My Plain Jane (The Lady Janies #2)(68)

Jane frowned. “You don’t know that.”

“He’s deceitful.”

“We can’t be sure.”

“Fortune-teller. Bloody man. Screams from behind the door.” Helen ticked these off on her fingers.

“Okay, maybe he has, on occasion, not been fully forthcoming with the truth. . . .” Jane had to admit the ghost had a point.

When she went to approach Mr. Rochester about her wages, she found him in the drawing room, speaking in hushed tones, with Blanche Ingram. Jane felt a pang in her chest.

“Does that servant want you?” Miss Ingram said.

Mr. Rochester glanced up and when he saw it was Jane he excused himself immediately, leaving Miss Ingram frowning behind him.

“What is it, Jane?”

“I have to leave.”

“What?” He didn’t bother hiding the disappointment in his voice. “Do not tell me that whole business with the Eshtons has changed your mind about staying here.”

“No. I have a sick aunt. She has asked to see me.” Jane pulled the letter out of her pocket and handed it to him.

He took it and glanced it over and handed it back. “This is the aunt that cast you off and sent you to Lowood?”

“Yes. I will not deny a dying woman her request. I should only be gone a week or so.”

“A whole week or so?” He sighed and let his head drop. “If you must, you must.”

“One more thing,” Jane said, feeling incredibly awkward. “I have no money. You haven’t paid me.”

“I haven’t paid you? But isn’t that one of the things my staff says about me, that I pay in a timely fashion?” He smiled and her heart went boom. “How much do I owe you?”

She lowered her voice. “Fifteen pounds.”

He pulled out his wallet and dug through its contents. “Here’s fifty.”

“I can’t take fifty!”

He rolled his eyes and then looked through his wallet. “Then I only have ten.”

“That will do, sir. But you still owe me five,” Jane said with a smile.

“Then promise me, Jane, you will not spend one more minute than you have to with your awful aunt.” He took her hand, and Jane saw Blanche Ingram look away. “Promise me you’ll come back for your five pounds.”

“I promise,” Jane said in a breathless whisper.

“He didn’t have five more pounds?” Helen said incredulously. They were in the carriage making the trip to Aunt Reed’s, and Helen could not get over the fact that he hadn’t paid her all of her wages.

“I’m sure he does, just not on him at the time.”

“You know what’s better than five more pounds? Five thousand more pounds.”

The carriage bumped and jostled along the road, and in the few hours it took to get to Aunt Reed’s, Helen wondered about Mr. Rochester’s shortchanging of her wages no fewer than seven times.

At her aunt’s house, Bessie met Jane at the door. “I’m so glad you are come, Miss Eyre. My, how you have grown into an elegant lady! Not quite a beauty, but never mind that. You have come just in time. She’s already died once, just before she sent for you. I fear the next time, her death will be permanent.”

She ushered Jane immediately to the bedchamber, where her aunt’s frail figure barely formed a lump in the mattress. A tall translucent man stood beside her, watching her. It was the ghost of Jane’s uncle.

Helen ducked behind Jane.

“Who’s that?” came a gravelly voice from the bed.

“It’s Jane Eyre,” Jane said. “You sent for me, Aunt Reed.”

“Jane Eyre. I hated that willful ungrateful child.”

Helen snorted indignantly and stepped forward.

The ghost of Uncle Reed shook his head and spoke to the lump under the sheets. “That is not what we discussed, my dear.”

Aunt Reed turned away from him. Oh, Jane realized. She can see him now. Her short bout with death had turned her into a seer. This should be interesting.

“Aunt, I am Jane Eyre. You sent for me.”

Aunt Reed eyed her up and down. “You are Jane Eyre. And I can see you’ve brought one of your heathen friends.”

Helen looked right and left. “Is she talking about me?” She rolled up the ghostly sleeve of her ghostly dress. “Are you talking about me?”

“Quiet, dear,” Jane said. “Aunt Reed, how can I be of service?”

She coughed and wheezed. “I am supposed to confess and make amends before I die.”

“What do you wish to confess?”

Aunt Reed stubbornly pressed her lips together, and Uncle Reed poked her under her ribs. She flinched.

“I promised your uncle I would take care of you. And love you. I didn’t.”

“I know. I already knew that, Aunt.”

“And . . .” Uncle Reed prompted.

“And . . .” She said the next bit as if it were one word. One four-letter word. “Ibelieveyouaboutseeingghosts.”

She winced, as if it were physically painful to admit such a thing.

“Thank you, Aunt.” Jane made a move to leave, but her ghost uncle cleared his throat.

“One more thing,” her aunt said. She gestured to her desk, on top of which was a letter. “Three years ago, I received a message from an uncle you never knew existed. He had asked for your whereabouts. He wanted you to live with him. Wanted you to inherit his fortune. I wrote back to him and told him you were dead.”