My Plain Jane (The Lady Janies #2)(51)

“Miss Ingram, are you feeling all right?” Mrs. Fairfax inquired.

“I am quite well,” she said in a curt voice. “Only it is unfortunate I wasted away a quarter of an hour listening to nonsense.”

She stomped away to join the others in the library.

Mrs. Fairfax turned toward Jane. “She certainly seems upset by her future. Now, Jane, be certain not to take this fortune-teller’s words to heart. She is almost certainly full of lies.”

“Do not worry, Mrs. Fairfax. I won’t listen.”

Inside the study there hung a tapestry, separating the door half of the room from the window half. A lone chair sat by the drape.

“Ah, the last of the single ladies of the house. Please do sit,” came a gravelly voice from the other side of the tapestry.

Jane sat, and Helen knelt beside her.

“Are you shaking, girl?” the old woman asked.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not afraid.”

“Are you not worried about my supernatural powers?”

“I don’t believe in them,” Jane said.

“You speak most confidently, for someone who hides such a large secret.”

A breath caught in Jane’s throat.

“There now,” the fortune-teller said. “I see this affects you.”

“I don’t have a secret,” Jane said, though her voice quivered.

“I know you’re an orphan.”

Again, Jane took in a breath.

“Wouldn’t you like to sit closer to the fire?” the fortune-teller asked. “I think at Lowood school, you were starved for heat.”

Okay, this was getting ridiculous. And just a touch frightening.

Helen stood and walked through the curtain. What if the fortune-teller truly had skill in the occult and could see Helen?

But Helen returned almost immediately.

“It’s Mr. Rochester!”

Jane raised her eyebrows in question.

“Yes! It’s him. It’s him! I promise.”

“Did you hear me, girl?” The fortune-teller/Mr. Rochester said. Now that Jane was listening for it, she could definitely hear a marked resemblance to the master’s gruff voice.

“I did. Yes, I do appreciate fire, but I’m sure there are very few who don’t. Except maybe Mr. Rochester, who was nearly burned in his sleep a few nights ago.”

There was throat clearing on the other side of the curtain. “And what about this secret of yours?” Rochester asked. “Is there no one you can confide in?”

“No. Not really,” Jane said, wondering what secret Rochester was referring to. Surely he didn’t know she could see ghosts.

“What do you think of this party of guests here at Thornfield? I think there is one in the party who does occupy your thoughts, isn’t there? Someone you might have feelings for?” Mr. Rochester nudged.

Jane couldn’t deny the fact that it was his face, lately, that had dominated her thoughts.

It was a good thing Mr. Rochester couldn’t see her, or hear her racing heartbeat. “No one’s face, in particular. Although Mrs. Fairfax always looks pleasant.”

“But what of the master of the house? What do you think of him?”

Jane knew better than to mine her own heart for this answer. She thought back to Mrs. Fairfax’s description that first day. “He is a good master. Loyal. Pays his staff in a timely fashion, though he owes me fifteen pounds that I have yet to see. But that’s between you and me.”

Mr. Rochester coughed a few times. “But what of the master’s character?”

“I’ll leave his character description to the woman who’s captured his heart.” She paused for dramatic effect. “Miss Ingram, of course,” Jane continued. “I believe their engagement is as good as settled. So I intend to advertise for a new place of employment.”

The curtain flew to the side, and out stepped Mr. Rochester. “You are not leaving!”

Jane frowned. “Mr. Rochester, I knew it was you.”

“Hah!” he cried. “You are a witch.”

Jane rolled her eyes. “I’ve no intention of going anywhere until necessary. But, sir, pretending to be a fortune-teller to get me to talk?”

Rochester opened his mouth as if to argue, but then shook his head and smiled. “No, you are right, Jane. It is not fair. But how else am I to find out what’s going on in your mind?”

Helen stomped her foot and the end table near her rattled. “Can’t he simply ask you? Converse with you? Acknowledge you in certain company? There are a million things he could’ve done to figure out what was going on!”

“I would do anything to know what you are thinking,” Mr. Rochester said.

Jane blushed. Why would someone like Mr. Rochester care what was inside the head of a lowly servant? She was at a loss for words. What was she to say? The silence dragged on.

Helen knew exactly what to say. “Never in any Jane Austen novel did the love interest pretend to be a fortune-teller,” Helen said. “Why would someone do that? Jane, you must confront him.”

Jane was having a difficult time ignoring her friend. Surely they couldn’t expect any real person to compete with Mr. Darcy.

“Did you know there is another visitor to Thornfield?” she blurted.