My Plain Jane (The Lady Janies #2)(58)

“I know.”

“Why does Mr. Rochester act like the things that should matter don’t really matter at all, and the things that don’t matter . . .” Jane couldn’t even finish her sentence.

“I know,” Helen said.

Jane’s eyes stung, tears pricking the corners. “I’m so confused. And I’m scared.”

Helen stood and held her hand out. “Come, friend. Let’s get to bed and lock the door.”

But then Mr. Rochester stormed in. “Jane. Would you accompany me on a walk?”

“No,” Helen said.

“Yes, sir,” Jane said.

Helen sighed loudly. “I’m going to bed.”

Jane followed Mr. Rochester down the stairs and out to the garden. The sun was just starting to light the roses.

“Jane, I knew you would do me good, the moment I met you.”

This was perhaps the third or fourth time he’d said those exact words to her. “You mean the moment I sprained your ankle?”

“You bewitched my horse. And not only my horse.”

Jane looked at the ground.

“You have passed a strange night, here. Were you frightened when I left?”

“Yes, sir. What happened?”

“Sit, please.” He motioned to a bench.

Jane obeyed.

“I cannot give you the details of what transpired this evening. It’s a private family matter. But I can say that I made a mistake many years ago that I am still paying for. And for the longest time, I have been mired in hopelessness and despair. Until someone entered my life. Someone fresh and healthy, without soil or taint. Should I risk the judgment of others to get her?”

Could he be speaking of her? And the judgment over the discrepancy in their stations?

Jane was about to say, yes, risk the judgment, but then Colonel Dent appeared. Mr. Rochester shot to his feet.

“So, yes, I am very satisfied with Adele’s educational needs. That will be all, Miss Eyre. Good morning, Colonel Dent. Mr. Mason has already risen and departed our company, but there are still many here to entertain you. Come, let’s go to the stables.”

And Jane was left sitting there, her heart in her throat. But she wasn’t alone for long.

“Jane!” Charlotte appeared at the archway to the garden. She rushed to her side and took her hand. “We’ve been so worried.”

Mr. Blackwood had followed her. He bowed his head.

“I’m fine,” Jane said. “Why were you looking for me?”

“Why, because there was that awful scream in the middle of the night, and you were nowhere to be found. Didn’t you hear it?”

“Yes. But I was fine. Mr. Mason had an accident, and I was attending to him while Rochester—Mr. Rochester—fetched a doctor.”

“What kind of accident?” Mr. Blackwood said.

Jane pressed her lips together. Mr. Rochester had said it was a family matter. She would protect his privacy.

Mr. Blackwood cleared his throat. “I don’t believe you understand the nature of what’s going on here.”

“I understand enough,” Jane insisted. “And what I don’t understand, I trust Mr. Rochester’s intentions.”

“But why?” Mr. Blackwood said. “You hardly know him.”

“I know him better than you do.” The words were louder than Jane had intended.

Charlotte put her hand on Jane’s shoulder. “Jane, dear, please don’t be upset. We are only thinking of you. There is something strange going on here, and if we can, we want to help. Can you tell us anything about what happened?”

Charlotte’s expression was so sincere, so understanding. She knew Jane’s heart and she hadn’t judged her for it. Jane sighed.

“Someone injured Mr. Mason,” Jane said, choosing her words carefully. “He bled profusely.”

Mr. Blackwood clenched his fists. “Rochester,” he grunted.

“He had nothing to do with it,” Jane said. “He had me tend Mr. Mason’s wounds while he went for help. Mr. Mason left with the doctor not very long ago.”

“Mr. Rochester is not who you think,” Mr. Blackwood said. “His intentions are neither noble nor honest.”

Jane stood. “You do not know him,” she said again.

“Nor do you, Miss Eyre.”

Charlotte raised her hand to Mr. Blackwood. “Please, Mr. Blackwood.” She turned to Jane and seemed to search for the right words. It was a long moment of silence. Finally, she blurted, “Jane, you’re in danger, friend.”

Jane’s brow rumpled. “What do you mean?”

“Mr. Rochester might be a nefarious villain,” Charlotte exclaimed.

“She’s right,” Mr. Blackwood said. “We still have to gather proof, but in the meantime, it would be safest if you left Thornfield Hall.”

“Tell me why you say this?”

“I am not prepared to give you the details,” Mr. Blackwood said.

Jane closed her eyes and shook her head. “What is it with men unable to give details? I am at home here. I have found my place and nothing you can say would entreat me to leave.”

“You wish Jane to leave?” The gruff voice came from the archway of the garden. Mr. Rochester had returned quite unexpectedly.