#look if Jane Eyre can wander back into Mr. Rochester’s life

[janeeyreheresy]

Richard Mason

Rochester says this about Richard:

"The elder one [brother], whom you have seen (and whom I cannot hate, whilst I abhor all his kindred, because he has some grains of affection in his feeble mind, shown in the continued interest he takes in his wretched sister, and also in a dog-like attachment he once bore me), will probably be in the same state one day."

Nah. Nothing wrong with Richard. He's just a guy. He's not even feeble minded. He seems to be quite a successful merchant, he's friends with Jane's uncle who we know has made a fortune, and they have to be quite close, otherwise Mr Eyre would not trust him with the important task of stopping the illegal wedding. A person blowing up your dishonest plan does not make them bad or mad, Edward. 

Having said that, though. I appreciate the fact that Rochester appreciates the fact that Richard cares about his sister. So you see, I did find something positive about our Edward.

Richard might admittedly be a harder character to redeem than Blanche, but he's lived in my head as one of the good guys for a few years now, so my mind rejects any other idea. I've never disliked him, from my first reading (back in that ancient time known as the 1990s), at worst I'd felt neutral about his character.

Whilst I can argue that Rochester is lying about the circumstances of his marriage to Bertha--based on his previous lies--I can't do the same for Jane's narration. I have to trust her at least to some extent. But what is her narration with regards to Richard Mason? The day he arrives at Thornfield, when the merry company are present, she spends three paragraphs describing his appearance. She rates him as handsome, but thinks him vapid. I can happily dismiss this as Jane justifying herself for loving an ugly man by demonising a handsome one--we know she has tons of baggage regarding beauty. She's trying to listen to the conversation between Richard and the gentlemen--she's intrigued as Richard introduced himself as an old friend of the Roch--but she can't hear much because Mary Ingram and Louisa Eshton sit between her and the men and gush over how handsome Richard is. 

Burn them at the stake for it, eh, Jane? Because gods forbid someone else find someone who you don't like attractive... 

Where does she even get this from?

His manner was polite; his accent, in speaking, struck me as being somewhat unusual,—not precisely foreign, but still not altogether English: his age might be about Mr. Rochester’s,—between thirty and forty; his complexion was singularly sallow: otherwise he was a fine-looking man, at first sight especially. On closer examination, you detected something in his face that displeased, or rather that failed to please. His features were regular, but too relaxed: his eye was large and well cut, but the life looking out of it was a tame, vacant life—at least so I thought.

Forgive me, Jane, but what you thought means shit to me. (The fuck is a "well cut eye"??? Just one?)

"You detected something in his face"--no, YOU detected whatever you imagined in his face, Jane. Not me. Don't drag the reader into this.

But I liked his physiognomy even less than before: it struck me as being at the same time unsettled and inanimate. His eye wandered, and had no meaning in its wandering: this gave him an odd look, such as I never remembered to have seen. For a handsome and not an unamiable-looking man, he repelled me exceedingly: there was no power in that smooth-skinned face of a full oval shape: no firmness in that aquiline nose and small cherry mouth; there was no thought on the low, even forehead; no command in that blank, brown eye.

This coming from someone who puts Edward Rochester on a pedestal.

"Odd look, such as I never remembered to have seen." She's talking as if she's met thousands of people with thousands of different looks in their eyes, when we know the exact opposite is true. Reminder, item #7 on the list: She has seen nothing of society; the only people she ever had anything to do with were the teachers and pupils at Lowood and the live-in staff at Thornfield Hall. She's not even met any men before Rochester!

What does she want men to look like anyway???

Remember Jane and Rochester's first encounter, when he fell off his horse? Jane could have continued on her way but decided to help him. And the reason she did so was because she could see he was ugly. No kidding, it's right there:

He had a dark face, with stern features and a heavy brow; his eyes and gathered eyebrows looked ireful and thwarted just now; he was past youth, but had not reached middle-age; perhaps he might be thirty-five. I felt no fear of him, and but little shyness. Had he been a handsome, heroic-looking young gentleman, I should not have dared to stand thus questioning him against his will, and offering my services unasked. I had hardly ever seen a handsome youth; never in my life spoken to one. I had a theoretical reverence and homage for beauty, elegance, gallantry, fascination; but had I met those qualities incarnate in masculine shape, I should have known instinctively that they neither had nor could have sympathy with anything in me, and should have shunned them as one would fire, lightning, or anything else that is bright but antipathetic.

Someone get her a therapist.

I'm confident that Jane's descriptions of Richard can be discarded. As for the rest, well what is it that he does that is so wrong? True, he does come across as weak, but nobody is perfect. We don't know what happened in the past, what Rochester did to him to make him fear him. (Edward If-you-won't-listen-to-reason-I'll-try-violence Rochester.) I mean, Briggs has to act like his cheerleader that time in church to get him to speak out. Jane never wonders what makes Richard so afraid of Rochester. To be fair to her, she has other problems at that moment. But, spoiler alert, she doesn't wonder it afterwards, or even think: "well, that makes sense now." Previously, she had seen him in a very vulnerable position--wounded. We're told Bertha is dangerous and violent, so he must have been really seriously wounded, right? Once again, you can't have it both ways. Either the injuries were severe in which case it's understandable he's so shaken, or he's weak and the injuries weren't so severe--but then Bertha is not as dangerous and violent as you try to present her. Personally I think it was more the shock than the injuries.

Like, Jesus. If Bertha is so violent, why the heck does he enter her room unprepared and unarmed? 

Actually...

Did Richard even know her husband kept her locked in the attic? 

Rochester nearly fainted when he heard of Richard's arrival to Thornfield. By his own admission, he was not afraid that Richard would do him any harm, not intentionally. He tells Jane a chance remark by Richard to one of the guests could destroy him. Basically, Richard could casually slip out that he and Edward are brothers-in-law and that, of course, would mean game over for Eddie-Boy. But... why would Richard say anything? Surely he'd rather keep quiet about having an insane sister? Surely it wouldn't be good for his business if it was known there is madness in his family? So why is Rochester worried? 

What are you afraid of, Eddie? 

After the gypsy episode, the two men shut themselves in the library. Did Edward concoct a story about Bertha, justifying why he had to keep her under a lock upstairs? Did Richard not buy the story, and, wanting to satisfy himself, go upstairs to check if it's true? Well, he found out, you can say, but that doesn't negate anything that I've been saying on this blog. And he still cares about her. I know I keep saying it, but it needs to be repeated. Even after she attacked him. Even after she, we are told, sucked his blood. That's canon. Not something I made up. Word of God type of canon.

Charlotte shot herself in the foot for writing him that way, making it so easy for me to disprove her own story--but hey, I ain't complaining. Even the wandering look in his face that Jane describes earlier could be explained by Richard's confusion over the absence of his sister in the drawing room. Or just confusion over there being a party at Thornfield in the first place. If Bertha was mad and he knew she was mad and he knew she was locked upstairs, why were all these important people there, and did they know about their host's marriage? 

