Jane
According to Wellington, the entire future of the Society came down to the success (or failure) of Jane’s mission tonight. Of course, the pressure might have been exacerbated by the dress. Can we talk about the dress? First off, the sheer weight of the thing. Jane was a slight person, yes, but surely even the tallest and stoutest of women would be bothered by the heaviness of the gown. Second, the corset. Jane had found a book on the proper way to string a corset, and the gist of it was this: tighten it until you could barely breathe. Then you were halfway there. Since she was dressing herself, she tied two ends to a bedpost and walked forward to tighten it. But then the bedpost broke, and when the neighbor came over to see what the ruckus was, Jane implored her to tighten the corset for her.
Her neighbor acquiesced and then left her with this piece of advice: “Friends don’t let friends corset alone.”
Next, there were the sleeves. They extended at least four inches out on either side of Jane’s small shoulders, making it impossible for one to walk through a doorway without turning sideways. And then there were the shoulders. Which were bare. As in, showing. Jane fought the urge to cover them with something else, something inconspicuous, something like . . . shrubbery.
Then there was the crinoline, which was a steel-constructed dome-shaped attachment that replaced layers and layers of skirts. It was supposed to make using a chamber pot easier, but Jane wondered what good that would do when the entire dress would prevent her from being able to enter the room with the chamber pot, let alone use it. At her wrist hung a drawstring handbag, inside of which was a mysterious book Wellesley called the Book of the Dead. It was supposed to help her in her mission tonight. It hung awkwardly, but excepting some sort of contraption that would hold it under the crinoline, her wrist really was the best option.
There was only one conclusion Jane could draw from the style and design of the dress and it was this: it had to be thought up by men. Then women could in no way outrun them, and with the lack of oxygen to the brain due to a rib cage the size of a fist, they could not outthink them. And with the bright colors, they couldn’t hide. No running, no thinking, no hiding.
But she had given her word to Wellington, and her silent word to Charlotte, that she would do this work. And Wellington insisted that this outfit was an appropriate one for visiting a palace.
Which she was about to, for the first time in her very plain and simple life. The carriage was bound for Saint James’s Palace, where, apparently, the king required a bit of help with a wayward ghost, and where Jane was also tasked with returning a signet ring.
The king was reluctant to call for the Society, but it was a particularly obnoxious ghost who had been rattling the royal shrubbery and knocking over the royal vases. Fun fact: it was the same ghost that was responsible for the “madness” of King George. Asking for help was the first step.
The second step was to squeeze oneself into a ridiculous dress, Jane thought. The third step was to save the Society.
Jane felt uncomfortable carrying the weight of the Society’s future on her very small shoulders, especially since she had no experience and no training, but the duke was convinced that the fact that she was a Beacon would make up for everything else, and the financial situation of the Society was of the utmost urgency.
She didn’t want to be here.
She didn’t want to be here.
But she was here, and it was all for Charlotte, she reminded herself.
The carriage bumped and jostled along the road, and Jane wished she actually were wearing lots of skirts instead of a steel crinoline. At least there would’ve been some cushioning.
One of her guards from the Society sat across from her, his back to the horse side, as was the protocol. He did not look to be in the mood to talk, which was just fine with Jane. Helen sat next to him, staring at Jane and The Dress and The Bows.
“You look like a court jester,” she said.
“Thank you,” Jane said.
“You’re welcome,” Helen responded. Helen was still grappling with the fact of Jane’s being a Beacon. She routinely questioned every single one of her actions.
“Am I walking across the room because you want me to?” she would say.
“Don’t be silly, dear,” Jane would say.
“All right. Am I not being silly because you don’t want me to be silly??”
It was rather exhausting.
The carriage descended upon the palace, and Jane got out and walked slowly up the stairs, because walking slowly was all she could do in the dress. The king was having a ball tonight, and only the elite could gain entrance. This was the most distressing part of all, for Jane was not educated in the ways of high society. She wished she were wearing a Society mask right now, but the king had asked for the utmost discretion. He did not want to scare his dinner guests.
“Miss Jane Eyre,” she said to the guard at the entrance.
“Of where?” the guard replied.
“Lowood . . . Estate.”
“Miss Jane Eyre, of the Lowood Estate.”
Upon entering the palace, Jane curtsied to the king, just as she’d practiced. The king noted her dress, counting the bows, Jane guessed. The duke had sent word to the king that he would recognize Jane by the number of bows on her dress.
The king nodded at her, held her gaze for a split second and then dismissed her with a wave of his hand. Jane assumed he would send for her at his convenience.
She hoped it would be sooner rather than later.
The evening was horribly long. Not being properly acquainted with anyone, and therefore not being able to make conversation with anyone, Jane went around the room pretending she had seen someone she had recognized and was on her way to meet up with them, but the result was that she just wandered back and forth with an expectant smile on her face that never actually landed on anyone. And do you realize, reader, how hard it is to not smile at anyone in particular when you are in a room crowded with faces?
