Series: (Vol 3) The Road to Exile

Ξ From the Journals of Edward Rochester – 1809-1810 Ξ

After a hot meal in a coaching inn near Canterbury, it was time to be on our way.

“Well, James, have you the stamina to hear my promised tale of little Adele Varens, the child who now lives at Thornfield Hall?”

Carter grinned. “Indeed I do.”

“I must warn you, the telling will outlast our journey this evening, for to do the tale justice, I must go back to the Christmas holiday of our last year of school. Can you remember so long ago?”

He smiled. “Of course. And how very anxious you were to go home after receiving Miss Fairfax’s letter imploring your return to Thornfield.”

“Miss Catherine Fairfax would have been Rowland’s bride, had she lived.”

Carter shook his head sadly. “Her death broke his heart.”

“Did it? My brother had no heart.”

“Let it go, Edward. He is dead, and it’s all in the past.”

“If only it were so easy, James. But as to Catherine’s fate. I had no idea she had perished in the carriage accident until I received your letter informing me of Rowland’s death.”

“I’m sorry. I would have written to you sooner had I known where you were.” Carter sighed. “But what has Miss Fairfax to do with all this?”

“Miss Fairfax, James? Miss Catherine Fairfax was to be my wife. Or at least, I believed that was so. To understand how I came to be the guardian of little Adele Varens, we must go back to those days, when the events which came to pass set the course of my entire future life.”

~ Exile ~ End of Part 1 ~

© 2016 by R.Q. Bell and Imaginality Press; All rights reserved.

Ξ From the Journals of Edward Rochester – 1809-1810 Ξ

“…we must go back to those days, when the events which came to pass set the course of my entire future life…”

Carter’s eyes widened. “It must have been a fateful Christmas holiday, indeed. And so. What was this mysterious letter from Miss Fairfax, then?”

“James, truly, I believed she was expecting my proposal of marriage, and yet her letter seemed contradictory to that notion. Perhaps I should have been more discerning, but what young man of twenty is not a fool when he believes himself in love? But why she had written to me at all, I did not understand. It would never occur to me not to come home that time of year.”

“Of course,” he exclaimed. “The annual Thornfield Christmas Gala.”

“Indeed. My mother’s one indulgence every year. Everyone in the neighborhood looked forward to it. But if her sons were not there, it would wound her feelings terribly. I could never abide that.”

“You miss her still.”

“I do.”

A pang of remorse stung me. I looked away out the window. My eyes unexpectedly filled with tears, and I squeezed them shut. How I regretted my conduct the last time I saw her. That very Christmas holiday.

“Already she was ill with the ailment that took her, but we were all unaware. She concealed it from everyone. Soon, it overcame even her formidable will. Henry was so consumed by his own grief that by the time I had word of it… She died early that spring, before I could get home.”

Carter was quiet for a moment. “I was quite surprised when you left the country not long after her funeral.”

“Before the Gala, my head had been full of but one thing—Miss Catherine Fairfax. When at last the evening arrived, I had been anticipating her arrival all day. When I spied her coach in line behind the others, I ran out to meet it. What happened later that night set in motion the events which subsequently obliged me to leave England.”

                  ***

Miss Fairfax was being helped out of the carriage by her brother, Tom.

“Devilish of me to accompany her, eh, Rochester?”

I grinned. “Better you than the old man.”

He kissed his sister’s cheek. “Dearest Kate, we are now on hallowed Rochester grounds.”

He stepped out of the coach. As we shook hands, he winked. “Beware the cat’s claws, Edward.” Bowing with a flourish, he was off toward the house.

Catherine appeared quite breathtaking in her white Christmas gown, edged with silver and ermine. She took my arm without a word, and we too, made our way toward the house. The diamonds in her tiara sparkled in the light of the torches lining the drive, which flickered and hissed with the light falling snow. I pulled a letter from my coat pocket and showed it to her.

“Would you mind explaining to me why you wrote this?”

“Oh, my letter. I must be sure that you would—but never mind, Edward. May we go?”

Her reluctance to explain exasperated me, but I knew her stubbornness and it was no use pressing the point. I shrugged. “Very well, if that is what you want.”

Women. Would I ever understand them?