It really is rich of Jane to so confidently assert that there was "no thought in his forehead" and "no meaning in his wandering eye". How the fuck can she know that? SHE'S NOT IN HIS HEAD!!! Why has nobody ever questioned this? Why has no clever academic or scholar, in the 175 years the book has been out ever cast doubt over Jane's claim about what goes inside another person's head, a complete stranger's head at that, someone who has literally just walked in, and who she established might not be a native of England? Why does it take someone with no education past high school and complete ignorance of English literature, whose first language is not English, to notice this???

I like to think that after Bertha's attack, Richard finally realises he needs to get his shit together and get her out of there. He contacts someone of the merry company and asks them for help. Sir George Lynn would be the most useful, obviously, but I also like the idea of him becoming friends with the Ingrams.

I like siblings. I enjoy a good sibling dynamic more than a romance. Especially if it is a brother and a sister. And here I have two pairs to play with (Bertha and Richard, and Blanche and Theodore.)

Isn't writing character developments great?

[lucillebarker]

[eyreguide]

A Detailed Book Review of Jane Eyre

My thoughts on the novel was originally posted in parts on the Bookish Whimsy blog for a readalong of Jane Eyre in 2013.

Chapter I - XI

Re-reading these first chapters I am struck by the fact that Charlotte Bronte started our introduction to Jane when Jane finally rebels against her bullying cousin John and the irrational hatred of Mrs. Reed. It’s a powerful representation of Jane’s character because although she becomes outwardly subdued and her passionate nature is restrained for much of the book later, it’s important to know that this is who Jane is, no matter the cultural conventions. As a child she’s not cute and cuddly and as an adult the “rugged points” in her character must be accepted by the people she allows to get close to her.

The other aspect I find so interesting is how quick Jane is to point out hypocrisy. I think I read somewhere that children excel at recognizing hypocrisy and what is and isn’t fair and while it’s pretty serious how unfair it is that Mrs. Reed shows such disdain for Jane and gives preferential treatment to her children, and how Mr. Brocklehurst is so intent on making the Lowood girls humble and plain yet his family lives in ostentatious luxury, Jane can put her statements about these circumstances in such a way that shows a very ironic and sly wit that I really enjoy. For instance:

-  “Abbot, I think, gave me credit for being a sort of infantine Guy Fawkes.”

-  “Breakfast was over, and none had breakfasted. Thanks being returned for what we had not got…”

-  “Mr. Brocklehurst was here interrupted: three other visitors, ladies, now entered the room. They ought to have come a little sooner to have heard his lecture on dress, for they were splendidly attired in velvet, silk, and furs.”

It was great to read Jane grow into an adult - with her childhood memories sometimes tempered by the adult Jane who is telling the story so we can get that bit of humor and a little bit of perspective - like why she felt she was an outcast at Gateshead. Of course now that we are at Thornfield, there’s so much stuff to look forward to reading about!

Chapters XII-XXI

Oh Jane. I find your restlessness so endearing! When I was a teen, I would re-read those passages where Jane wishes to see more of life and “more vivid kinds of goodness” and really empathize with how she was feeling. I think this is one of Jane’s great monologues in this book, and I always find it funny how such deeply heartfelt thoughts are suddenly followed by Grace Poole and the strange laugh. It’s like those momentous thoughts of hers should be it’s own chapter!

Now Mr. Rochester! I just love him so. He acts so unconventionally with Jane from the beginning - and his sense of humor is so skewed! Cause it’s kinda mean how he didn’t introduce himself to Jane in Hay Lane. But Jane wasn’t even upset, so you know it’s true love! :D I love how Jane can barely follow and almost certainly doesn’t understand some of the things he talks about in their second conversation and yet she holds her own and comes up with great answers! The back and forth banter in those scenes between Jane and Rochester just remind me how much I love Charlotte’s writing because it’s intelligent with that touch of humor. And re-reading it I am again reminded how much I associate Michael Jayston’s voice and acting with Rochester now because I just hear and see him in this role completely! (I’m referring to the 1973 miniseries adaptation - my favorite!) Mr. Rochester is so talkative too, Charlotte makes it clear through Mr. Rochester’s words that he is falling in love with Jane, even if Jane is not so sure.

There’s really all kinds of moments in this section where I’m just gleeful every time there is an indication of Mr. Rochester’s interest in Jane. My favorite is the tantalizing “Good-night my–” Ahh, what was he going to say?? And then the whole scene after the fire in his bedroom is full of indications as well as the Gypsy scene, the scene in the garden after Mason’s attack and Jane asking for leave. These are all some of my absolute favorite parts of the book because this is the kind of romance I adore - the subtly indicated and gradual evolution of love. It’s just so beautifully done!

Chapters XXII-XXIX

The too short amount of time we get to see of Jane and Rochester’s courtship is one of the highlights of this book for me. So sweet and romantic on Mr. Rochester’s part and so sassy and teasing on Jane’s; I feel like this is a heightened idea of how Mr. Rochester and Jane’s conversations went towards the end of the three months they were getting to know each other in the beginning of the story. Where Jane was just beginning to realize her power of “vexing and soothing him by turns.” Their banter in these couple chapters just makes me smile!

But my favorite chapter in this book is chapter 27 - the one where Mr. Rochester talks to Jane after the interrupted wedding. The scene where Mr. Rochester’s secret is revealed is incredibly devastating, but in this chapter the emotional damage to this reader just gets worse. It starts with the fact that Jane believes Mr. Rochester didn’t really love her, to her realizing that he did and still does, but that doesn’t change the fact that she must leave him. And Mr. Rochester is deluding himself with a hope that he can keep Jane with him by promising to treat her as his only wife. It’s so tempting and Jane does love him, but she just can’t compromise her integrity and her moral beliefs and it’s an exquisitely painful dilemma. And even though Mr. Rochester has committed such a betrayal, I love that Jane forgives him almost instantly when she sees how remorseful he is and how much he still loves her. It’s such a big thing to forgive him for, but I completely understand it because Mr. Rochester is a flawed character and he tried this because he was desperate to secure Jane. This is the time that Mr. Rochester is totally truthful as well (it is his only recourse now) and when he has no more secrets and no more games to play but is earnestly pleading, it’s so darn moving! And romantic! So much of both Jane and Rochester is revealed in this chapter and I think that’s why I find it so powerful.

Jane’s three days wandering is a part of the book that I didn’t used to appreciate as much - it really is distressing to read how Jane suffered and was almost ready to give up. But she clung to her dignity and to her moral convictions. As if it wasn’t enough that she had to turn her back on the love of her life, she also had to suffer starvation and mortification! But again everything just reinforces Jane’s strength of character and makes her a fabulous heroine to look up to.

This section has all the extreme ups and downs of the entire book! Though I don’t really think of it, it is pretty odd that Charlotte Bronte plotted this story to have such a climax in the middle, but I feel the last section of the book is a genius addition that really completes Jane’s journey.

