Jane: A Jane Eyre Retelling Page 4

  There, far better lit than what I’d seen on the street under the moon, was the man from the motorcycle. He’d stripped off his shirt, showing some shallow scratches crossing over the dark bruises already starting to come out.

  But, more noticeable than the bruises and scrapes was the hard, corded muscles that squared him off. I couldn’t help but think of the initial impression I’d had when I saw him on the road—of an old school boxer, risen through the ranks of fighters with determination, power, and a hard head. The squareness of his upper body matched that of his features, a bit blunt, nothing attractive or lean lined about him anywhere.

  I was thinking I should call Adelia from the room as his gaze rose, meeting mine over the head of the doctor, a sharp quick smile twisting his lips in a cruel mockery of a smile.

  “Ah, the nanny.” He straightened up, waving me in as I would have escaped to my room. “You might as well come in and fetch your ward. Adelia finds all this blood and gore fascinating and I’m not sure that we need to add sadistic to her already long list of six-year-old flaws.”

  I’d let my eyes skitter away, trying not to gather anymore of his attention to my person, but with this tirade of mockery—aimed as much at me as at Adelia—I knew he was a man who didn’t bother with the niceties of society. That he was above that…or perhaps beneath it.

  I forced my gaze back to his face and found it lacking any particular warmth. And yet, I was transfixed, stuck gazing at a man who barely noticed I was in the room and wanted nothing more from me than to take his ward and leave.

  “Are you enjoying yourself Miss Nanny.” The twisted smile somehow made it clear that anything was fine with him. That he was used to the attention of people, probably women especially. Which, struck me as odd.

  As someone who had never been pretty, I envied it that men didn’t have to be beautiful to be attractive. I was, myself, small with no curves to speak of, and a face remarked upon as plain by more than one adult as I grew up. I had dreamed, as a child that I would grow into a great beauty, to be the swan among the ducklings. But, what girl hasn’t?

  “Adelia.” I called the girl, her name finally pulling her attention away from the medical supplies. “Let’s get ready for dinner.”

  She babbled on, her little Spanish squeaking away. I wondered how much Mr. Thorneton understood as I tried to gather her and the pictures she’d brought down to show him.

  The answer was quickly resolved as he responded in her own language without giving her the attention she wanted.

  Adelia answered sweetly, knowing exactly where her spoils came from, and strut out the door, like a dismissed mistress—a bit righteous and coy.

  I bent to gather everything she’d left behind, trying to escape the hard stare that followed me while listening to the doctor lecture Mr. Thorneton.

  “Don’t think you’ll be hitting the gym while you’re here. Soak and stretch. And,” he went on, “no motorcycle. I hope you have a car on hand if you expect to drive yourself somewhere. Put your hands up.”

  I watched as the doctor wrapped a tight gauze around Mr. Thorneton’s midsection.

  A shudder of expectation I couldn’t explain rushed through me as his lips twisted up, the pain his friend was causing him, rippling across the distance between us and hooking me around my gut.

  “Well, Nanny. Are you planning to stay and care for me as well? Shall I dismiss Marcus and allow you to check the rest of me. Perhaps, you’d like to get a closer look, be more hands on?”

  Heat rush over me, as much by his look as from his words.

  As I backed out of the room, unable to look away, I worried how long Mr. Thorneton would be at the house and how long I’d be dodging those hot gazes meant to embarrass and put me in my place.

  But, there was one thing a man like that couldn’t possibly understand.

  There was no need to challenge a girl like me, to suffer to put us lower than we seat ourselves. We already know where we live. Life had taught me that lesson long before he came along with his insufferable confidence and appeal.

  And so, as I pulled the door shut behind me, I let the heat rise in me for a completely different reason as I listened to him laugh at my retreat.

  Chapter 7

  I dreamed of him.

  Every night I’d close my eyes, forcing myself to think of anything but the dark shadow who paced on the far side of the courtyard.