~ Exile ~ End of Part 2 ~

© 2016 by R.Q. Bell and Imaginality Press; All rights reserved.

Ξ From the Journals of Edward Rochester – 1809-1810 Ξ

Her countenance glowed with excitement as we approached the house.

In that face I could still see traces of the mischievous little girl who had long ago been my playfellow. But all too quickly I must be sent to school. She must become a lady. All our schemes and plans carefully laid as we explored the wide world must be set aside for the responsibilities of adulthood.

I touched the delicate, gloved hand filled by slender, supple fingers, and was reminded that not long ago they were but small and stubby, digging in the fields for gophers. The magnificent silken gown hid all traces of scraped knees. She was now a young woman, and must set such whimsy aside.

We walked together but in silence, unnatural and awkward. We had spent so many days in one another’s company, more often quarreling like a brother and sister. But looking at her now, in all her glorious womanhood—by no means did I feel about her as I would a sister.

Once again, I thought of her letter. I simply must know what it meant. 

“Kit!” I whispered sharply. You absolutely must come home for Christmas. I have something I must tell you. You wrote that to me. You know I would never be anywhere else other than at Thornfield this time of year.”

“Oh, Edward…can you not wait?”

“No!” I whispered harshly. “I am here now, so what is it? What is it that compelled you to write such a letter?”

“Edward. This party…it is your mama’s annual grande affair, is it not?” said she, rather casually using the intimate reference to my mother. “It would be fitting that our announcement be made at such a festive and well-attended occasion, that is all.”

“Our announcement?” I answered, quite astonished. “Would it not be premature?”

She looked at me curiously. “No, not at all.”

“Of course,” I echoed, still puzzling over the mystery.

I should put the question to her now, but she seemed irritated, and I thought the better of it. Of course she knew I intended to ask for her hand, but not until the end of Spring term. But it was brilliant. What better place to announce our engagement than a party attended by all our family and friends?

As we approached the front door of the Hall, it flew open unexpectedly. “Ah, there you are at last, Miss Fairfax.”

My little fantasy was suddenly shattered by that well-known but despised voice. Rowland. He stood at the door of the Hall, a glass of wine in his hand, and a deuced smirk on his face.   

“You’re drunk,” I muttered.

“Not quite yet, I think…but well on my way to becoming so. What of it? It is a party, after all.” He stepped aside, offering Miss Fairfax his hand. “Quite sporting of you to bring her round, Edward. Miss Fairfax, if you would step this way.”

I tried to prevent him. “Rowland, what do you think you’re doing? Kit?”

“Ah, Kit, is it?” He smiled at her. “Is that his nickname for you? Well, then, Miss Kit.” He flashed a stupid grin, and in a quick motion, pulled her close and covered her mouth with his.

Catherine had been completely unprepared for his shameless deed. She laughed weakly and pushed him away, but I could not tell whether she was angry or amused by the liberty he had taken.

“Please, Mr. Rochester.”

Rowland only laughed. “Mr. Rochester, is it?” He drained his glass, then tossed it into the shrubbery adjacent the porch. “Yes, I suppose we must give way to these damned civilities a while longer, mustn’t we? Very well, then.” He bowed. She laid a gloved hand upon his proffered arm, and he grinned suggestively. “Now there’s a good girl. This way if you please.”

~ Exile ~ End of Part 3 ~

© 2016 by R.Q. Bell and Imaginality Press; All rights reserved.

Ξ From the Journals of Edward Rochester – 1809-1810 Ξ

He removed her cloak and tossed it to me.

“See to that, will you, Edward?” And off they went, arm in arm down the hall and into the drawing room where I spied a group of guests gathered round the pianoforte singing Christmas carols.

I followed them into the house and stopped in the hallway. Fury like a volcano rose within me as I watched him hover amidst a cluster of family friends, entertaining them with a ready joke or a compliment, especially to Miss Fairfax, who appeared indifferent rather than pleased with his unctous charms.

He had swooped out the door and snatched her from my arm as a hawk captures its frightened prey. How often had he simply taken what was mine? How fond he was of boasting that one day Thornfield would belong to him, and when that day came, I had best look to myself.