Chapters XXX-End

St. John Rivers - the anti-Rochester. Re-reading this part of the book again, I focused on all the things that made St. John the complete opposite of Rochester. And there’s a lot. St. John is blonde and fair to Rochester’s black hair and dark features, tall and statuesque to middle height and square-ish, a minister and philanthropic and you know Mr. Rochester isn’t that concerned with religion and early on Jane points out that Rochester’s brow is deficient where it should indicate benevolence. St. John likes to read at mealtimes and study, while Mr. Rochester can’t stop talking to Jane, St. John is completely honest with Jane and Rochester is considerably less so. Both however are intelligent, and both study Jane’s character well and find something in her to attract them but Mr. Rochester sees Jane as his equal and really better than him, and St. John sees Jane as the diligent workhorse he’s always wanted. 

That’s where I really have a problem with St. John. Sure he’s striving for good things, and wants to use his skills and intellect to make a difference and fulfill a duty to God, but with his dismissal of the individual needs of a person and then of a woman, it’s hard to feel very sympathetic with him. He continually puts reason above feeling and in doing so cannot understand the complete beauty of humanity. Of course for Jane, meeting him at this point in her life when passion has not resulted in happiness, it is great for Jane to see the other side. In this section Jane matures even more - she knows that she needs to be loved for herself and not what she can do. And she gets the family and financial independence to live free and contented on her own. 

So she can return to Mr. Rochester as his true equal - she doesn’t have to worry about depending too much on Rochester’s wealth and connections because she has some of her own. But I think the transformation Mr. Rochester undergoes is the greater. He’s so broken when Jane comes back - humbled and accepting of his fate - and what breaks my heart is that while Jane was strong enough to soldier on without him, Mr. Rochester was not. It’s too romantic that Rochester needs Jane that much. And he’s not just humbled by the experience, but also accepts God and his past. Passion balanced with reason. Just like Jane. Now they can have their happily ever after. I’ve long thought Jane Eyre a study in that balance of passion and reason - Jane was too passionate at Gateshead but tempered at Lowood by Helen’s reason, then Jane is pushed towards an excess of passion at Thornfield and an excess of reason at Moor House, to finally find the middle ground with Mr. Rochester at Ferndean. 

This book is just so extraordinary to me. It has so much depth and has resonated with me so strongly ever since I was a teen. I wonder what I would have thought of it if I had read it when I was older, but I’m so glad I had the chance to grow with this story because I’ve found so many different things to appreciate about it at different times in my life.

[hellolittleogre]

😈 Billy/Bogue, your Jane Eyre AU, 25. Goody/Bogue, your Jane Eyre AU, 9.

Magnificent seven Jane Eyre AU, where Billy is Jane, Bouge is Mr. Rochester and Goodnight Bertha Mason.  Links to previous installments can be found here and here.  Chronologically this comes before the previous prompt I wrote in the same AU

Billy / Bouge … kiss prompt 25- as a yes

It was still with a flushed glow from the pleasant evening that Billy walked out into the park. The apple orchard was in bloom, pink and white and when the last beams of the sun filtered through, one could imagine walking among the very clouds of heaven. 

Or at least Goodnight would say so, and Billy smiled to imagine the rapturous praise he’d heap upon the flowers, absently rubbing his hand over his heart to try to soothe the ache that always came when he was thinking of Goodnight. The man should be here, with him in the sweet smelling evening, and not locked away. The bright thread of their connection felt so precious to Billy, yet still so tenuous. The threat of his departure from Thornfield loomed large and Goodnight, there were still so many things he refused to tell Billy. If Mr Bouge married, both Billy and Adele would be sent packing, and loath as he was to admit it, Thornfield felt like home. He has made friends here, with Mrs Cullen and Mr. Horne and the rest of the staff, and then of course, Goodnight. It was as much of a home Billy’s ever had and the prospect of leaving feels like tearing his heart out by the roots.

 Instead of thinking on that he tried to divert himself with the imaginary conversation he might have with Goodnight, and how he might relay this conversation later to him in person, and so almost make him wander the flowering orchard with Billy tonight. He’s sat down to light a cigarette, being forbidden to smoke in the house where Adele might see him, when over the sweet smell of flowers came the strong scent of Mr. Bouge’s cigar. He’d been wandering apparently in the same purpose of taking the air and the last bit of sunlight. 

“So there you are,” he smiled, mouth curling sardonically under the mustache when he saw Billy. “Like a fairy creature ensconced in his bower, Puck or Ganymede himself.” 

Billy smiled at the compliment, they always made him feel wrong footed somehow, but it’s not much he can say, and they are kindly meant. 

“You’ve apple flowers in your hair, my dear,” Bouge said. “They are quite flattering your complexion” and Billy supposed that’s what he gets for walking out without his hat. 

He was discreetly tucking away his cigarette as Mr. Bouge doesn’t like him to smoke. 

“I trust your sojourn away from us was agreeable?” And Billy assented but went cold as Bouge continued. “And soon of course, you will have to leave us permanently.”

“Is, is it settled then?” Billy asked in alarm. “I shall advertise immediately and meanwhile…” he had almost said, put my faith your good will to harbour me here, but he knew enough of Bouge to know that the man held no good will, only debts to be paid. To be parted from Adele, from Emma and Goodnight, he had to turn his face away to regain his composure. 

“Well, not quite settled yet,” Bouge said carelessly, “but I imagine it will be quite soon, very soon I shall be a married man, and little Adele will have to pack herself away to school, and so there will be no need for you. Does this pain you little creature? Have you grown so attached to us here at Thornfield?”

“I owe that I’m very attached to Adele, and of course Mrs. Cullen, and to the environs and to Thornfield and.. and all of its inhabitants.” It was only long practice from the Reeds and Lowood that kept Billy’s voice from breaking, and staying even.

“Even to me, who taunts you so?” Bouge asked curiously and to that Billy could at first make no answer. He enjoyed Bouge’s company, there was little doubt of that, but why he enjoyed it was harder to say. Was it the verbal sparring, the rapid back and forth and the knowledge that Bouge was level-headed and callous enough to match himself? It might even be the flattery of attention, of having to mind his every step that made Billy feel sharp and alive. 

“I shall miss our conversations,” he said cautiously, but perhaps not the taunts, he added quietly to himself, and Bouge laughed as if he had heard the silent addendum. 

“You shall be glad to know I have made provisions for you,” he said “and inquired after a new position.” Billy’s ears perked up, if they were acquaintances of Bouge it might be possible for him to once in a while see Adele or even be under the same roof as Goodnight. If he was lucky he might even spot him from the windows. 

“Oh yes,” Bouge continued in his smooth baritone, “A Mrs. O’Gall, with five sons in Bitternut Lodge, Connacth, Ireland require a tutor. You should like that I’m sure, Ireland is a capital country, though I would never go there myself.  I’m sure you will be very happy there,”

“In Ireland?” Billy asked, barely able to believe his ears, oh Ireland. “That’s too far away,” came out of his mouth before he could even control it. 

“Too far away? From what?”

From Goodnight, was Billy’s first thought but he managed to bite his lip. “From England, and and Thornfield and my relations and..”

“And from me little sprite, do I come into this calculation of distance?”