  But no matter the thoughts I lay down with, Sleep Time Jane dreamt of Mr. Thorneton.

  It was an odd obsession—even for a poor mouse like me.

  He was neither handsome nor kind. And he certainly didn’t give me the attention that would cause me to romanticize him in such a…complimentary way.

  He was cold and hard. A man who I suspected was involved in things any sane girl would run from.

  And yet, he was the light and I was the moth.

  Perhaps if I’d known him better right away—if I didn’t have time to create unrealistic images from a distance—he wouldn’t have held such appeal. But the truth was, he was just as compelling as I feared.

  And I was just as obsessed.

  Chapter 8

  I can’t help but wonder what, if I’d known how things would turn out, I would have done differently.

  I expect the answer would be nothing—but I deeply wished that weren’t true.

  Even so, as evening fell that first night of Mr. Thorneton’s arrival, I stayed in my room, safely locked away. I’d never known a worry so intangible.

  In my life before, my worries were many but basic: would I have enough to eat, would I have a place to sleep, could I finish school, was it safe to close my eyes.

  Survival.

  But, survival took on a different meaning in Tower House once Mr. Thorneton arrived.

  That evening, as night fell, streaming in shadows across the manicured lawn, the house lulled into an odd sense of quiet in comparison to the excitement of our new occupant joining us in such a violent fashion.

  I stayed, like the smart girl I was, in my room, sitting in the window seat looking out over the lake. Even with the new distraction to focus on, I watched the little house. It was both my constant and my obsession. Each evening, I ended my day gazing down the sea of green and wondering if my imagination would awake again to flash little pixie lights and highland heroes.

  After another evening of reading some of my favorite classic stories but no fairy heroes out in the woods, I crawled into bed, hoping things would return to their customary pace.

  But, the next morning I awoke with a feeling akin to anticipation. I wondered if this is what a normal kid felt like on Christmas or her birthday.

  This, dear reader, is where I need you to understand that I didn’t think of Mr. Thorneton as my gift.

  No. That would be not only silly, but stupid. A man like that was closer to a lion at rest than a man. You may think, drinking from the watering hole he presided over, that he was there to protect you. To watch out for your safety. But I knew better. I’d learned that men like that didn’t exist. That even the safely tamed ones you let in like a housecat needed to be treated with care.

  Even a lion seemed too real—too regal. This man wasn’t the handsome king. He was something more powerful. More base and authentic.

  And certainly, if he were a gift, he was not mine.

  But his being here—that was the gift. The novelty of it. The excitement of a new person who changed the routine. Someone who appeared in every way to invite speculation, danger, and interest.

  I expected our days to become like a movie, with excitement around the corner at every turn.

  And so, you can imagine my disappointment when nothing changed.

  Well, nothing that impacted myself or Adelia.

  Our days wore on, the only difference was we were removed from the comfortable big room downstairs since it was attached to Mr. Thorneton's office by glass French doors.

  Each day a collection of cars arrived in the morning. The slick looking men w
ho came in them were escorted to Mr. Thorneton’s office by his assistant, Micha. The men met behind closed doors for most of the day, sometimes longer. They took their meals in the formal dining room off the great room, coming and going like ghosts.

  Adelia had made it a point to be at the banister each morning to watch them as they strode through the wide front door just early enough to be morning, a little running commentary in her hushed voice.

  It was the most subdued I’d seen her. She seemed to instinctively know what I was only guessing. That these were powerful men and that Mr. Thorneton was someone they respected, making him both more dangerous and more powerful than I would have even guessed upon meeting him.

  Each man seemed to have a rough sort of polish, the type that said they were wealthy and successful, but that that wealth and success were new and not of the old money I often worked for. And, it was clear from the way they carried themselves that they weren’t men to be crossed.

  There was a line from a movie I saw once that said what I could only imagine: That these were men who could do their own dirty work, but no longer had to.

