Jane Eyre (35 page)

He paused for an answer, and what was I to say? Oh, for some good spirit to suggest a judicious and satisfactory response! Vain aspiration! The west wind whispered in the ivy round me, but no gentle Ariel borrowed its breath as a medium of speech, the birds sang in the tree-tops, but their song, however sweet, was inarticulate.

Again Mr Rochester propounded his query.

“Is the wandering and sinful, but now rest-seeking and repentant, man justified in daring the world’s opinion, in order to attach to him forever this gentle, gracious, genial stranger, thereby securing his own peace of mind and regeneration of life?”

“Sir,” I answered, “a wanderer’s repose or a sinner’s reformation should never depend on a fellow-creature. Men and women die; philosophers falter in wisdom, and Christians in goodness, if anyone you know has suffered and erred, let him look higher than his equals for strength to amend and solace to heal.”

“But the instrument—the instrument! God, who does the work, ordains the instrument. I have myself—I tell it you without parable—been a worldly, dissipated, restless man and I believe I have found the instrument for my cure in—”

He paused, the birds went on carolling, the leaves lightly rustling. I almost wondered they did not check their songs and whispers to catch the suspended revelation, but they would have had to wait many minutes—so long was the silence protracted. At last I looked up at the tardy speaker, he was looking eagerly at me.

“Little friend,” said he, in quite a changed tone—while his face changed too, losing all its softness and gravity, and becoming harsh and sarcastic—“you have noticed my tender penchant for Miss Ingram, don’t you think if I married her she would regenerate me with a vengeance?”

He got up instantly, went quite to the other end of the walk, and when he came back he was humming a tune.

“Jane, Jane,” said he, stopping before me, “you are quite pale with your vigils, don’t you curse me for disturbing your rest?”

“Curse you? No, sir.”

“Shake hands in confirmation of the word. What cold fingers! They were warmer last night when I touched them at the door of the mysterious chamber. Jane, when will you watch with me again?”

“Whenever I can be useful, sir.”

“For instance, the night before I am married! I am sure I shall not be able to sleep. Will you promise to sit up with me to bear me company? To you I can talk of my lovely one, for now you have seen her and know her.”

“Yes, sir.”

“She’s a rare one, is she not, Jane?”

“Yes, sir.”

“A strapper—a real strapper, Jane, big, brown, and buxom; with hair just such as the ladies of Carthage must have had.”

 “I should prefer to speak of you, sir.”

 “Of me?”

 “Of your desires. And my own.” The way he spoke of Miss Ingram—a match surely to be a political success—my chances to speak plainly were drawing to a close.

 “You have me intrigued. Go on.”

 “I took a book from your library.”

 “Did you now? Which book did my little thief abscond with?”

 “There are all manner of sketches in it.”

 “What kind of sketches?”

 For a moment, I hoped I could vanish, perhaps pull back the words I had boldly spoken. But I had taken a step down the path and I knew my master wouldn’t allow me to retreat. “The sketches are scandalous, sir.”

 “What do they represent that you find so offensive?”

 “Acts, sir.”

 “Acts?”

 “Personal ones between a man and woman.”

 His brows were drawn together, but there was no real shock or outrage in his countenance. “And did you perhaps return the book at your first opportunity?”

 “I felt it better to keep it secure until I could return it you so that you could lock it up as it should be.”

 “Ah, so you did not burn the pages in the first available fire?”

 “I did not. As I have already said I thought to return it directly to you. I have had no opportunity, so I kept it.”

 “Kept it did you? Do you look at it from time to time?”

 “Every night, sir.”

 He hooked his hands behind his back. As for me, I folded mine primly in my lap and glanced down at them.

 “Every night,” he repeated. “I see. And these—sketches—do they intrigue you?”

 “They do indeed.”

 “And you wish further exploration?”

 I kept my eyes downcast. “I have been exploring, sir.”

 There was a terrible silence. “Exploring? A solo expedition, Jane, or with someone else?”

 At his tone, I looked up. There was no doubt he was cross at the idea. I was forced to listen to him go on about his intended, while I was questioned so roughly? What standards were those? I stood. “A solo exploration, sir. Not that it is any of your concern.”