Billy bit his lip and didn’t answer, only let his eyes fall to the ground. Again he found himself backed into a conversational dead end, damned if he committed himself and equally damned if he protested to strenuously. In the end he made no reply, choosing to let Bouge believe what suited him. Just like the vast and briny Irish sea which would soon separate him from everything familiar, so a cold ocean of differences separated him from Bouge and prevented him to answer as he would like.

“It’s a long way,” he said instead.

“We shall be sure be parted forever, for to such a godforsaken place as Ireland I will never go, however good friends we have been here,” Bouge said, contemplating the smoke rising from his cigar. “And I would imagine that causing me such a blow would be quite pleasing to one so heartless as you.”

 Billy almost gasped in surprise because the jab was so sudden, and the accusation stung. He would not describe himself as heartless, in fact right now, his heart feels like a bruised pulpy fruit inside his rib cage. It is not him who has made advances at every step only to be bruisingly dismissive whenever the attention was returned.

“Such was not my intention, and to go so far would not be my choice,” he answered and Bouge smiled like a great hunting cat. 

“So you say, yet your eagerly accept the opportunity, happy to be away from me as fast as you can?”

And Billy wanted to stomp his feet. What choice did he have? To turn down Bouge’s offer might very well end him with a terminated contract and no reference, Bouge has more than once hinted that he would do it.

“I’m hurt my sweet William, so I am. I had thought that I was dearer to you than that, but now I see I’m only so much dust you can’t wait to scuff from your shoes.”

Frustration and sorrow threatened tears to his eyes and Bouge must see it, however he turned away and bowed his head, and all Billy could hope for was for the interview to end soon, to let him soothe his ravaged heart in peace.

“And for myself I shall be married to the lovely Mr. McGann, though why any man should make such a provision for himself is beyond me, but no, come here instead and sit with me. Let us talk a little together, about such pleasant things as your coming voyage and new position, as friends ought.”

They had reached their accustomed bench under the old chestnut tree, which was now a white bower of flowers in the growing dusk, Billy sitting himself down next to Mr. Bouge, and watching the stars spring out on the sky one by one, dreading how to relay this to Goodnight, his emotions turned so topsy turvy he hardly knew where he was.

“It makes me sad to send my little friend on such a wearying journey, but needs must, and why should I put myself out for you? Are you anything to me, besides a vexing creature, can you answer me that?”

And Billy had to bite his lip and shake his head, because of course he could not. Sometimes he had hoped, almost in spite of himself, and sometimes he had foolishly thought that Bouge might make him some sort of an offer, when his dark, hungry eyes had watched him in the fire light, he had thought he knew that look, thought he could not be mistaken.

“Because,” Bouge continued, “I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you—especially when you are near me, as now: it is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string in your little frame. And if that boisterous Channel, and two hundred miles or so of land come broad between us, I am afraid that cord of communion will snap, and then I’ve a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly. As for you,—you’d forget me.”

“So you say sir, yet you know me so little,” Billy said finally stung, his composure breaking. “I shall never forget Thornfield Hall, and I should never wish myself parted from this place. I grieve to leave Thornfield: I love Thornfield:—I love it, because I have lived in it a full and delightful life,—momentarily at least. I have not been trampled on. I have not been petrified. I have not been buried with inferior minds, and excluded from every glimpse of communion with what is bright and energetic and high. I have talked, face to face, with what I reverence, with what I delight in,—with an original, a vigorous, an expanded mind,” he paused to draw breath, realising how utterly precipitous it would be to admit open knowledge of Goodnight, and ploughed on, “and it strikes me with terror and anguish to feel I absolutely must be torn from it forever. I see the necessity of departure; and it is like looking on the necessity of death.” It was the most passionate he had ever been in Bouge’s company, tears hanging at the edges of his eyes.

“Where do you see the necessity?” Bouge asked, with half a smile under his mustache.

“Where?” Billy answered, incredulous. “You, sir, have placed it before me.”

“In what shape?”

“In the shape of Mr McGann; a noble and beautiful man of your own position,—your groom.”

“My groom!” Bouge laughed, “What groom? I have none!”

“But you will have,” Billy interjected, hurt and confused

“Yes;—I will!—I will!” He set his teeth.

“Then I must go:—you have said it yourself,” Billy said and flew to his feet.

“No: you must stay! I swear it—and the oath shall be kept.”

Billy was momentarily struck speechless in frustration, grief and confusion, from being snubbed and flattered in turns, and made to turn away but Bouge got to his feet and caught him easily, laughing.

“No, don’t struggle so little bird, you’ll do yourself an injury. Just be still and hear me out.” 

Billy ceased to struggle in his arms and allowed himself to be gathered in, breathless and shivering when Bouge kissed him, his mouth warm and sure. Hungry and devouring but the way his tongue stroked along the seam of Billy’s lips was still a gentle invite. When he released him Billy was panting, helplessly licking his own mouth, to chase the phantom sensation there.

“I am a free human being with an independent will,” he said, his voice shaking badly. “Which I now exert to leave you.”

He tried to push Bouge away but the man would not let him go - “And your will shall decide your destiny,” he said: “I offer you my hand, my heart, and a share of all my possessions.”

Billy stared at him in utter disbelief. To make such an offer to a person in his position, penniless, friendless was not in keeping with the character he knew. “You play a farce, which I merely laugh at.” he hedged, but he stopped struggling.

“No farce,” Mr. Bouge said warmly. “But in earnest, say yes. I must have you for my own - entirely my own. Will you be mine? Say yes quickly!”

Billy stared at him speechless for a moment, unable to comprehend the change in circumstance and then melted into his arms, caught at last. This kiss was different, Billy succumbing to the strange pull of being possessed, his kiss a definitive yes, where his words could not suffice.

[supersleepygoat]

Agree to Disagree

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: You and Dean bicker about books.

Word Count: 847

Warning: Fluff.

A/N: I wrote this because of THIS post. I love that Dean is well read but doesn’t need to flaunt it. He is a genius and I love low-key-book-nerd-Dean. Thanks @arses21434 the Wizard of Oz idea! I had to keep it a drabble or else the angst would have seeped in. I know this is utter garbage. But, I have a lot of angst coming your way soon, so I thought I’d write a mini-palate-cleanser.

“You’re not serious?” Dean asks with skepticism.

“You can’t judge me. He’s not all bad,” you defend yourself.

“The dude locked his wife in the attic just because he could. He drove her insane, then locked her away like it was her fault!” Dean agrues with bewilderment.

“I’m not saying that I agree with him or even like him all the time. There is just something alluring about Mr. Rochester and I will admit, I was rooting for him and Jane.” Jane Eyre is one of your favourites. But, you made the mistake of trying to explain to Dean that you actually like Rochester. He now thinks you are insane.

“Seriously though, you can’t honestly believe that that book has a happy ending. If you read between the lines, you’ll see that even Jane Eyre, the very girl who made the choice to go back to that creep, doesn’t believe that that’s a plausible happy ending!” Dean continues to argue.

“First of all, we all know you’re a sucker for subtext,” Dean rolls his eyes at you and you giggle before continuing. “All I’m saying is, that just like Jane, he had me hooked too. Plus, they had a supernatural connection. She heard him calling her even though they were miles apart. I thought you’d appreciate that part, at least.” You say as you poke his arm.