Well, not this time. I would not retreat before his belligerence now or ever again. He must feel the sting of my wrath this once. It had been building for years, and it was time to let the demon loose! 

I stormed into the drawing room and there he stood, already another glass of Christmas punch in hand, Miss Fairfax at his side, amidst a small gathering, familiar faces all: Captain Dent and his wife, Mariah. Arthur and Mrs. Eshton, and George Lynn, recently returned from St. James where he had been knighted.

I stood before my brother simmering with rage.

“See to this yourself, you bastard.” I threw her cloak at him.   

“Well, well, what have we here, little brother?”

Neatly, he snatched it out of the air, not spilling a drop of his drink. Everyone in the circle around us abruptly ceased their conversations. Miss Fairfax looked at me pleadingly, her face shaded by a strange expression, a mixture of injured pride and embarrassment.

“Edward, please,” she whispered. “It is too late.”

“I should have done this a long time ago.” The indignation and rage had risen within me and would not be silenced. I faced him. “I will speak with you alone, Rowland. Now.”

His eyes widened in surprise, I suppose at my audacity to call him out. But I would brook no refusal, and he knew it. Would he comport himself as a gentleman? Would he show the courtesy due our mother on this occasion? For an instant, I feared I had unleashed the devil in him once again.

“Well, well,” he laughed. “The cub has claws after all. If you will excuse me,” he bowed to the others. “It seems my little brother desires an audience.”

He signaled for a servant, who came immediately and took the cloak. He drained the remainder of the drink in one draft. “Shall we?”

I bowed to take my leave of our friends. As we made our way through the sea of guests, I felt strangely exhilarated, thrilled by their amazement as a murmur of gossip rippled through their ranks, and all eyes were upon us as we walked out of the room. Among those who watched was our father, Henry Rochester.

A few moments later, I burst into the library, half expecting my mother to be sitting at her accustomed spot at the large table in one corner, writing letters or correcting my ciphers. But that table had been removed years ago, when I had been sent away to school. She never again used this room to attend her daily business.

A fire burned well in the hearth, and the air was warm, but the room somehow felt cold and lifeless. Rowland’s booted step behind me broke the hush of silence. I was in his face at once.

“What makes you think you can get away with it this time?”

“Get away with what, Edward? Do, speak plainly.”

“Don’t pretend to be ignorant. You know very well that I speak of Miss Fairfax. I will know your intentions.”

“My intentions?”

“How do you justify the presumptuous and intimate nature of your greeting? It was nothing but disrespect and impudence from beginning to end. Her father is a guest in this house!”

“Oh, Sir Basil above all men could have no objections. And of course he is here. He has come at our request.”

“Your request?  What do you mean?”

“Just this,” he smirked. “Sir Basil will proclaim it to the world tonight. Miss Fairfax is to be my wife. What do you think of that?”

~ Exile – End Part 4 ~

© 2016 by R.Q. Bell and Imaginality Press; All rights reserved.

Ξ From the Journals of Edward Rochester – 1809-1810 Ξ

Rowland stood before me in an attitude of such self-righteous arrogance it was almost as if I was ten years old, enduring his humiliations all over again. This time, however, I was not that child, but my own man, and my fingers twitched to be around his throat.

“Already engaged?” I fell into a chair, reeling from the shock and could only ask weakly, “What gives you the right? Miss Fairfax and I…you know very well that she and I were meant to—”

“I know no such thing, little brother. You and Miss Fairfax? Don’t be absurd.” He looked at me with mock sincerity. “Ah. You actually believe it, don’t you? That she wanted to marry you?”

I leapt out of the chair, my anger doubled at the sight of his conceited grin, and I half-choked on the reply. “It has always been understood between us, that is all. It is to be this Spring, after I finish school. Dammit, she will be my bride, not yours!”     

His voice rose to match my increasing anger. “No, she will not! Your idiotic notion is preposterous, Edward. You have created your own little dreamworld. She never had any such intention.”

“Of course she did! We were always together. We grew fond of each other, and talked of it so often. I simply believed it was meant to be.”

Again, he smiled with that withering look of judgment. “You talked about it, did you? Since you were children? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“There is nothing ridiculous about it. It is…as I said.”