  This of course was belied by their cars.

  They pulled up in cars with sleek lines and names I’d never seen outside Super Bowl commercials. Some had drivers. The drivers seldom came in, but when they did, Adelia’s voice grew even more hushed as she pointed to them and called them The Strong Men.

  It seemed an odd sort of thing.

  That we, a small estate sitting quietly on the lake, would be overrun with men of this sort. Without even coming into our domain of the upstairs world, they’d taken over our world, adding a distraction that Adelia didn’t need with her already flittery mind.

  At the end of each day, she’d ask if I thought Mr. Thorne would call for us. She yearned for his attention in a way that I tried not to recognize in myself.

  But, each night, we had dinner with Mrs. Fairfax in the kitchen just as always. The three of us carefully avoiding the subject of the visitors.

  The first dinner after Mr. Thorneton’s return, Adelia had asked about the men and why we had to stay above stairs, wondering in her broken English if the men were a secret.

  Mrs. Fairfax snapped at her, surprising us both. She slapped her hand on the table and spit out, “Mr. Thorneton’s affairs are none of yours. You’re a guest here and you’ll politely refrain from nosing into things that are none of your business.”

  Adelia’s eyes grew as round as her little O-shaped mouth.

  When she didn’t reply to the housekeepers outburst, Mrs. Fairfax turned to me and said, “Translate so she understands.”

  I was fairly sure Adelia had understood enough, but I—more softly—repeated the message, taking it into my own hearts as well, a strong reminder that I was here as a servant to a guest.

  Understanding your rung on the ladder was vital to survival. Adelia and I had just been put very solidly in our places. I hoped for both our sakes that she took the lesson to heart as much as I did.

  It took several evenings for dinner to become an easy affair again, but Adelia was careful to not bring up Mr. Thorneton within Mrs. Fairfax’s hearing.

  While Adelia spied on the guests each morning, my own observations were quieter and later at night.

  I’d found, while sitting in my little window seat, that Mr. Thorneton’s rooms were on the ground floor in the wing across from mine. His lights would flicker on late in the evening after he’d sent his associates on their way. And, on certain evenings, he’d step out into the garden nestled in the U of the house to smoke a cigar. Sometimes he paced, long urgent strides up and down the cobble stone, before stubbing his smoke out and heading back into the house.

  There was nothing threatening about his presence and yet his nightly prowls seemed to reinforce my instinct that a certain danger had come to Tower House that could not be ignored. One that set Adelia and I inside its sphere but outside its understanding.

  A smart girl, like we’ve established I am, would wonder if he was protector or keeper. If danger turned to reality, would he be the shield between us or the magnet pulling it our way.

  After two weeks of this odd co-existence, Dr. Marcus came to the house again. For the first time, the visitor didn’t make the house feel wary. When he left, Mr. Thorneton followed him out the gate, his motorcycle a shrinking dot down the lane.

  Adelia sat on the staircase, wondering if her Mr. Thorne had left without saying good-bye. That, after being there all this time, his work was done, the doctor had cleared him, and he’d left with as little warning as he’d arrived.

  I had a hard time reassuring her.

  As I ran my hand over her hair, I felt my first real twinge of sympathy for the girl.

  She may have the run of a mansion, fine clothes and toys, a nanny and nurse to care for her, but she still lived in a world that could be ripped from her at any point. She still didn’t have the comfort of owning her place in this world. And she had nothing she could point to as family.

  Maybe I was wrong, but the in-passing affection Mr. Thorneton showed her didn’t seem to be the staying kind.

  Of course, a man like that didn’t seem to be the staying kind in any regard.

  Chapter 9

  That evening, I sat in my window seat, book in hand and not questioning if the lights would flicker on in the far wing…at least not that I would admit to myself. The low glimmer of light poured toward the woods from Mrs. Fairfax’s little apartment along the outside of the house. It created deep shadows along the hedges, as if something could be hiding there—watching.