“The guy is still a douche. Next, you’ll tell me you think that that psycho Heathcliff should have gotten his happy ending with Catherine too.” When you don’t respond, Dean looks up at you. You are biting your cheek and darting your eyes away from Dean. “Oh, come on! Seriously Y/N?”

“Heathcliff is an asshole… I’ll give you that. But, he loved Catherine. He never would have done the sketchy things he did, if they both got over their shit and would just be together!”

“What is it with you rooting for the psychos to get their happy endings! The guy kidnapped a young girl and her glorified babysitter, so the girl can marry her cousin and he can take control over the moors!”

“I already admitted he was asshole! I’m just saying he had a hard life. He was constantly denied and rejected and it would have been nice if him and Catherine were allowed to be with who they actually wanted to be with.”

Dean narrows his eyes at you. “I hope your infatuation with and sympathy for psychopaths doesn’t extend past the pages of a book, Y/N.”

“What can I say? I like my men like I like my windows… slightly unhinged,” you say with a shrug.

“You know that if a guy like Rochester or Heathcliff ever comes sniffing round, I will rip their lungs out before they even have a chance to worm their way in with you.” Dean’s tone is no longer light and teasing. “You deserve better than that. You deserve better than some creep who will lock you in an attic or marry your sister-in-law just to piss off your husband. You deserve more.”

“They’re just stories, Dean.” Your voice is hesitant. Why is he taking this so seriously? But more importantly, does he actually believe what he’s saying?

“True. But, I know you, kid. I know exactly what you think you’re worth and the kind of guy you think you deserve. But, you have no idea what I think you’re worth. If you knew-” Dean laughs to himself before taking a sip of his beer. “If you saw yourself the way I see you, then you wouldn’t be wasting your time rooting for losers.”

You don’t know how to respond. At best, your mouth gapes open and shut a few times. But Dean isn’t looking at you, he seems overly interested in the label of his beer bottle.

“Are you two fighting over Brontë novels again?” Sam asks as he enters the library.

“No,” you defend yourself.

“Yes,” Dean replies at the same time. “We’re agreeing to disagree. But, I think she is coming around to see things my way,” Dean says offering you a soft smile.

“Why don’t you two stick to less polarizing subjects. Dean, did you ever tell Y/N/N about what happened when Charlie came to visit?” Sam asks before wandering down the library to look for a specific book.

“What happened?” you ask turning back to Dean.

“What do you think of the Wizard of Oz?” Dean answers your question with another question.

“Don’t hate me, I know this is an unpopular opinion. But, I think the movie is overrated. The books on the other hand, they had so much more to offer,” you state your honest opinion.

Dean stands up and walks over to the cabinet on the other side of the room. He filters through the drawers and pulls out a wooden box. “Well then, I think I have something that may interest you.” Dean opens the box and holds up an ugly looking key. “I’d say the Emerald City is as good a place as any for a first date. Don’t ya think, sweetheart?”

Another A/N: I know that in the show Charlie took the key to Oz and it was subsequently destroyed. But, this is my failed attempt at writing fluff so sue me for going off-canon.

Forever Tags:

@phonegalhelp @mogaruke @arses21434 @spn-ficfanatic @winchestersister55

[iwrotemywayto-revolution]

Perfect fit

Request: in summary, this is loosely based on the film “What’s your number” (part two here, part three here)

Pairing: Lin-Manuel Miranda x reader

Warnings: pining, gourmet food

Word count: 2,775 (this is maybe a 1/3 of it? good luck)

A/N: This is for the lovely Taryn  (@fragmentofmymind) who won my 1.1k celebration prize of a personalised ficlet of 1.5k words or more! Since it’s over 6k, I’m splitting it into parts. This is a fic for everyone, except that it has some details unique to Taryn- regardless, enjoy!

--

The first time you met Lin was a cold Saturday morning in February. You had had a late night and just wanted to sleep in and spend the day in your pyjamas. Your alarm was off, your duvet was warm, and someone was banging on the door.

You rolled over, hoping whoever it was would go away- no such luck. Taking a deep breath, you slipped out of bed and, grabbing a jumper from where you had hung it over the back of a chair, headed to answer the door.

“Coming,” you called as you slid back the lock and opened the door. A guy was standing there in a hastily buttoned shirt and boxer shorts. You recognised him- he lived in the apartment opposite you, but you’d not really spoken before.

“Can I come in?” he asked, looking furtively over his shoulder towards the door to his apartment.

You wavered, considering his strange getup. He seemed nice- short hair, soft brown eyes, the beginnings of a goatee, and a nervous smile. Cute, your mind said. “Your apartment is right there,” you pointed out.

“Just for a minute?” he pleaded. You opened the door a little and he dashed inside.

“Close it,” he hissed, and bewildered, you did. He relaxed, collapsing into the cushy armchair you had beside the window.

“Thanks,” he grinned, “I had a one-night stand to get away from.”

“That’s nice of you,” you frowned, vividly conscious that you were still in your pjs and a hoodie. “Who are you?”

He sprang up again, extending a hand for you to take. You shook it hesitantly. “I’m Lin-Manuel Miranda.”

“Y/N - nice to meet you.” You watched him explore your apartment, unsure of what to do next. You didn’t exactly have any experience with this kind of situation. “How long are you going to-”

“Stay?” he turned around, scampering over to peer through the peephole in your door. Lin shrugged. “Until she’s gone.”

You raised an eyebrow, “I see. Excuse me.” Grabbing a pair of jeans, a shirt, and some underwear, you headed into the bathroom to get dressed. You could hear Lin still wandering around your apartment, humming softly to himself.

You dressed as quickly as you could and pulled a brush through your hair until it looked vaguely presentable. “I’m helping you,” you told Lin as you emerged from the bathroom and headed out of your apartment and across the hallway to his.

The door wasn’t locked, so you opened it. A girl with red hair, glasses, and very few clothes was picking her way through Lin’s apartment, looking for her jeans. You straightened and got ready to try to act.

You gasped theatrically and the girl looked up, yelping when she saw that you weren’t Lin. “Who are you?” she asked, covering herself as best as she could with the clothes she had.

“I’m his girlfriend,” you said, and buried your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking with fake sobs. You were sure it looked fake, but she seemed to buy it, blurting out an apology and, grabbing her jeans from the end of the bed, she all but ran out of the apartment.

You listened until you heard her footsteps on the stairs and, a moment later, the door to the building close behind her. Then, straightening your hurriedly pulled-on clothes, you walked back into your apartment.

“There you go,” you told Lin, who had now moved on to examining all the titles on your bookshelves, “she’s gone.”

“Thanks,” Lin said, not moving, “I owe you one.”

“You can repay me by leaving,” you suggested, “I have a brunch date to get to and I don’t want to be late.”

“A brunch date?” Lin wrinkled his nose, “Seems lazy.”

“My mum set me up,” you admitted with a sheepish smile, “apparently I’ve been single for too long.”

Lin laughed. Something on your bookshelf caught his eye and he paused, slipping it out carefully from between Jane Eyre and The Hobbit. “What’s this?” he asked, flipping open the cover.