 “I beg to differ, Miss Eyre. While you are my servant, your behaviour is of paramount import. I shall not have you reflect badly upon Thornfield.”

 I came to my feet. “As if I would ever bring a scandal to your home!”

 “What is it you want, Jane? To tempt me past reason? Well, my rose thorn, you have done so! Stealing books that are private, books that I keep locked up. Do not say you borrowed it. If you had borrowed it, it would have been returned.”

 “Your charge is unfair!”

 “And exploring yourself beneath my roof!”

 At this I did colour, but I did not relent in my own defence. “What I do in the privacy of my evenings matters not to you!”

 “It does, indeed. When you were in my drawer, Jane, did you find the phallus?”

 Suddenly meeting his eyes was difficult, but I forced myself to. “Yes, sir, I did.”

 “Do you know what it’s for?”

 “I saw a picture that gives me an idea, yes.”

 “And you are not afraid?”

 “I am of strong mind and body, sir.”

 “I have tastes, Jane.”

 “So I imagined, sir.”

 “The book you found, that is only the beginning.”

 “Sir?”

 “I believe that a woman should submit to her master.”

 I scowled. “Of course.”

 “In the bed chamber as well as out of it.”

 “Of course it should be so.”

 “I believe a woman should be chastised, corrected, and brought back into line when she falters.”

 His tone was very dire. I sensed he was talking about things I had not yet thought on.

 “Corporal punishment, Jane.”

 I swallowed. “Is that unusual, sir?”

 “Perhaps men beat their wives, Jane, but that is not what I am speaking of.”

 “More riddles, sir? Please make yourself plain or excuse me to bed.”

 “So that you can explore your quim in peace?”

 He spoke the words with utter calm. For a moment I feared my heart might burst. I wrung my hands together. I had never heard that word spoken aloud, and certainly not from someone as genteel as he. “Sir!”

 “It was your confession, Jane. Have the courage to speak of what you mentioned! Are you going to play with your quim once you are huddled securely beneath your blankets? Confess!”

 “Yes! Yes.”

 “Use the word, let me hear your tongue form the syllables, be bold, be brazen. Tell me crudely what you are going to do.”

 “I am going to play with my quim, sir!” I all but sobbed at the last.

 “There, there. Do you have any idea what you have done to me?”

 I looked into his eyes.

 “Do you see my manhood pressing against the fabric which contains it?”

 Compelled, I stole a glance. He took my hand and pressed it there. I felt his masculine response.

 “The idea of you sliding your fingers between your legs while I lay so near thrills me, Jane. You saw my book. Many a night, I have laid in my bed, stroking myself and indulging in thoughts of what I’d like to do to you!” He released my hand. “Dare you find out?”

 “Sir?”

 “I’m not an easy master, Jane. Moody, demanding. My tastes may be offensive to one as delicate as you.”

 Scoffed I, “Dear sir, only you find me delicate. I assure you I am not.”

 “Then lift your dress.”

 I had spent many a night thinking of being with Mr Rochester, but in my dreams, we were already in bed, we were already past this part that I was finding terribly awkward.

 “Lift your dress,” repeated he. “I will help with your undergarments, but if you’ve a desire to explore with another, this is your opportunity. I will force you into nothing—that is not my way. You must always show me your willingness else I shall send you back to your room and encourage you to throw the bolt. What I offer you is the most glorious of all freedoms, the opportunity to always be at choice, to accept my instructions or deny completely—thus you are the one with the upper hand.

 “If you opt to stay, Miss Eyre, heed my warning, my desires are unusual.”

 “You have said that before. I do not know what it means.”

 “Some may name them perversions.”

 By nature I was curious. I wanted to hear more.

 “But there are many people who believe otherwise, that pleasure and pain are closely entwined and that sexual pleasure can be greatly enhanced by the deliberate use of pain intentionally inflicted at precise locations with perfect timing.”

 My ears seemed to be ringing. This was impossible! Finding a book, touching myself, even discovering a phallus, none of that added up to what he spoke of now!

 “I have a credo, Miss Eyre. I have never and will never force a woman to endure what she simply cannot. For any time pain trumps pleasure, the pain must immediately cease. I instruct any woman I am with to let me know if this happens. For those unafraid, untold heights of passion are possible.”