“Miss Fairfax is the only daughter of a baronet, for God’s sake. She would never marry a second son who can bring neither rank nor fortune into such a marriage. Your wild fancies have carried you away for so long you have ill-considered the consequences of such impropriety.”

He laughed as I pushed past him and stumbled to the mantlepiece. Every feeling of bitterness and hatred of him I ever harbored from childhood rose up in my throat. I had nothing to say to these words: they were not new to me. For as long as I could remember, he had hurled them at me daily, repeating them incessantly until this reproach of my inferior position became a vague sing-song in my ears.

“You are insufferable,” I shouted helplessly. “For once, I would possess what you wanted, but could not have. And that idea galls you, doesn’t it?”

“You believe Miss Fairfax is what I want?”

“You have said it yourself, Rowland. You are engaged to her. Why else would you do it?”

He came closer. “You are far too trusting of women, Edward. Miss Fairfax is a pretty enough girl, and when she comes into her full womanhood, will be quite comely. To be sure, she will provide me pleasure enough, for awhile at least. But you see Edward, I understand men like Sir Basil. He is interested in connections, wealth, power. The Rochester estate will bring all of those things, and the Rochester estate will be mine.” He laid special emphasis on that last word. “But yes, you are right. A most delightful benefit that accrues to me is that our marriage will prevent you from having her.”

“Catherine could never love you!”

“Oh, let me assure you. Love has very little to do with this. Besides, she is very much her father’s child. You have been so smitten by your fantasy you cannot see that. But, it matters not, for we both shall get what we want out of the bargain.”

“You’re nothing but a heartless bastard, pretending to do your duty to our father all the while you enjoy rubbing my nose in it!”

“Pretending to do my duty?” His voice rose again, for I had touched a nerve. “You are so pathetic Edward, do you know that? You have ever been so, always groveling after me to go somewhere you did not belong.”

“The blood that flows in my veins is just as much Rochester blood as yours. And I will not relinquish the rights that bestows upon me.”

“There can be no rights where you are concerned: birth order, my dear little brother, is everything.  Casting aspersions on my paternity will gain you nothing.” He shrugged, then added, “Providence raised me above you. Just accept it.”

“Providence? You have never acknowledged Providence in your life, yet now its invocation suits your purpose to justify what you have done?” I took a step towards him then muttered, “Let the authorities then consign me to His judgment after I have wrung your neck!”

How I loathed him and everything that would be his and could never be mine, for God help me, he was right. He was right! And I despised him all the more for it.

He stepped back, a genuine look of surprise on his face. “You would do it, wouldn’t you?”

Just then the library door banged open and in strode our father, glowering at us both.

“What in blazes is going on in here?”

~ Exile – End Part 5 ~

© 2016 by R.Q. Bell and Imaginality Press; All rights reserved.

Ξ From the Journals of Edward Rochester – 1809-1810 Ξ

“What in blazes is going on in here?” Henry Rochester demanded imperiously.

“Everyone in the house can hear your shouting from here to the front door, for God’s sake. If you think I will allow you to embarrass your mother in front of her guests, you are gravely mistaken. Keep a civil tongue, or I swear, I’ll rip them out of your heads.”

Rowland yawned. “It is the usual discussion, Father. Edward again is chafing at the lot of a second son.”

I glared at him. “Tell him the truth. We were discussing Miss Fairfax.”

“Yes, I suppose that is more accurate,” he replied coolly.

Henry interrupted again. “What has Miss Fairfax to do with this?”

“Edward believes I have usurped his place, he having doted on her since their childhood and all. Or so he says. The imminent announcement of our engagement has ruined his plans forever.”

Henry’s soft laughter cut me to the heart. “You’re not serious, Edward? You, wed Miss Fairfax?”

“And why not Miss Fairfax?”

“She’s a baronet’s daughter.”

“What should that mean to me, to her, if we love each other?”

“You cannot seriously be asking me that question.” replied Henry with irritation.

“I tried to tell him the same thing, Father,” interrupted Rowland, who was beginning to sound like the toadying fifteen year old he had once been. “He refuses to see reason. He is so besotted by love,” he sneered. “Or his desires of a more carnal nature—”

“You lecherous fiend!” I lunged toward him.

