He heard voices speak over him in angry tones.

"What on earth were you thinking, Jakinda?"

"I did what I thought prudent, Yoseph."

"Prudent! Prudent! Stupid is more the word!"

"You're over-reacting, Yoseph."

"Do you have any idea how at risk you have put us all? How could you do such a foolish thing? One only needs to look at him to know he is of influence and wealth."

"All the better don't you think?"

"You stupid woman! The town will look for him. They will grind us to dust once they discover what you've done."

"I never took you as one for being afraid of townsfolk."

"I'm not. But I don't underestimate them either. They hate us as much as we hate them, and they will find any excuse to lock us all up. Don't give them a reason."

"Don't you think the girl deserves a chance to decide for herself if she goes with him or not?"

"I don't care what she does. But if she's going to cause trouble then I want her gone."

"You've spoken to her then?"

"Yes, and I don't understand at all what you see in her. She talks like a child. She keeps asking for some Edward person, wondering why he hasn't come for her and asking for her dolls. Is that how she spoke to you last night?"

"No. Not at all. She was very different last night. Older. More knowing. This fellow here is the Edward she's talking of."

"Then for goodness sake, let them find each other."

"Are we sure that is wise?"

"Why not? I don't care. All I want is this dead weight gone. You've caused a great deal of danger this time, Jakinda. I won't forget that."

"I don't care what you do or don't remember. I still want to talk to her before he stirs. Fetch her will you?"

"Fetch her yourself."

"You'll make an old woman rise from her rest?"

"Good God! You are insufferable."

"So are you."

Edward tried to roll over, but felt his limbs heavy and his eyelids sealed shut. In his mind, he tried hard to concentrate, to focus, but tones and voices faded in and out.

Dreams and reality intermingled, and he found himself slipping into a spinning kind of delirium. He smelled wet grass, oiled canvas, and candlewax.

Where was Jane? How could he get to her? He thought he heard her, but he couldn't quite fasten on her voice. Instead he heard another voice.

"Do you want to go with him?"

Silence.

"You told me last night you wanted to escape. Do you still?"

Silence still.

"Come now, child. Speak up. Tell me what I ought to do. I can't help you if you don't talk to me."

Silence.

"Am I to let you go with him or to let you come with us or let you go your own way?"

After a long pause, another voice spoke.

"Why ...is he... so still?"

"He's sleeping."

"Is...he...dead?"

"No. Why would you think so? Can't you see him breathing?"

"No."

"Well, look closer."

"I don't want to look closer."

"Then tell me what you want to do."

"I don't remember what I want to do. I can't remember. I'm confused."

"You were clear as water about it last night when I found you."

"You found me last night?"

"Yes! You don't remember?"

"No."

"You stumbled out of the woods and told me that you needed to hide. That he'd be looking for you."

"Really?"

"Yes, and here he came, asking for you. And didn't I think that I ought to feel him out first before deciding which way to side. And I did and made no sense of him or of you for that matter. Are you in your right mind?"

"Right now?"

"At any time."

"O...I don't know...I suppose sometimes."

"But not now?"

"I don't know how to explain it. Part of me is screaming, screaming in the back of my head. You don't hear it, but I do."

"So is he right about you? That you need care, that he cares for you?"

"He doesn't love me."

"No. I know that. He loves another. But does he look after you?"

"I suppose."

"You aren't sure?"

"No. I'm not."

A pause.

"Who...who is he in love with, Jakinda?"

"Damned if I know."

"You don't know?"

"No, all he mentioned was a name, a woman named Jane. All while he was sleeping, he's been calling her name. You aren't Jane, are you?"

"No. I'm not Jane...I...I am..."

"Don't you know your own name?"

"Yes, but it is behind the screams. It is hard to say."

Edward stirred. Light was coming through the fog of his head. He moved his limbs.

"He's waking. If you want to fly, then I'd do it now."

"I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do."

Silence. Nothing but the sound of heavy rain.

Edward opened his eyes to stare right into Bertha's blank face. He slowly sat up, his head swimming.

"Bertha," he said quietly.

"Is that my name?" she whispered.

He sighed, trying hard to focus.

"Yes, Bertha," he shook his head, rubbing his eyes. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Bertha said passively.

"You ran away," he said cautiously.

"Yes, I suppose I did. Are you angry?"

"I'm not pleased about it."

"Well, I'm sorry."

He turned to look for Jakinda, wanting to register what had happened.

"Where is that woman?" he asked, seeing Jakinda nowhere in the tent.

"Jakinda?"

"Yes, where is she?"

"I don't know. She was just here."