“Wide Sargasso Sea,” you said, watching as he searched for a blurb. You had signed your name carefully onto the first page in pencil, just in case you lost it. “It’s about Mrs. Rochester.”

“As in Jane Eyre?” He turned to the first page with renewed interest.

You smiled, “It’s my favourite book.”

Lin looked up from the first chapter and raised an eyebrow, “Why?”

You thought about it. “It's really heartbreaking,” you started, “but so beautiful, because it gives life to the character everyone seems frightened of when reading Jane Eyre.”

“Can I borrow it?”

“Of course,” you smiled,  “just be careful with it, and bring it back when you’re done.”

Lin put his hand over his heart, “I swear it.”

You laughed. The clock caught your eye- it was half-past nine and you had to be there in half an hour. “Now I have a date to get ready for,” you said, “and you have an empty apartment to go back to.”

He pouted. “I like it here-”

“Next time, wear some clothes,” you said pointedly, giving him a good-natured shove towards the door.

“Any requests?” he teased, and you just closed the door with a sigh and went to get ready.

--

Charlie was nice, you decided. He paid attention to you, recommended food from the menu, and picked up the bill at the end. He was tall with dark hair and, when he smiled, he had the cutest dimples.

When he got excited, he spoke with his hands, nearly knocking over his glass a couple of times. He worked as a food critic, had a little sister called Josie, and made you want to cook.

You set up your next date before you’d even left the small diner where you’d met for brunch. “I’ll be there for seven,” he promised, “and I’ll bring over some of those lobster canapés I told you about- family recipe, you know.”

“I can’t wait,” you smiled, and he kissed you shyly on the cheek.

--

You were just setting down your bag when you heard a knock at the door, which you had left ajar, meaning to run downstairs and grab your umbrella from where you’d left to dry by the door. Lin was leaning up against your doorframe, now in jeans and a t-shirt, his hair spiky and damp from a shower.

“Hey neighbour,” he grinned and sauntered in, pushing the door shut behind him, “how was the date?”

“Nice,” you said honestly. All you wanted to do was flop and watch some West Wing, but you felt a little awkward with Lin around.

“Just ‘nice’?” Lin asked, putting air quotes around the word. “Doesn’t sound great to me.”

“It was a first date- give it a chance!” You headed through into the kitchen decided you might as well make yourself a cup of tea. You hesitated at the cupboard before pulling out two mugs, “Do you want some tea?”

Lin was examining your books again, but he straightened at your offer. “Sounds great.”

You clicked on the kettle and settled on finding out a bit more about the guy who had crashed your apartment that morning, “What do you do?”

“I write- or at least try to write- musicals,” Lin confessed. He joined you in the kitchen, “And while I try, I teach English.”

“That’s amazing!” you said, open-mouthed as you poured out the hot water for your tea, “What are you writing now?”

Lin grinned, “It’s called ‘In the Heights’- it’s about a small Latino community down in Washington Heights. I’m trying to pitch it to anyone who’ll listen.”

“Tell me more?” you suggested, but Lin shook his head with a smile.

“My turn to ask a question,” he insisted.

You raised an eyebrow, but shrugged. “I’m not as exciting as you, Mr. Broadway.”

Lin laughed at that. “What,” he tapped his chin, pretending to think, “is your favourite colour?”

“It’s a tie between burgundy and teal,” you said, gesturing to your teal hoodie and then to the burgundy cardigan hanging up beside the door. “My turn. Tell me more about your musical.”

“That’s not a question,” he pointed out. You waited, and he gave in, “I play Usnavi-”

“You’re in it?” you interrupted, surprised.

“Yeah. I play Usnavi, and he and his cousin run a bodega in the heights.” He paused, “It’s quite a long plot to explain.”

You fished out the teabags and passed him his mug. “I guess I’ll have to come and see it then.”

He lit up, beaming, “You would?”

“Of course,” you said. After a moment, you decided to invite him to stay. “I was going to crash and watch some West Wing, do you want to join me?”

"Y/N,” he said solemnly, “you are a woman after my own heart.”

“You know the West Wing?” you said, surprised.

“Know it?” he pretended to be insulted, “it’s only the best show ever.”

You snorted and headed over to your couch, setting your tea down on your tiny coffee table before you went to put the DVD in. Lin was funny and bouncy and a bit weird, you thought as the theme began to play, but you liked him.

--

On the day of your next date with Charlie, you went out shopping. You wanted to cook something he’d like and, after some deliberation and way too much time on food recipe websites. You’d settled on something called “Zuni roast chicken” that meant you had to head out to the store with an unusual shopping list.

When you came back, a large paper bag of groceries in your arms, you realised you didn’t have any free hands. You struggled for a moment, wishing the chicken you had bought was lighter so you could hold the bag in one hand.

“Need some help?” Lin appeared and held out his hand for the key you had barely manage to pull out of your jacket pocket.

“Please,” you said, and he unlocked the door. You staggered inside and to the kitchen, where you dumped the bag on the counter. You turned to thank Lin, only to find him standing at your peephole again, the door closed. You sighed, “Another one-night stand you need to hide from?”

“Yeah,” he admitted sheepishly.

You set to unpacking your groceries. Lin bounded over and started to help. “What is this stuff?” he asked, wrinkling his nose. He started to read out some of the labels, “Pitted castelvetrano olives? Duck fat? Escarole?” he pulled out a leafy vegetable, “What is all of this?”

“I’m cooking dinner,” you explained, grabbing the vegetable so you could stick it in the fridge. “I didn’t have all the ingredients, so I bought them.”

Lin was still digging through your shopping. After a moment he produced a minimalistically branded bag of muesli, “You’d better not be having that for dinner.”

You snatched it back. “No, Charlie recommended I improve my diet.”

Lin made a face. “Why, what do you usually have?”

You shrugged. “Toast?” You shelved the muesli, “Sometimes cereal?”

“You’re changing your diet for this guy?” Lin grabbed an apple from the bottom of the bag. “May I?”

“Sure,” you nodded. “But I’m not changing for him,” you argued- somewhat unconvincingly if Lin’s expression was anything to go by, “I’m making better choices.”

“Whatever you say,” Lin took a bite of the apple.

You grabbed the last thing out of the bag- a bottle of white-wine vinegar- and set it aside. The recipe had said you needed four hours to make this thing. “I’d better get started,” you groaned.

Lin laughed. “Want some help?”

“What do you know about cooking?” you asked skeptically, remembering the general lack of kitchen utensils you’d seen in his apartment.

He held up his hands in surrender. “Alright, you got me,” he admitted, “my dad is the cook in my family. He makes a great arroz con grandules-”

“I don’t suppose he knows how to make-” you pulled up the recipe on your phone, “roast chicken with fennel panzanella?”

“Nope,” he shook his head and peered over your shoulder at the phone, “but how hard can it be?”

“Don’t even say that,” you groaned as you scrolled down the instructions, “we’re going to die.”

--

It was quarter to seven when you left Lin to look after the saucepan of panzanella- mostly vegetables, as it turned out- and went to get changed. You pulled on a nice knit sweater and a fresh pair of jeans, since the pair you had been wearing smelled distinctly of the herby sauce you had spilled on them earlier.