At least Helen was there, but it wasn’t really the same as having company since Jane couldn’t talk to Helen in public. Exhausted, Jane sidled out of the great room and found a small dark alcove, in which she decided to catch her breath, and totally not hide, because she was an agent and hiding would be cowardly.
“Miss Eyre,” a king’s guard said.
Helen made a move to elbow Jane in the ribs.
“Oh, yes, I was just admiring the . . . darkness.”
The guard said nothing.
“It’s lovely, in a palace. The darkness. So much more elegant than . . . regular darkness.”
“Good recovery,” Helen said.
“Follow me.” The guard turned abruptly, and Jane scurried (as much as one could scurry in that dress) to keep up.
She followed the guard down a series of corridors, and ended up in a room that was comparatively smaller than the others she’d seen so far, but still big. Behind an ornate desk stood a wall of ornate robes, and on top of those robes rested long, curly brown locks of hair, and behind all that, Jane assumed, was the king. He started to turn around, and quickly Jane darted forward and placed the signet ring on the desk. She was back in position a moment before he saw her.
She immediately curtsied and didn’t speak.
“You are from the Society?” the king said.
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Jane raised her gaze to meet the king’s. That was when she saw him. The ghost. Standing next to the king. One hand on his hip, just like the king.
“I am not fond of the Society,” the king said.
“And I am the King of Prussia,” the ghost said.
Jane tried not to smile.
“I do not believe in this ghost nonsense,” the king said, waving his hand as if brushing a fly away.
“Nor do I,” the ghost said, waving his hand as well.
Helen snorted. “He’s funny.”
The ghost then seemed to notice Jane for the first time, and a wide smile broke out on his face. “My, aren’t you a stunning creature. Tell me, have you ever been with a king?”
Jane’s cheeks went red.
“Oh my,” Helen said.
“Sire,” Jane started.
“Yes?” the king and the ghost said simultaneously.
“I can help you.” She pulled a talisman out of her satchel. It was a brooch that Wellington said most likely belonged to the tree ghost’s beloved grandmother. “But before I do, I need you to do something for me.”
The attendants in the room looked to one another uncomfortably.
“Anything,” the ghost said.
Jane ignored him. “You must know what a help and comfort the Society can be, especially given your current predicament.”
“You are quite overbearing for someone so poor and plain,” the king said.
“Who are you calling poor?” Helen said, gesturing to the myriad bows adorning Jane’s ridiculous dress. “She makes five thousand pounds a year.”
“I can be,” Jane admitted. “Please permit me to help you see the existence of ghosts.”
The king narrowed his eyes. “You mean you wish me to believe. It’s not that I don’t believe in ghosts. I just didn’t understand how bothersome they could be, until this one came along.”
The tree ghost bowed.
“Would it help to talk to him yourself? I can show him to you.” She took the Book of the Dead out of her satchel and set it on the desk. She opened it to a page she’d had tagged and read the words as Helen ducked behind her. When she had finished, the king glanced around the room, noticing nothing out of the ordinary, until he looked behind him.
There was the tree ghost, glancing around the room as well.
“I see no one,” the tree ghost said.
The king startled at hearing the ghost, and stepped backward.
“This is madness,” said the ghost. He glided over to Jane. “I would have you detained were it not for your extraordinary beauty.”
The king went from looking surprised to looking rather puzzled. He shook his head and approached the tree ghost.
“You, sir, must leave the palace at once.”
“Why would I leave my home?” the ghost said.
The king closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them, he seemed much more calm. “There is a better place for you.”
The ghost scoffed. “Better than a palace?”
The king nodded. “Better than a palace.”
“I don’t believe you. Off with his head!” The ghost flicked his hand toward the king.
The king took a step closer. “I understand you feel an attachment to this place. But you are not meant to be here, walking the grounds as a spirit.”
Suddenly, Helen stepped forward, and the king noticed her for the first time.
“Forgive me, Sire,” Jane said. “This is my . . . companion. She is also a ghost.”
Helen stared at the king. “What do you mean, he is not meant to stay here?” Helen asked.
“Sire,” Jane whispered. “Say ‘Sire.’”
“Sire,” Helen said.
The king waved his hand as if she shouldn’t be concerned about such things. Now that he had seen ghosts for himself, protocols seemed unimportant. “He is a spirit,” the king said. “Spirits are meant to move on to the next life, whatever that may be.”
“I would not mind staying with her,” the tree ghost said, raising his eyebrows and looking at Jane.
Before anyone could look surprised again, Jane spoke up.
“I am what’s known as a Beacon,” Jane said. “Ghosts are attracted to me.”
To give the king credit, he hid his surprise well.
“You can come with me,” Jane said to the ghost. “I can help you move on.”
“Why is moving on so good?” Helen said. “Especially if you don’t even know where moving on goes?”
“Helen,” Jane whispered.
The king waved his hand again. “Because it’s supposed to happen that way. We must believe that the god who put us here, with families and companions and food and beauty . . . he has a place for us when we are no longer living. We must have this faith. The faith that we will again be with those we’ve lost. But you won’t discover this promise if you linger here among the living.”