Rubbing his eyes, taking deep breaths, Edward struggled with how to navigate the next moments; how could he get Bertha to come back with him, without struggle, without scandal, without anyone's knowledge. How exactly was he to remedy this?

He had thought out as far as finding her. He had not thought about how he would bring her back.

"Well, then Bertha," he said quietly. "What are you going to do? Are you coming home with me? Or will you be going away?"

Bertha flinched, her face contorting as if some inward part of her had twisted and torn within her.

"I..." she rubbed her forehead with some distress. "I don't know. I can't remember. I woke up here in this place. I can't remember how I got here. My head hurts. It hurts!"

"I am sorry to hear that."

"It hurts, and I don't know. And I don't trust you."

"You don't?"

"Not a whit."

He looked down at the grass.

"That pains me to hear it. Will you be taking up with gipsies then? Is this what you want?" he gestured to the dripping tent with its menagerie of articles.

Bertha chewed her lip till blood came on her teeth.

"No, no, I don't think I do."

"Well, then you ought to come home with me. You can consider it further there. If you decide you want to go somewhere, then decide it at home where you can be dry and warm and make a good decision."

Bertha looked at him with wary eyes.

"Every time I look at you, my head throbs," she said. "Why is that?"

"I am sure that I do not know," he replied, trying to stand. He felt more steady than he had anticipated. He tried a step or two. He did not fall.

Looking back at Bertha, he noticed for the first time, that she was dressed in large layers of clothing, a dotted skirt, a blouse and long red cloak, a wide black bonnet.

"How did you come to have such clothes?" he asked.

Bertha looked down.

"Jakinda gave them to me. They were hers. I suppose I was cold. You only gave me that white thing to wear. I do remember now. I was cold."

Edward winced.

"Well, come along then if you please. The rain will not stop for us," he held out his hand, hoping that she would respond well.

He braced himself for a violent tumult. None came.

"Alright," she stood up, but did not take his hand. For a moment, he stood shocked at her agreement. He had expected screams, biting, clawing, resistance.

Yet, there she was, ready to leave with him.

He nodded, walking out into the rain, looking about for Mesrour. His horse miraculously stood nearby, saddled and ready. Not another soul lingered nearby. In fact, not a sound but the rain could be heard. It all was oddly without difficulty. Somehow, he had not anticipated all of this to go so well, to go his way. Surely something would happen to destroy the moment of success.

Bertha followed, a wary expression on her dirty face, her hair hanging in clumps under her bonnet.

"Come along," Edward said softly.

With a slow intake of breath, Bertha paused, looking at Mesrour with wide eyes.

"Will you come without a fuss?" Edward asked, rain running down the back of his neck.

Her eyes remained fixed on the horse, dread falling over her face.

"Must I?" she whispered, with fear.

"Yes, we must, or we walk back in this torrent."

Trembling, she shut her eyes and held out her hand like a child. He easily lifted her into the saddle, amazed at his luck at getting her this far. For a moment, he recoiled from climbing up onto the saddle with her. He did not want to be near her, yet they had to return with all haste. He bit his cheek as he climbed up behind her.

She shook all the way back to Thornfield, weeping in a confused way, unable to open her eyes or do anything but sit rigidly on Mesrour's back. All the while, his mind spun with what to do once they got to Thornfield. What could he do to get her back upstairs without the truth coming out? The closer they got to Thornfield, the more he pictured Jane, her slim shoulders drooping in grief, her face frozen with shock, her warmth turning to cold when she learned the truth.

He'd lose her. She'd disappear from his life as a sweet brief puff of incense, a moment of goodness gone. He couldn't let that happen. How could he manage this?

He tried to think. What could he do?

When they reached the outskirts of the grounds, Edward leapt down off of the horse, leaving Bertha paralyzed in place. Quietly, slowly, he led Mesrour along the shadiest paths to the stables, avoiding windows, keeping hidden in shrubs and trees and brush. More too, for good measure, he circled round the part of the hall where he knew all his guests would not be.

Rain would have definitely kept them all in the front of the house, in the parlour, the drawing room, the billiard room, the library. They would not be anywhere near the kitchens or the gardens.

And he was right. Not a soul spotted them. The rain came in thick sheets, almost hiding them in plain sight. Bertha remained frozen atop the horse, and remained unspeaking but weeping, even when Edward pulled her down off of Mesrour. He felt his stomach twist as he smelled her sweat as she came down; he grasped her hand tightly, pulling her behind the stable into the dove cote. On his way out the stable door, he grabbed a rope hanging on a nail.

"Bertha," he said firmly. "You must stay here while I get Grace for you."

"Stay here? Why?"

"You must."

"But why?"

"I don't have time to explain. You must."

"What if I don't?"

He sighed.