  It was past her time for bed, but perhaps she didn’t know if Mr. Thorneton would return either and was afraid to leave her post.

  I’d found that the house ran much like that of the costume dramas Adelia’s nurse had gotten us all hooked on. I often expected a butler to be standing just inside the front door waiting to open it for the daily visitors. But, Mr. Thorneton’s assistant Micha saw to that himself, escorting each man into the offices and back out at the end of the day.

  It was with a sad amount of relief I went to bed as the lights on the far side of the garden flickered on.

  So, Mr. Thorneton had returned.

  Adelia’s fear could be postponed at least one day more.

  But, over the next few weeks, Mr. Thorneton rode off each morning—more often in the car that had been brought for him by Micha than his bike.

  His dress on these days was less like the action star of that first night and more of a business man high enough in his career to wear whatever he wanted.

  I’ll admit, I didn’t mind Adelia’s morning treks to the banister as it gave me my own excuse. And, watching Mr. Thorneton tug on the cuff of his expensively cut sports coat was more of a distraction than I wanted to admit.

  His suit was always perfect—perfectly fitted, perfectly pressed, perfectly refined.

  But, even an expensive tailor couldn’t smooth out all his edges. With his rough-hewn look, he made the suit look tough…hot. Not like some weak-ass pansy white collar guy pushing paper and punching numbers for a living.

  If someone handed me a dress of the same quality, I’d look like a child playing in her mother’s wardrobe.

  Mr. Thorneton looked like a ruffian, but a successful one. The kind rich women flocked to and called it slumming as they got exactly what they were looking for.

  Today, he wore a charcoal jacket over a super-fine black button down that made him look like midnight walking. But, instead of the matching slacks, he was in jeans again.

  I’m not too ashamed to admit my gaze caught on the rear of those jeans, expecting the ass in them to be just as hard-muscled as the rest of the man.

  When the door fell shut behind him, there was such a solemn feeling of ending that Adelia looked like she would weep. There was no reason for us both to feel this way, and yet, when I looked down at Adelia I could sense the panic coming off her in fine, little waves.

  “Don’t start.” I gave her the same s
mile I gave her every morning. “He comes back every night.”

  But, even as I said it, I knew a night would come when he wouldn’t. When he’d move back into the world he circled outside of here. Probably the city—or perhaps off to Europe where I’d gathered from Adelia is where he had known her mother. Mr. Thorneton apparently had houses in Madrid and Rome and who knows where else.

  Both of us had shifted our schedule around our innocent game of spying. Both of us probably telling ourselves stories to match the game.

  I can only assume that Adelia’s had to do with home and family.

  Mine? Mine were not so good.

  I assumed it was a sign of how safe I’d begun to feel in my new life that I might allow a man to become part of my imaginings. I was not a silly girl. I knew no man with his power would look twice at me. But, it was a new feeling—this attraction.

  Before, each home I was in, the idea was to avoid the husband—well, to avoid both the parents. Do the job, get out, go home to my little studio over the pizza place in my neighborhood where the only thing of note was the late hour noise and the horrible stench of the grease trap.

  But, that afternoon Mrs. Fairfax came to my room to tell me Mr. Thorneton would be having dinner with us and we were to join him in the breakfast room.

  My first thought—after wondering that the house had a breakfast room—was that he’d realized he needed to spend some time with Adelia before he left and therefore, tonight would be his farewell. I settled my stomach to the idea that the house would return to its aloof-like existence, hidden away behind the thick gate and thicker woods.

  When I went to fetch Adelia, I thought she’d already gone downstairs, her nurse letting me know that she’d been fidgety since Mrs. Fairfax had given her the news. The older woman, not used to dealing with the girl for more than an hour or so each evening, couldn’t have imagined the hell she was creating for poor Sophia. I’m sure the rest of the afternoon was a hard-fought battle to keep Adelia on track.