You fixed your makeup and yelped when you realised it was almost seven. “Lin!” you called, “I have to kick you out.”

“What? “After I helped you make this?” He looked sadly at the chicken that being kept hot by the oven.

“Don't you dare give me those puppy eyes, Lin-Manuel Miranda,” you warned. “You know perfectly well I have a date.”

He still looked sad. You sighed and headed over to the bookshelf where, in a little wooden box, you kept a spare key. You pulled it out. “Here- catch,” you said, and threw it to him.

Lin caught it. “What's this?”

“A spare key to my apartment,” you explained.

Lin grinned, “Thanks, Y/N.”

You held up a hand to stop him. “There are rules if you're going to use my apartment to escape those poor women,” you said. “Firstly, you have to be clothed if you come into my apartment-”

“How clothed?” He interrupted.

You pretended to consider it, “Preferably fully. Secondly, don't crash my dates.”

“Damn,” he muttered.

“And lastly, don't lose the key.”

“Done, done, and done,” Lin promised, tucking the key into his pocket.

The buzzer at the door let you know that Charlie wanted to be let into the building. You pressed the button to admit him and opened the door. Lin hurried out.

You caught his arm as he passed you. “Thanks for helping, Lin,” you said sincerely, “I needed it.”

Lin smiled. “Any time,” he said and crossed the hallway. He opened his door a crack and peered inside to check for his date. “She's gone,” he told you before heading into his apartment, pausing only to mouth ‘good luck’ to you as he closed the door.

Just then, Charlie turned the corner. He was carrying a bouquet of pink tulips and wore a white shirt. “Y/N!” He smiled and presented you with the flowers. “Good to see you.”

“Good to see you too, Charlie,” you said. He followed you into your apartment and into the kitchen where you searched the cupboards for a vase.

“Roast chicken with fennel?” He asked after a moment. You looked up to see him peering into the simmering saucepan on the hob.

“Yeah,” you admitted as you filled the base. “I hope it turned out well.”

“My dad always used to add leek,” he advised, “for texture and flavour.”

“Oh?” You did your best to sound interested, pulling out two plates and two glasses. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Domaine aux Moines Savennieres from Roche aux Moines from late '90s or early '00s is my perfect pairing for roast chicken,” he told you as he moved on to peer into your oven. “Roast chicken always has very deep and complex flavors, and I look for savory characteristics in a wine to go with it.”

You stared at him for a moment. “I don't have any of... that.”

He shrugged. “It can't be helped- any Pinot Noir?”

--

You knocked on Lin’s door after Charlie had left. Charlie, you found out, was critical of diets and foods even outside of work. To make it worse, he was a dick about it without realizing.

When he'd unintentionally insulted your dessert- a recipe from your mother- you had decided you had had enough.

There were no plans for a third date, and you had hoped to bitch about it to Lin. But, standing outside his apartment, you realized he was either asleep or out. You headed back to your apartment.

To: Lin

You out?

You tried to sound casual, hoping the door would open in a moment to reveal Lin. But it didn't.

Feeling lonely, you washed up the dishes, boxed the leftovers, and got ready for bed. You knew you couldn’t expect Lin to always be there- he had his own life, after all. 

It was just that your life and his life had started to feel like the same thing. The absence of his familiar presence on the couch or in your kitchen or reading your books left you feeling lopsided, as if half of you had gone missing.

From: Lin

On a date- you alright?

You swallowed your pride and replied.

To: Lin

Yh. See you tomorrow.

[eyreguide]

The Evolving Jane Eyre 2011 Screenplay

I remember when the novel tie-in edition was released ahead of the Jane Eyre 2011 film, there was a bonus at the end of the ebook edition.  They added the screenplay of the film by Moira Buffini.  I have since tried to find my ebook copy but I think my move to a Kindle has led me to misplace it.  Fortunately there are screenplay databases online, and I found an older screenplay on this site.  Although I remember certain elements in the screenplay from the ebook bonus that is not in the version on the website, so I feel like there is yet another version floating around.  

The screenplay on the IMSDb site is the 2nd draft, dated 6 March 2008.  Quite a few years for the screenplay to go through revisions, and yet the heart of the screenplay writer’s vision seems intact.  The screenplay begins with Jane leaving Thornfield and wandering the moors - such a unique approach to adapting the novel.  The 2nd draft has more of the original story than the final product, with many interesting additions and actual scenes from the novel excised.  While the 2011 film is my favorite movie adaptation (not favorite overall though when you factor in miniseries) and I love how well it tells the story in two hours, it does make me sad that they couldn’t have made this movie two and a half hours to really bring more of Jane’s story to life.

The Changes from the 2nd Draft

If you’ve seen this movie trailer, the story seemed darker, more heightened and Gothic than the final product.  (Rochester with all black eyes at the very end???!!)  The trailer even shows a glimpse of Helen Burns in front of Moor House and that thread was entirely cut from the movie. Reading this 2nd draft, it was fascinating to see the vision Moira had for the story and the intriguing ideas she had for bringing out some of the inner life of Jane.  There are quite a few smaller moments that impressed me, so I will just highlight some of them in this post.

Helen Burns: Helen has more traditional scenes in the draft than she wound up with in the final movie, but the new idea that her “ghost” visually stays with Jane and brings her solace in times of trouble is both fresh and true to Helen’s role in Jane’s life.  When Jane is first running away from Thornfield, the viewer “sees” Helen with Jane, and at some points Helen leads Jane and encourages her to keep going.  While I’m glad they cut this for the film, I think it is an interesting visual and honors Helen as Jane’s first true friend.

Visuals of Jane’s Inner World: The 2006 miniseries adaptation with Ruth Wilson was the first to show what Jane was seeing by having the viewer see her in that physical world.  That 2006 miniseries begins with young Jane in a desert, as she is looking at an image of a barren land in a book.  Moira’s draft also includes this idea and early on has Jane in the setting of the pictures she is looking at.  Later, after the interrupted wedding, you see Jane by a river as the water overflows and visually the ‘torrent pours over her.’  This would have been a powerful moment in the film, but perhaps too jarring, so I understand why it was cut.

More Reordering of the Timeline: The film begins with Jane meeting the Rivers, then shows Jane at Lowood, then at Thornfield, before winding up at the beginning again with Jane as a schoolteacher at Morton.  The 2nd draft had even more flashbacks and flash-forwards with the most notable being changing the scene between St. John and Jane in Morton (which in the films shows up after you see Jane leave Thornfield and Rochester) to when Mr. Rochester leaves to see the Ingrams.  That flash-forward to Jane and St. John’s conversation about not looking back and St. John resisting the love he feels for someone he thinks is unsuitable seems appropriate to illustrate Jane’s confused feelings after saving Mr. Rochester from the fire, but it was another great choice to move it so that it is our first jarring moment back into Jane’s current life after the emotion of her leaving Rochester.

