Page 31 of Zenith
Upon hearing this, I sat up and smoothed my hands through my hair. The thought had not crossed my mind, and I wondered if it had been naive of me.
“I understand why you chose not to tell me,” he went on. “I am not put out by it. It is a good secret to have, unlike the demons I kept hidden from you.” A sigh passed his lips, and for a moment, he looked exhausted. “When I saw you with Rivers, I was overcome with jealousy. I’ve never felt the like of it before.” He trailed off and waited before continuing, his eyes focusing on mine. “I lingered outside, struggling with what I should do. I did not want to frighten you, Jane, but I could not bear it if he had touched you. Then I heard him shouting, followed by a crash, and the decision was made for me.”
My silence continued, and he shifted from the bed, placing his bare feet on the floor. Placing the book on the nightstand, he rose and smoothed his wrinkled shirt.
“Perhaps you would like to have a shower? Then something to eat?” he asked. “I have something I would like to show you, but you cannot come downstairs in naught but a T-shirt. You’ll freeze.”
He left me without an answer to his questions, and I found the strength to shuffle into the bathroom and gaze upon my reflection. I was quite a sight with my tangled hair, sallow skin, and bruised neck. The marks were slightly yellow around the edges, signifying they were starting to heal, but I would be stuck with them for some time yet. Perhaps neck scarfs would be the new fashion at Thornfield this summer. They were good for hiding all manner of neck injuries. Love bites, vampire attacks…strangulation marks.
I showered, washing the grime and some of my depression from my flesh, and dressed in fresh clothing. Rifling through my bag, I found the contents intact as Edward had promised they were, and for the first time in days, I felt safe despite knowing that danger still lurked in some hidden corner of Thornfield.
Descending to the main gallery, as I had so many times before, I felt I had become a different person entirely. Thornfield was the same, yet it was different. Perhaps I was seeing it through different eyes, my various near death experiences clouding my vision with melancholy. I’d always thought it to be a dreary place—and quite masculine in style—but now it held a chill that even the summer sun could not chase away. I entirely believed it had to do with its prisoner, Bertha Mason, wherever she was being held.
Not entirely sure where Edward had spirited away to, I lingered in the gallery, peering into the office. This too was unchanged, and I found Alice sitting in her usual position, working away on one of the computers. When she caught sight of me, her smile was brilliant.
“Jane!” she exclaimed, rising from her chair. “It is good to see you up and about. Rocky is outside waiting for you.” I glanced at the door, and she laughed. “He is quite changed yet again, don’t you think? Who would have thought Rocky would have turned all soft and squishy?”
She all but pushed me toward the door, and I left her to gaze wistfully out the office window.
I eased open the heavy door, the oak creaking on its hinges, wondering what Edward wanted to show me. Bright summer sunshine hit my eyes, and I blinked furiously, not used to such brilliance after being locked inside the dreary confines of Thornfield.
Edward stood in the middle of the driveway, his back to me. At the sound of the door opening, he turned. He smiled, his handsomeness dazzling in the clear light of the garden, and he beckoned me forward.
He was overshadowed by the portrait Rivers had painted of me, and as I approached, gravel crunching underfoot, it looked completely ridiculous sitting there. I almost laughed at the irony. Edward had purchased it at considerable cost and what for? To display it in the garden?
“It is quite beautiful,” he mused as I stood beside him. “But it is a given considering the subject…and despite the man who painted it.”
The painting looked different out here, as though I was gazing upon an entirely different rendering. It was merely a trick of the light, and I curled my lip in distaste. I did not wish to see the thing John Rivers had created to lure me into his arms. It brought memories to mind, which were still raw and bleeding, and should be forgotten entirely. It was a symbol of my stupidity.
“Here,” Edward said, pointing to the step behind us. “A canister of petrol and a lighter. I intended to destroy the thing the moment I laid my hands upon it, but I understand it can be cathartic. Perhaps you would like to do the honors?”
It was as if he’d read my mind, and our unexplainable connection surprised me yet again. Turning, I picked up the canister and unscrewed the lid. Careful not to spill any petrol on myself, I flung the contents over the canvas, not stopping until the entire thing was empty. The strong chemical smell clogged my nostrils as I retrieved the lighter, and I took a moment to stare at my likeness.
I wondered for a moment if I was doing the right thing, destroying a valuable piece of art, but I shook my head as it was filled yet again with the vision of Rivers’s rage as he attempted to choke the life from me. I clicked the lighter into life, the flame flickering back and forth in the breeze.
“Do as you will, Jane,” Edward said beside me. “I shall enjoy this as much as you.”
His words evaporated on the air, and I flung the lighter at the canvas, and instantly, the spark caught, and the entire thing was consumed in awhooshof hot air. The flame flickered with a rainbow of colors as it ate through the oil paints, the image bubbling before it charred and finally began to disappear.
He was right. It was cathartic.
“Edward,” I murmured, my voice sounding far away. It was the first time I’d spoken in three days, and it felt alien to do so. “Blanche knows everything. About Bertha, your past, my inheritance… That was why Rivers… She would have struck me down herself the day I fell down the stairs, but when she was thwarted by chance, she gave Bertha the very same knife. Then she destroyed Rivers to get to me.” I swallowed hard, my throat feeling raw. “She intends to destroy you completely.”
Silence opened up between us, my words hanging heavy in the air as we watched the last of the painting dissolve into ash on the white pebbled driveway. The groundskeeper would have a coronary when he saw the mess we’d left behind. He took great pride in his detailing.
“You mustn’t worry, Jane,” Edward replied after a moment of thought. “I have expected her to play her cards for months, and I assume what transpired with the painter was an unexpected boon on her part. Now that you are here and under my protection, I’m sure I will be hearing from her directly soon enough.”
“I must worry,” I replied. “She has tried to destroy me along with you, regardless of our relationship.”
“I brought this sorrow into your life, Jane, and I must be held accountable.” He turned to stare at me with his unearthly eyes, but I could not bring myself to match him. “It is the only way to mend what I have broken. There will be an end to this.”
“You intend to let her divulge your secrets to the world?” I shook my head in disbelief. “You cannot.”
“Do you worry about me, Jane?”
I glanced at him, but his face was turned to the garden, his eyes studying the plants in great detail. How his brow darkened under the threat of Blanche Ingram. It was not the terrible temper I had come to know him capable of, it was the shadow of sacrifice which clouded his expression.
I frowned and turned fully toward him. “I do, sir.”