“Enough!” cried Henry, stepping between us. He turned to his eldest. “Rowland, leave us at once.  See to our guests.”

“But Father—”

“You heard me. I will not have the two of you ruin this evening. Now get out.”

Rowland glared at me. “Oh, very well. As usual, I shall miss out on all the fun. But I trust, Father, you will enlighten his understanding? About everything?”

“Go!” retorted Henry, his temper flaring again.

Rowland obeyed without another word. After his departure, we stood in silence for a time. I was hardly aware of my father’s presence as I stared at the closed door of the library, the image of Rowland’s impudent grin burned in my mind. The sounds of the party drifted down the hallway, but it seemed like a world far away, a world in which I would never have a part. 

Abruptly I asked, “What did he mean, ‘enlighten my understanding’?”

“Sit down, Edward.”

My heart went cold. “Is it true, then? They are engaged?”

“Yes.”

“But how can this be? Why was I not told?”

The phrases from Catherine’s letter echoed again in my thoughts. Edward, you must come home for Christmas…there is something I must tell you… And this evening, the words she uttered not two hours ago. I understood them now. “It is too late…”  Oh, God. Why Catherine? Why did you not tell me?

“How long?” I whispered. “How long have they been engaged?”

“Only very lately,” replied Henry. “I was not aware they were fond of each other.”

“They are not!” I exclaimed. “Kit…Miss Fairfax, has never looked at Rowland in that way. He is more than twelve years her senior. She is but sixteen. What can her father be thinking to consent to such an unequal union?”

“The wedding will not take place for another two years at least, perhaps even three,” replied Henry quietly. “I would hardly call it unequal, however. The Rochester estate is a highly coveted prize. Why should not the baronet consent to the match?”

I was becoming agitated again. “He can hardly be acquainted with her. He is so much older. They have nothing in common. She is but a girl—”

I stopped, knowing that was not true. She was no longer the merry little child who had been my playfellow, but was a young woman, fresh, mature and so very aware of the world.

“Rowland does not love her. He’s a selfish bastard and well you know it.”

“Hold your tongue,” muttered Henry ominously. “He is a Rochester, and your brother.  Show some respect.”

~ Exile – End Part 6 ~

© 2016 by R.Q. Bell and Imaginality Press; All rights reserved.

Ξ From the Journals of Edward Rochester – 1809-1810 Ξ

~ Go to Jamaica. Be that Englishman! ~

Carter was astonished. “Jamaica was your father’s idea? You never told me that.”

“To what end, James? I was furious with Henry, that he thought I would simply acquiesce to his proposal?”

“You had no intention of going then?”

“No.”

“And your mother’s opinion of the plan?”

I shook my head. “I am almost ashamed to tell you, but I presumed she was in agreement with my father about it. Rarely did she contravene his will. Why should this occasion be any different? I saw her later that evening, and curse me for it, but I never asked her. God, what an arrogant fool I was! Full of pride, anger, resentment. After the events of that evening, I had no intentions of looking the fool while Sir Basil give his daughter in marriage to that devil, Rowland.”

“And yet,” replied Carter, “you did go to Jamaica. What changed your mind? Your mother’s death?”

“The day of her funeral, something happened for which I was completely unprepared. We had returned to the house from the memorial service at the little church near the front gates of Thornfield Hall. Henry shut himself away for the remainder of the afternoon, and I retreated to the library, that refuge wherein I had spent so much of my childhood with her.

***

I sat near the hearth, staring at the place where she used to sit composing letters, sewing, writing in a diary, or directing my early schooling. The aura of her presence still lingered, giving me comfort as it had when I was a boy.

“Edward?”

I looked up. It was Miss Fairfax. Robed in black, a vapory veil still covered her face. I stood at once.

“Kit…Miss Fairfax. Thank you for coming.”

A pang of jealousy pricked me as I thought of her and Rowland.

“How could I not come, Edward?” she said with genuine sympathy. “The moment we received the dreadful news, Father insisted.” She strode across the room towards me. “Of course, I would have been here on any account. I am so sorry about your mother. Do, accept my sincere condolences.”

She held out her hand, still sheathed by a silken black glove.

“Thank you.”

