Page 14 of Fragile Wicked Things
"Where are you going now?"
"To the house."
"This way," he said, wandering in the opposite direction.
"How can you tell? I can't see a thing in this fog."
"I see everything."
We walked mostly in silence. Every so often, he muttered something about his horse, which had not returned. When we were a short distance from the house, the fog dissipated, clearing the way home. A neigh sounded behind us and, as if in a dream, the horse galloped out from the blackness. Rochester smiled, called out, "There you are, girl," and went to her, whispered in her ear, stroked her glistening coat, then led her towards the stables, disappearing into the darkness.
"Who are you speaking to?" Auntie asked when I entered the main home.
"Mr. Rochester has returned."
"He’ll be up to see Mizzez then. I better tell her he’s back early.”
Auntie ascended the staircase at a slow pace, lifting one foot and then the other to the same step before continuing. Although she wasn't much younger than Catherine, she worked all day to care for them. I followed her upstairs and continued past her as she entered Catherine's room. I could hear Catherine's excitement at the news of Rochester's early return.
Near ten at night, I wasn't in the mood for bed and walked out onto my bedroom balcony. The wind gave me a slight chill, and I buttoned Rochester's jacket around me, lifting the collar to shield my neck. When I looked to the grounds, I found Rochester staring at me just like the creature in my nightmare had done all those years before. A shiver shot through my body. I was grown-up and no longer afraid of make-believe creatures in fairy tales, yet he unnerved me. I returned inside, shut the door, and drew the heavy drape panels together to change into my nightgown. Plain, white and long, it was a standard Lowood issue.
Muffled voices carried from the corridor towards my room, one male. They came from Catherine's room, and I was puzzled over who she spoke to; Rochester remained outside, and Buddy had left hours earlier. I slid from my room and tiptoed to Catherine's, whose door stood ajar. There was Rochester, but how could he have come up the steps so quickly when he was outside my window a moment before? His back to me, he knelt by his grandmother's bed, held her hand and enquired about her health, which prompted her to smile.
"My dear Edward, I'm fine now that Jane has arrived."
"That plain girl? I've had the pleasure of meeting her."
I couldn't see the expression on his face, but I knew he was being facetious. It was wrong to eavesdrop, yet curiosity got the better of me.
"Edward, be pleasant. She's moved in to care for me."
"I see what this is, Catherine. I knew the moment I saw her in the field."
It was strange to hear him call his grandmother by her first name.
"She's here for me."
He started at this and became annoyed. "For you, yes. You persuaded me to get a caregiver, but I assumed it would be a middle-aged, heavyset, hairy beast of a woman. And here I return home to find a plain, young child..."
"She's eighteen, not a child."
"Fine. Plain, young woman. Catherine, I know you. I know how you think." He reached out and touched her cheek, pressing the palm of his hand against her wrinkles as she leaned into it.
"You'll see I'm right, Edward. You need her."
He stood and paced about her bed, his body tense, and waved his hands. "There is no replacement for you."
"My time is ending."
He rushed to her on the other side of the bed, presenting me with a clear view of him, a pained expression on his face, his eyes soft and brows arched. "It doesn't have to be," he whispered, as if to tempt her.
"No, Edward. I didn't when I was young and beautiful. I'm not going to at this age. Look at me. I've grown old." Rochester tilted his head down towards her breast and leaned into her while she cradled him, stroking his hair, fingering a curl. Suddenly, I felt uncomfortable by my voyeurism, my intrusion into this intimate scene.
Rochester shifted his head. His eyes flickered and were upon me, glowering at me for the invasion. I gasped, stepped back into the corridor and its darkness, and headed for my room. Rochester suddenly appeared between myself and my bedroom door. He pressed me up against the door frame, frightening me with his violence and quickness, making me feel like that frightened little girl I used to be who wet the bed, too afraid to walk down the corridor to the bathroom for fear of the creature.
"You were eavesdropping."
"I'm sorry. I wasn't. I was checking up on Mrs. Cousins." The words jumbled out in quick succession. My breaths were deep and fast, and I told myself it was because I was frightened. But I had never had a man stand that close to me, press his body up against mine. I felt the sensation of drowning in him, his presence all around me.