Jane relaxed. She hadn’t had an explanation for what awaited the spirits moving on. She hadn’t wanted to dwell on the thought.
Then she looked at Helen, who was staring at her with a pained expression.
Perhaps she was looking at the why.
“Ghost,” the king said. “Would you like to say farewell now? And follow Miss Eyre? She will take you where you need to go.”
The ghost frowned but then bowed. “I shall follow the instructions of my top advisor. Thank you, good fellow.” He went to pat the king on the back, and actually made contact, his emotions were so strong.
“Excellent,” the king said with a cough. “Miss Eyre, you will guide him from here?”
“Yes, Sire.”
Jane spared one last glance at the ring on the king’s desk, and figuring her mission was accomplished, walked out with the tree ghost and Helen in tow.
Once in the hallway, Helen stood in front of Jane, and had she been a solid human instead of a ghost, she would have prevented Jane from walking. Still, Jane stopped.
“Why am I here?” she said, her hand on her hip.
“Because you wanted to come to the palace with me,” Jane said.
“That’s not what I mean.”
Jane had a sinking feeling she knew what Helen meant.
“Why are you helping ghosts to move on to the place we are supposed to move on to, and yet I stay? With you?”
“I don’t know, dear,” Jane said. “But maybe it is because I need my closest friend, and she needs me. Are you not happy?”
Helen frowned and her lower lip trembled. “I don’t know. I don’t know if happiness exists for ghosts here.”
“That can’t be,” Jane implored. “I’ve seen you happy.”
Helen sniffed. “But what if that’s simply a reflection of you? You’re a Beacon. I’m a ghost. Is that why I have stayed?” She raised her voice. “Is that why I linger?”
Jane glanced around to see if they had drawn attention, but there were only uninterested guards in this corridor. And, also, Helen was a ghost.
“Helen, please. You saved me at Lowood. You are my kindred. I can’t imagine a life here without you.”
Helen frowned. “But maybe you are meant to live it without me.”
She turned and ran down the corridor, and Jane would have followed but it was definitely against royal protocol for a woman in a dress and heels to run. And she had the tree ghost now.
“Follow me,” she said.
It was a long walk back to the ballroom and then down the stairs and then to the entrance of the palace, and during the walk, all Jane could think about was Helen. She would not leave Helen. Helen needed Jane as much as Jane needed Helen. Helen was an anchor. A lighthouse. A compass, showing Jane the better way.
Sure, she was still a bit naïve. And she hadn’t progressed emotionally or intellectually, as Jane had. But she was a ghost. And that was fine.
But what if she left?
The tree ghost stayed close by Jane’s side as they approached the grand doors. Jane held the talisman at the ready if he suddenly decided to bolt, but he didn’t. “Where did your friend go?” he said.
“I don’t know,” Jane whispered, not moving her mouth because there were people around.
“Is she coming back?”
Jane didn’t answer. She didn’t want to think about the possibility that she would never see Helen again.
The guards heaved the doors open, and suddenly Helen came rushing in.
“Jane!” she said.
“Helen!” Jane replied, causing the guards to look at her with confusion. Jane quickly turned around and motioned Helen to follow her. “I knew you wouldn’t leave me.”
“It’s not that,” Helen said. “I saw Mr. Blackwood!”
“His ghost?” Jane said.
“No, him! He’s alive. He said the duke is bad. He has a message for you.” She ticked off her pointer finger as if she wanted to get the message perfectly correct. “He said don’t put the ring in the king’s study, because the duke wants to possess him. Phew.” She put her hand to her stomach and took several deep breaths in. “That’s it.”
“Wait,” Jane said, not even bothering to keep her voice quiet. “Wait. Mr. Blackwood is alive?” Jane felt a moment of relief that Mr. Rochester hadn’t killed him.
Helen nodded, wheezing. “And don’t forget the other part I told you.”
“The duke is bad, and don’t put the ring in the study because he wants to possess him?” Jane said.
“Oh, good, your memory is so good.” She smiled. “We did it!”
“But, Helen, I already put the ring in the study!” Jane exclaimed.
“Oh right,” Helen said.
The door guards started to approach her.
Jane, Helen, and the tree ghost started to walk away. “How could the duke possibly possess the king anyway?” Jane said.
“The ring is a talisman,” Helen said. “It’s holding a ghost who can control the king.”
Jane’s heart sank. “We have to get back to the study.”
Just then, trumpets sounded, indicating the king had once again entered the ballroom.
The three of them rushed inside, and there was the king, sitting on his throne.
“Tree ghost, can you go to him? Distract him?”
But the tree ghost only backed away. “That is not the king.”
“What? Of course he’s—” Jane caught a glimpse of the king’s hand, and on it was the ring. “No. We have to get out of here and find Mr. Blackwood,” Jane said. “He’ll know what to do. Stay with me, Helen?”
“Always,” Helen said.