"I don't want to do this, Bertha."

She saw the rope in his hands. Anger and fear flooded her face.

"You're ashamed of me. You don't care! I'm just an animal that you keep and can't bear to have anyone else see," she spat, pulling back sharply. "If I'm such an animal, I could tear your eyes out. I could!"

He reached for her, trying to be firm but gentle.

Bertha jolted in anger.

"Who is she? Who is this Jane?"

He froze in horror. What had happened? How did she know about the governess? More too, how did Bertha know Jane's name?

Panic overcame good sense. He rushed to her, quickly looping rope around her wrists and tying her to a nearby pillar. Bertha continued to mutter angrily, a desolate moan of betrayal coming from her throat.

"Who is she? Who? ...Oh...I don't feel well," Bertha clutched her head. "It is so loud!"

"Quiet now," he whispered harshly.

"But I don't feel well."

"Shh...Please. I will fetch Grace."

"I feel hot! I can't stand."

"Dear heaven!" he cried in frustration. He came near and took off the outer cloak and her bonnet, removing the scarf from around her neck, rolling them into a ball under his arm. Then, securing her bonds, he ran for the house.

Taking hidden ways through back passages, he managed to avoid being spotted by anyone. Nearly all the servants were busy in the kitchen preparing for the evening meal, so he quickly fled to the third floor to find Grace.

"She's here," he said breathing heavily.

"Where?" Grace jumped up.

"The dove cote. You must go and fetch her."

"You left her by herself?"

"She has been... secured. I shall create a distraction now downstairs so that no one will see you both as you take her upstairs."

"How shall you do that?"

He sighed, suddenly exhausted. Then in a moment of desperation, he looked down at the cloak and bonnet in his hand.

"Ah! That is it! I shall have a gipsy to the house."

"You'll what?"

"Nevermind, Grace. Don't trouble yourself. Just give me a moment or two to get to the kitchen door. Then you may collect Miss Mason."

Grace went down the back stairs, while he wrapped himself in the cloak and put the bonnet on his head. He slipped out a side door to the kitchen garden, gathering stringy grey moss and mud. He tucked the grey moss under the bonnet giving the rough effect of an aged grizzled head of hair. He smudged his face with earth, painting his lips with it, wrapping the scarf and a kerchief under his chin to hide his features. Then to be certain of himself, he found an empty window pane and tried to examine his reflection.

Surprisingly, his disguise was not as crude as he imagined. In the right light, it could be believable. In the right setting, with the right voice and posture. Perhaps this could be enough of a distraction. It felt foolish, yet he knew that appearing at the kitchen door merely as himself would not create enough distraction. No: he needed to completely unsettle the staff and the household. He had no more time to think. If it failed, he could simply call it an eccentricity, a game, a lark.

He knocked loudly at the kitchen door.

Maria answered.

"What is it?" she said brusquely.

"I've come to tell fortunes," he said, imitating Jakinda in his tone and voice, bent over double to hide his frame.

"We've no use for gipsies here," Maria said.

"I must insist," Edward persisted. "I've come all this way, and I shall install myself here until your master lets me come in to do as I am bound."

"My master isn't at home."

"All the better. Then I shall wait upon his guests. I mean to tell fortunes to the quality."

"I said before. We don't need your kind here. Be off with you."

Maria tried to shut the door, but Edward quickly pushed his way inside, hobbling over to a chair near the fire, settling down in great display, much to Maria's distress and the kitchen's distraction.

"What's going on?" Mrs Fairfax asked.

"Maria, who's that?" asked John.

"I tried to stop her, Ma'am," Maria wrung her hands. "She pushed her way in."

"The cheek!" Mrs Fairfax threw down the dish towel from her hands. "Now, see here, you vagabond. You're not welcome here. Take yourself off. We don't want fortunes told here. And you won't get a scrap of food from us either. No. Nor a penny-farthing."

"Who's that?" said Sam, a footman.

"Some gipsy," muttered John.

"Won't she leave?" asked Sam.

"I won't leave, young one," Edward crooned. "Not till I have told fortunes to the quality." He tried to think how long Grace would need to get Bertha upstairs.

"They don't want your fortunes," Mrs Fairfax said harshly.

"But they were talking of the gipsy camp just this morning," Sam began.

"Do shut up, Sam!" said John.

"Their vanity demands my services. Each one," Edward asserted, crouching deeper into the chair.

"I must insist that you take yourself off," Mrs Fairfax put her hands on her hips.

"And I must insist that I shall not," Edward smiled.

"What should we do Ma'am? Mr Edward isn't home," Maria shifted back and forth nervously.