 “You would not demand that of me?”

 “Certainly not. Even if you did wish to partake, I would stop if you changed your mind. Come, Miss Eyre, I will see you safely inside.”

 I remained where I was. Stubbornly? Perhaps. But it was more my curious nature and my love for this man. Would that I drink from the cup he offered! I had scant chances to be with him. If I refused this, when would I have another opportunity? “I am quite frightened, Mr Rochester.”

 “Justly so. Come then; we shall never speak on this again.”

 Unaccountably there was dampness between my legs. I told him so.

 Said he in response, “That does not mean you need to act upon it.”

 “You wish me to lift my dress?”

 “Only if you ache to increase your education.”

 “If I wish to marry—”

 “I thought you hated the institution.”

 “I do.”

 “Never fear. No one will ever know. I shall leave you undefiled.”

 I took up my hem.

 “Turn from me and part your legs.”

 I did so.

 “If you choose, lift your skirt high enough to expose your bloomers.”

 I wondered if I could possibly die from mortification? My fingers trembled, but I did what he suggested.

 “I shall touch you now, Jane.”

 He reached into the slit in my bloomers. That he allowed me to keep on my underwear preserved a modicum of modesty. I should not have been concerned. His touch was so very gentle and fleeting, over before it began.

 “No one but you has touched this quim?”

 “No, sir.” I wished I could see his reaction.

 “There’s another word for it that I like, Jane. Cunny. One day I shall spank you there, simply because I want to.”

 I locked my knees in place.

 “Not until you are ready, Miss Eyre, that I promise you.”

 He touched me again, this time he lingered a full second.

 “Again?” he asked. “Or have you had enough? Do you wish to return to the solitary confinement of your room?”

 “Please, touch me again,” I said.

 “What a good miss you are. I like exploring you.”

 I felt at least two fingers on my private area. His touch was a gentle brush.

 “More?”

 “Yes, sir.”

 He made long sweeps with those long, lean fingers. My own touch was unlike his. Mine was more hesitant, his was sure. As he caressed me, I began to relax. If this was a perversion, I, too, should assume that label.

 “I am going to loosen the string at your waist.”

 “Do it! Instead of talking about it, get on with it, sir!”

 “Not much of a submissive woman, are you miss?” His words lacked heat.

 “I am a curious one, not a submissive one.”

 He released the tie, and my bloomers fell. I felt terribly exposed, but Mr Rochester made me instantly unashamed.

 “You have a lovely bottom, Miss Eyre.”

 I didn’t know quite what to say. My manners deserted me.

 He gave me a smack, more of a tap, honestly, on the outside of my right thigh. “What is the proper response when someone offers a compliment, Miss Eyre?”

 “Thank you, sir.”

 “Very good, miss.” He caressed the spot where he’d offered the reprimand. “Please use the bench for balance and open your legs as wide as you can.”

 I did, “Very nice,” said he. “I require you to keep your grip there, firm. Do not let go, under threat of reprisal. Do you understand?”

 “Yes.”

 “Do you wish to continue?”

 This moment,
thought I, but I did not say that to him; perhaps some sort of sense of preservation had finally taken hold.

 “In future, I may physically tie you in place.”

 “Tie me, sir?”

 “You will be tied for my pleasure many times in future.”

 Protested I, “That was not in the book, sir.”

 “There’s an advanced volume in my library, little thief. When it disappears, I will know where to look. It contains all sorts of things that will shock you, but hopefully tantalise you. Things such as women being over a man’s knee to receive a spanking.”

 My buttocks clenched involuntarily as I imagined myself as the hapless victim and Mr Rochester as the punisher.

 “Shall we continue? This is your vulva, Miss Eyre. I shall also, as you know, call it a cunny or quim and so shall you.” He outlined the area. “Your clitoris, a tiny bud hidden by a delicate hood. Your vagina—”

 I gasped when he pressed a finger there, entering me just slightly.

 He drew backwards. “Your bum-hole or anus, depending on my mood.”

 “Which can be mercurial, sir.”

 He pinched my bottom. I gave a gasp but said nothing. I had probably deserved that! As he had earlier, he soothed the tiny hurt.