I pressed it warmly with gratitude, but did not immediately release it. Nor did she make an effort to withdraw it from me. Then, as though it had stung me, I suddenly let go.

“You…you have seen Rowland, then?” I asked, trying to suppress the sudden agitation I felt.

Catherine removed the veil. Her dark eyes were looking at me quite intently. “I thought…I believe he is with the other guests.”

She drew near. “I was with him at the graveside, next to Father. Did you not see me, Edward? I was standing in your shadow.”

“Were you? I am…sorry for not acknowledging you. I suppose I must have seen you. Do, forgive me. I…I have too many things on my mind to be of much use to anyone.”

Coming closer still, she said, “Yes, your head is full of many plans I am sure, with your own departure forthcoming.”

“My departure? Oh, yes, of course—”

I stopped short, suddenly wary of revealing to her any specifics about the arrangements my father had made for me. “What can you know of it?”

“Only that you are to journey to some warm and exotic destination halfway around the world and there, take to yourself a wife.”

“How do you know this?”

“Rowland told me.”

“Indeed?”

Rowland! How had he learned of Henry’s little scheme? I remembered the argument we had at Christmas. Father had sent him from the room before revealing any details of the plan for Jamaica. And then like a thunderbolt, his final words before returning to the party struck me: You will enlighten him I trust, Father…about everything.

That bloody bastard! I thought he was referring to his engagement with Miss Fairfax, but no. He had known about the Jamaica venture all along! His influence with Henry was powerful, and no doubt his persuasions had been pivotal to the final decision.

My hatred flamed afresh, but I must not let the demon show itself here. Not now.

And especially, not in front of her.

~ Exile ~ End Part 8 ~

© 2016 by R.Q. Bell and Imaginality Press; All rights reserved.

Ξ From the Journals of Edward Rochester – 1809-1810 Ξ

I struggled to maintain some composure, while attempting to sound resolute. “I am sorry to disappoint you, Miss Fairfax, but I have not decided I shall go.”

She smiled, then drew a gloved, slender finger down the sleeve of my coat. “I am not at all disappointed, Edward. Why would you think so?”

I shivered. I told myself she was only showing kindness and sisterly affection for a grieving brother. I should tell her to release me. But I said nothing. Her touch was warm, and welcome.

“You should change out of this wet coat, Edward. It is quite damp from the weather…you will catch a chill.”

It had rained off and on all morning, and the fresh scent of the spring shower clung to every garment, her veil, her hair. I stared into the hearth, trying to ignore the increasing awkwardness of our situation.

“Yes, yes, you are right…I should go upstairs directly, for I am sure I am unfit to appear before our guests. Father has no mind to attend to any such duty, I can assure you.”

“Please…do not go, Edward.”

“Why not? You have just admonished me that I may become ill from standing here in these wet clothes, and now you prevent me?”

“I was speaking of your departure from England,” she whispered. “Do not go. I do not wish it. Surely, from all you have said, you would rather remain at Thornfield.”

“What are you saying, Catherine? Why should you wish me to stay? You are betrothed to my brother. You will be his wife in two years.”

“Yes, I will,” she replied, with the bearing and air of self-importance befitting a baronet’s daughter. “Your brother was my choice for a husband, but tell me.” She suddenly seized my hands. “Can you say the same for yourself? This journey which has been arranged for you? Is it truly what you want? To marry a woman whom you have never seen? Have you nothing to say about it? I don’t believe you want to leave England.” She lifted her chin. “Tell your father you have no wish to go.”

“And why would I do that? It’s all arranged.”

She nodded. “Yes. But must you go so far to find a wife? Is there not one in England who will suffice?”

“You do not understand. I have a duty to my family, to my father…my mother. It is what she wanted. I cannot sully her memory by acting against her wishes.”

I looked at Miss Fairfax again, suddenly mistrustful of her questions. The softness in her voice had vanished. Her tone had become sharp, and penetrating. I felt like a witness before a judge. “But why should you care whither I am bound? As Rowland’s wife, you will one day be mistress of Thornfield Hall.”

She smiled again. “Yes, I shall be. But Edward, have you not ever wished that circumstances had been different?”

“What do you mean?”

