibility. It was forced upon him when his older brother died. His father has since passed, but apparently, he used the death of Rocky’s brother to pressure him into taking on the family business, among other things. The Rochester’s were famously arrogant in their wealth, or so it was said.”
“And Mr. Rochester didn’t want the responsibility?” I asked, thinking about the man we’d just left. “He was forced?”
“Yes, though I don’t know much more about it. There was a plot against him, and his family forced him into an unforgivable position against his will. Things turned sour soon after, but when his brother died, his hand was forced yet again.”
I thought this over and wasn’t sure any of it made sense. There were a great deal of events unknown to me, but perhaps it explained his present state. I doubted I could give him any allowances for it, my consciousness wouldn’t partake in it, but at least it was a little understanding for my own piece of mind.
“Was Thornfield a part of it?” I wondered aloud as we lingered outside my room. “Maybe it’s why he doesn’t come here often and has neglected it so.”
“Perhaps,” Alice replied. “Thornfield is the ancestral home of the Rochester’s and was to be his brother’s holding.”
The answer was evasive, but I pinned it down to her not being privy to the finer details and thought nothing more of it.
“Did he say anything about your proposal?” she asked before we parted.
“No,” I replied, realizing he’d said nothing at all about it. I suspected the meeting was merely a ruse for him to gauge what kind of soul I was.
“Don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll grant you your money. It’s a fine idea.”
I didn’t like my chances, but I accepted her commiserations with grace. All I could do was ask and ask I had.
When I slid between the covers later that night, I couldn’t help my mind drifting to the stormy eyes of Mr. Edward Rochester. He slipped into my dreams as easily as the wheel of his motorcycle slipped on the patch of black ice. Perhaps it was an omen, or perhaps it was just misfortune. I was powerless to change the fate of my soul if it was already destined.
The feeling I’d had when I first beheld Thornfield was solidifying, my path becoming clear. However, the destination was still just beyond my grasp.
My beginning and end.