"I promise I shall be on my way with not a bit of trouble once I have told fortunes to the quality," Edward again demanded.

"Do we put it to them?" John asked Mrs Fairfax.

"No, we just put her out on the lawn and send her on her way," Mrs Fairfax said, irritably.

"If you do that, kind lady," Edward said with a lilt. "I shall find my way round the grounds, screaming curses to the skies, until your guests bring me in themselves. I will not take myself off. I will not! I will not! I can curse even now!"

"We have to avoid a scene, Mrs F," Maria said softly. "Mr Edward wouldn't want anything to disturb the party."

"No, indeed," Mrs Fairfax agreed, uncertainty and frustration clouding her face. "Why did he have to leave now, today?"

"Send your young man in," Edward suggested, pointing to Sam. "Send him to the Colonel. Or to your magistrate. Tell them I am here. Let them decide it. Let them decide their fate."

Every one in the kitchen stopped their bustling, shocked at the gipsy's apparent supernatural knowledge of the guests.

Mrs Fairfax went pale.

"Go Sam. Speak to Mr Eshton. Ask for his suggestion," she said at last.

"Yes, ma'am," Sam went.

"It really would be much easier if you would simply take yourself off and go back to your band," Mrs Fairfax said in a softer tone. She tried a different tack.

"And why is that?" Edward asked, pleased at how long he had managed to distract everyone.

"My master is due home at any moment. He will not be pleased to find that a vagabond gipsy has presumed to take charge of his household. Mr Rochester is not a cruel man, but he is only kind when kindness deserts."

"You mean he doesn't condescend to hoi polloi?" Edward laughed. "Are you so high and mighty too...Alice?"

Mrs Fairfax trembled, yet stood her ground.

"I'm not sure what you are. Be it witch or trickster. But Mr Rochester will not hear of it once he returns home. He will have you not just put out, mind. He will turn you over to the authorities."

"You'd best heed her," John cautioned. "Mrs F never tells a lie."

"You think I don't know that?" Edward bent further into shadow. "You think I don't understand and see all that is before me? I see all. I know it. And I am bound to be here tonight."

"Bound?" Maria questioned.

"Ah! You're curious! Well, that's interesting, but my mission is not for you tonight. I must see the gentry. That is my bond."

"I don't know what to do, Mrs F" John shrugged. "We could just wait till Mr Edward returns. He can sort it."

Sam returned.

"They want to see her. They are quite excited!" he said quickly.

"You see!" Edward nodded. "Fate has settled it."

"They will have you come to them now if you will follow me," Sam glanced round from Mrs Fairfax to John to Maria.

Mrs Fairfax threw up her hands in frustration: "I wash my hands of it!" she said. "Let her go in."

"No!" Edward said suddenly, to the surprise of all. All while he had been arguing with the servants, he had also been thinking how his charade could serve a new purpose. He had been there certainly long enough for Grace to have installed her patient safely away. No outbursts or screams had echoed through the halls. All was well again. He felt it. And now, as his play had played itself, he now realized what a position of ironic power he held. He could learn from these people anything he wanted. He could frighten them. He could divine them. He could challenge them.

Yet, there was one mind amongst them all that he most longed to know. There was one person with whom he most desired to speak.

Chance had measured for him an opportunity too tempting. An interview with Jane.

Only a fool would not leap for that open door! Only a fool!

"No," he repeated. "I'll not appear before the vulgar herd all at once. Set me up in a quiet place where I might interview each in private. I mean to divine, not to display. My aim is simplicity, not spectacle. You go tell them that! I'm not an animal for display."

"She's got spirit, I'll admit to that," John muttered.

"What do I do, Mrs F?" Sam asked.

"Go back to them. Relay the message, Sam. I don't know what else to do," Mrs Fairfax sighed.

Sam left then returned saying that they wanted the gipsy put in the library.

"That shall suit me," Edward rose from the chair and hobbled after Sam who led the way.

Shadows filled the library even though a fire burned in the hearth. Edward sat in a chair near the blaze but angled the chair to keep himself in shadow as much as possible.

"Who shall come to me first?" he asked Sam, who seemed a little nervous to be alone in the dark with a witch.

"I shall ask," he said, leaving quickly.

In a moment, the footman had come back saying, "They say a gentleman shall come first."

"No. Tell them I shall not admit any men. Only the ladies. Indeed, only the young single ones may come to my counsel."

Sam gave a guffaw, then left again to tell the communication.

Only a few moments passed before Edward heard a rustle of skirts, a tapping of delicate shoes on the floor approaching.

Blanche Ingram entered the room, blithely unaware of the trap that had been laid for her.

"Ah, my beauty!" he beckoned to her. "Come and see what fate has for thee!"