“Had you been the eldest son, all this would be yours!” She let go my hands and held her arms wide, pirouetting before me, almost giddy. “Then it all would be perfect, in every way.”

“But I am not the eldest son. Rowland will inherit. And you shall marry him. Is that not enough?”

She turned and threw back her head, and laughed. Clear and ringing, it was full of mockery and triumph. She came towards me and again took my hand then held it to her face. When she spoke, her voice was hard and full of impatience.

“Oh, Edward, why can you not admit you still have feelings for me? I know that you do.”

I lurched backwards, suddenly desperate to put some distance between us. “Do not speak so! You are to marry another man…my brother, for God’s sake!”

“Then it is true!” Her laughter rang in my ears. “You still love me, Edward. Why will you not say it?”

~ Exile ~ End Part 9 ~

© 2016 by R.Q. Bell and Imaginality Press; All rights reserved.

Ξ From the Journals of Edward Rochester – 1809-1810 Ξ

 ~ “You still love me, Edward. Why will you not say it?” ~

I shook my head. “Be silent, Catherine. Speak no more…it was never meant to be.”

I retreated to the door, but she came closer, eager to press her point. Her eyes glowed with excitement.

“Oh, but it can be, Edward, if you do not leave England. I will be mistress of Thornfield, yes, but I am also mistress of my own heart, and I tell you truly. It has never belonged to your brother.”

It shocked and thrilled me to hear such a declaration. My brother’s bride-to-be, standing before me, confessing it was not him whom she wanted—but me.

“How can you say such things?” I whispered. “You would marry a man knowing you cared nothing for him, and never could? It is despicable.”

“Whatever do love and marriage have to do with one another, Edward? You are so naïve! My marriage to your brother will please my father, and it will please me for I shall get what I want.”

“The Thornfield estate,” I said quietly.

“I have loved it since I was a little girl! And though I shall not be the wife of a baronet, who knows what may happen? My father’s father was raised up to the rank. Enough money and the proper influence, why not your brother?”

“All our plans, our schemes were nothing but lies, every one of them?”

“No, Edward,” her voice softened again. “Not entirely. I do care for you, truly I do.”

“And yet knowing that you would marry my brother.”

“Your brother will have what I want.”

“You cannot want me very much, then.”

“Oh, but I shall have you nevertheless, shan’t I?”

“How can you say so? You will be another man’s wife.”

“I have no illusions that Rowland will be faithful to me. Why should I pretend to be faithful to him? Shall I remain at home, pining away while he’s off to London having his fun? Certainly not! Do not look so shocked, Edward. Of course I shall do my duty: one or two offspring, and I am done. But I’ll no longer share his bed, nor he mine. We shall take up with those who are more pleasing to us, that is all. It will be the usual marriage of convenience. His fortune, my name.”

I stood with my back to the library door, poised to leave as she closed the last distance between us and took my hand again, the fire of defiance in her beautiful eyes.

“Catherine, why are you doing this?”

“Why, Edward?” Softly, she pressed her lips in my hand, then placed it on her cheek. At her feverish touch, all the jealousy in my heart against Rowland rose up before me like a viper, and I despised him for everything he had, for everything he would take from me. I seized her and pulled her to me, then kissed her desperately, wanting to shout my triumph to the world.

When our lips parted, she whispered, “It is you I have loved, Edward…only you. Kiss me again.”

She tried to pull me closer, but I pushed her away.

“No!”

I turned to the door. The hatred I felt for Rowland was stronger than ever. But a woman who could play us one against the other? How could I ever have thought that I loved her?

“This can never be.”

“You do love me, Edward!” Her voice rose in desperation, yet still she had the self-command for one last attempt. She lifted her chin. “You may not have spoken the words, but your actions have said it!”

“Love does not behave in such a manner. You will excuse me, for I have a duty to our guests.”

“Don’t go, Edward, please. I do not wish it!”

“And yet I shall. You have made your choice, Catherine Fairfax. I leave you to it.”

I yanked open the door. As I strode away, I heard her hard, yet frantic voice cry out, “Edward Rochester, one day your heart, too, will be divided between that which is right—and that which you love!

~ Exile ~ End Part 10 ~

© 2016 by R.Q. Bell and Imaginality Press; All rights reserved.