Nightmares: The 2006 miniseries might have inspired some of Moira’s approach to this screenplay as another element from the miniseries is shown - Jane’s dreams illustrating her inner turmoil and fears. I really enjoy this foreshadowing in the book, and I loved seeing the dreams dramatized in the 2006 version.  It might have worked well in the 2011 film as well - especially if they just did this to show Jane’s inner world, and not the landscape visuals I talked about above.  In one nightmare, Helen is the one to give Jane the crying babe.  And this particular nightmare is fantastic:

INT. DUSK. THORNFIELD / THE RED ROOM.                                  Jane, aged ten, is walking along the long gallery. She          opens a door and finds herself in the Red Room.                                  She stares into the mirror, searching the pale face of her          reflection, as if trying to find an answer. A murmur seems          to come down the gaping chimney; a woman's deep sigh.          Jane's throat tightens with fear. Something moves in the          shadows behind her.                                  She scans them, her eyes full of terror. Jane knows beyond          all doubt that something is there. She hears a low laugh.          It seems to be right next to her. She tries to scream -

And this occurs just before Jane hears Mason’s cries, which would have been pretty eerie to watch.  I really love this idea.

The Flashback to Thornfield Burning:  In the film, this is not shown, unlike SO MANY adaptations of Jane Eyre which does visualize this.  I love that they honor Jane’s narrative by not showing what she was not there to witness.  But in the 2nd draft, Mrs. Fairfax is telling Jane what she thinks happened, mostly through voiceover, but what was visualized in the draft was entirely different.  Instead of Bertha sneaking away, the viewer would have seen Rochester let her out, and then watch her wander around and eventually start a fire in Thornfield.  It shows Rochester as bleak, hopeless and uncaring.  The scene ends with Rochester readying himself to jump to his death until Bertha beats him to it -

EXT. EVENING. THORNFIELD - THE LEADS.                                  Bertha is watching the rooks. Rochester goes to the edge of          the roof. Bertha looks at him. The invitation is clear.          Rochester is ready to die.                                  Bertha sees the rooks wheeling away. She runs at the edge          of the roof. Rochester sees her intention too late. He puts          out his arm to stop her.                                  For the perfect fraction of a second, Bertha flies.          Rochester sees her fall; almost falls himself - saves          himself.                                  Life reawakens in him. Behind him, he sees Grace Poole,          coughing, crawling up through the door.                                                  GRACE           Antoinetta?                                  Responsibility floods over him. He goes to her side, lifts          Grace, helps her down the stairs.                                   MRS FAIRFAX (V.O.)           He didn't leave the house until           everyone was out. Some say it was a           just judgement on him for having           her confined there all those years           but for my part, I pity him.

Wow.  If this had been filmed, I don’t know what I would have thought.  On the one hand, it’s very powerful.  On the other it’s very different from what is in the novel, and shows Rochester carelessly endangering other people, and I don’t see that as true to his character.  But this is definitely a unique take on that scene.

Screenplay Highlights

There are a few scenes in the screenplay that particularly touched me or I found highlighted a great moment.  I love this quiet moment while Jane is just settling into her life at Thornfield (Adele’s song is the one she sings to Jane to show her accomplishments.)  The fact that Mrs. Fairfax gives a gift to Jane and knows that Jane would feel overwhelmed by it so hands it to her and leaves, feels true to Mrs. Fairfax’s gentle understanding.

INT. NIGHT. THORNFIELD - MRS FAIRFAX'S PARLOUR.                                  Adele's song continues as a voiceover. Mrs Fairfax is          finishing a shawl. Jane is showing Adele pictures of little          objects that she has sketched. Adele names them in English.                                  The song ends. Jane gives Adele a sketch of herself.                                                  ADELE           Me! It is me!                                  Mrs Fairfax shakes out the finished shawl and puts it round          Jane's shoulders, departing before Jane can protest.                                                  MRS FAIRFAX           Here. For you.                                                   Jane is delighted at the kindness of the gift.

Then there is this scene, where Jane is teaching Adele, and Mrs. Fairfax comes in to take Jane’s portfolio.  There’s discomfort in Jane as her work is being exhibited without her permission.  And a nod to the careless way men disregard women’s thoughts and opinions, even from Mr. Rochester, who is the character who is most interested in Jane’s mind.

INT. DAY. THORNFIELD - THE NURSERY.                                  Jane is by the blackboard, where she is writing sums.                                                  ADELE           Tonight I will have my cadeaux.           He always bring me a cadeaux.                                  Mrs Fairfax breathlessly enters.                                                  MRS FAIRFAX           Sorry to disturb. He's asked for           your art.                                  Jane looks at her in disbelief.                                                  JANE           What for?                                                                MRS FAIRFAX           He wishes to have it.                                                  JANE           Why?                                                  MRS FAIRFAX           To show to his company, I should           think. Is this it here? Thank you.                                  Jane watches helplessly as Mrs Fairfax takes her portfolio.

When Jane visits Mrs. Reed on her sick bed, there is a unique moment added to the script.  Jane’s sees a picture of her Mother, and reconciles her childhood fears of the Red Room.  The Caird/Gordon musical has a nod to Jane’s parents in the show (prior to the Broadway iteration) and even features them briefly in the beginning.  Obviously, this is a poignant way to show the growth of the little orphan girl, and I would have loved to see this dramatized.

INT. DAY. GATESHEAD - THE RED ROOM.                                  The morning sun is pouring in. Jane goes to the bed. She          puts her hand upon it, gently, as if thanking her uncle for          all he did. She notices a picture on the wall. A miniature          of a brown-haired woman with elfin eyes.                                  Jane takes it off the wall. Bessie comes in.                                                  JANE           My mother.                                  Bessie nods. A tear rolls down Jane's face. She clasps the          picture, looking round the room.                                                  JANE (CONT'D)           Why ever was I so afraid?

As is true of most of the roles in this version of the screenplay, St. John had more lines and in this section, we see more of his compassionate, persuasive side which would have really added to his character in the film.  He is harsh and cold,but this small scene would have made the viewer understand more why Jane admired and loved him like a brother.  I feel like the writing in this scene captures what Bronte wrote very well too.

  JANE           You're a good man, but you forget           the feelings of little people. We'd           better keep out of your way lest           you trample us.                                     St John's anger has faded. He is compassionate. This is far          harder to resist.                                                  ST JOHN           I wouldn't trample you. You'd           walk at my side towards God's           altar. He'd be your solace,           heaven your reward. We seek to do           the greatest work, to open           death's gates, to save souls.           Love God Jane, love God.                                  St John puts his hand on her forehead; Christlike. Jane is          falling under his power.                                   ST JOHN (CONT'D)           Give up your heart to Him. He is           love.

Final Impressions

After I finished the second draft, I have to say I admire Moira and the director and anyone involved in editing and refining the script.  Even as a purist, I am impressed at how well this second draft encapsulates the novel.  And then to have to further trim down and edit - what a difficult job!  And the final product is marvelously streamlined and an intimate portrait of Jane.  The sensational is pared back and the emotions are appropriately restrained.  In the editing process, there seemed to have been an instinct to keep the story to Jane’s perspective and to create something a little more realistic.  And I think they succeeded.