‘… I must pay a visit to the third storey. Don’t move, remember, or call anyone.’

He padded softly down the corridor and hissed: ‘Miss Next, are you there?’

I stood up.

‘Here, sir.’

Rochester took me by the arm and led me along the gallery and on to the landing above the stairs. He stopped, placed the candle on a low table and clasped both my hands in his.

‘I thank you, Miss Next, from the bottom of my heart! It has been a living hell of torment; not knowing when or even if my beloved Jane would return!’

He spoke with keen and very real passion; I wondered if Landen had ever loved me as much as Rochester loved Jane.

‘It was the least I could do, Mr Rochester,’ I responded happily, ‘after your kind attention to my wounds that night outside the warehouse.’

He dismissed my words with a wave of his hand.

‘You are returning straight away?’

I looked down.

‘It’s not quite as easy as that, sir. There is another interloper in this book aside from me.’

Rochester strode to the balustrade. He spoke without turning around.

‘It’s him, isn’t it?’

‘You have met him?’ I asked, surprised.

‘He has several names. You have a plan?’

I explained the use of a signal and made it clear that it would be safer for me to remain at Thornfield until the book had run its course. Then I would take Hades with me—somehow.

‘The end of the book,’ murmured Rochester unhappily. ‘How I hate the ending. The thought of my sweet Jane travelling to India with that poltroon St John Rivers makes my blood turn to ice.’ He bolstered himself. ‘But I have at least a few months of real happiness before that time. Come, you must be hungry.’ He walked off down the corridor and beckoned me to follow, talking as he went.

‘I suggest we try and trap him when Jane has left after—‘ He shivered slightly at the thought of it. ‘—the wedding. We will be quite alone as Jane takes the narrative with her to Moor House and those fatuous cousins. I am not featured again in the book, so we may do as we please, and I am best disposed to be of assistance. However, as you have guessed, you must do nothing that might disturb Jane; this novel is written in the first person. I can get away to speak with you when I am, to all intents and purposes, out of the story. But you must promise me that you will stay out of Jane’s way. I will speak to Mrs Fairfax and Adele privately; they will understand. The servants Mary and John will do whatever I tell them.’

We had arrived at a door and Rochester knocked impatiently. There was a groaning and a thump and presently a very dishevelled character appeared at the door.

‘Mrs Fairfax,’ said Rochester, ‘this is Miss Next. She will be staying with us for a month or two. I want you to fetch her some food and have a bed made ready; she has travelled far to be here and I think she needs sustenance and rest. It would please me if you were not to discuss her presence with anyone, and I would be grateful if you could engineer that Miss Next and Miss Eyre do not meet. I hardly need to stress the importance of this to you.’

Mrs Fairfax looked me up and down, was particularly intrigued and shocked at the same time by my ponytail and jeans, and then nodded and led me off towards the dining room.

‘We will speak again tomorrow, Miss Next,’ said Rochester, a smile breaking out on his troubled face. ‘And I thank you once again.’

He turned and left me to Mrs Fairfax, who bustled downstairs. The housekeeper told me to wait in the dining room while she brought me something to eat. She returned shortly with some cold cuts of meat and some bread. I ate hungrily as Pilot—who I thought had been let in when Hades went out—sniffed at my trouser leg and wagged his tail excitedly.

‘He remembers you,’ remarked Mrs Fairfax slowly, ‘yet I have been working here for many years and I do not recall having laid eyes upon you before.’

I tickled Pilot’s ear.

‘I threw a stick for him once. When he was out with his master.’

‘I see,’ replied Mrs Fairfax, suspiciously. ‘And how do you know Mr Rochester?’

‘I, ah, met the Rochesters in Madeira. I knew his brother.’

‘I see. Very tragic.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Then you know the Masons?’

‘Not well.’

She had been eyeing my jeans again.

‘Women wear breeches where you come from?’

‘Often, Mrs Fairfax.’

‘And where is it that you come from? London?’

‘Farther than that.’

‘Ah!’ said Mrs Fairfax with a knowing smile. ‘Osaka!’

She bustled out, leaving me alone with Pilot, having made me promise that I would not feed him from the table. She returned ten minutes later with a tray of tea things, then left me for another half-hour to make up a room. She led me up to a second-storey chamber with a fine view out of the front of the house. I had insisted that Pilot stay with me, and he slept against the locked door, somehow sensing the possible danger that his new mistress might be in. I slept fitfully and dreamed of Hades laughing at me.

As I slept, Victor and the others back at the Swindon LiteraTec office had been celebrating the return of the narrative to the novel. Apart from a brief mention of Mrs Fairfax making noises on the night of the bedroom fire, it was all pretty much as anyone remembered it. A member of the Bronte Federation had been called in to examine the text as it wrote itself across the last two hundred pages, which up until this moment had been blank. The Bronte scholar knew the book by heart and his pleased expression gave them no cause for complaint.

I woke to the sound of Pilot scratching on the door to be let out. I quietly unlocked it and peeped out. I could see Jane bustling down the corridor and quickly shut the door and looked at my watch. It was barely 6 a.m. and only a few of the domestic staff were awake. I waited a couple of minutes, let Pilot out and then followed, cautious lest I bumped into Jane. The morning was spent with almost everyone in the house setting Rochester’s room to rights, so after breakfast I was about to make my way out of the house when Mrs Fairfax stopped me.

‘Miss Next,’ announced the housekeeper, ‘Mr Rochester has explained to me about the events of the past week and I wanted to add my thanks to his.’

She said it without emotion but I was in no doubt that she meant it. She added: ‘He has instructed me to have the house guarded against agents who would wish Miss Eyre harm.’

I looked out of the window; from where we stood I could see an estate worker standing on sentry duty with a large pickaxe handle. As we watched he glanced into the house and scurried out of sight. A few moments later Jane herself walked out of the door, looked about her, took a deep breath in the crisp morning air, and then went back inside. After a few moments the estate worker reappeared and took up his post once more.

‘Miss Eyre must never know we are watching and guarding her,’ said Mrs Fairfax severely.

‘I understand.’

Mrs Fairfax nodded and looked at me critically.

‘Do women go about with their heads uncovered where you come from?’

‘Frequently.’

‘It isn’t the accepted thing here,’ she said reproachfully. ‘Come with me and I shall make you presentable.’

Mrs Fairfax took me to her own room and gave me a bonnet to wear along with a thick black cloak that covered me to my feet. I thanked her and Mrs Fairfax bobbed courteously.

‘Is Mr Rochester at home today?’ I asked.

‘He has gone to make arrangements. I understand he went to Mr Eshton’s place; there is quite a party going on. Colonel Dent will be there as well as Lord Ingram. I don’t expect him back for a week.’

‘With all that is going on here, do you think it is wise?’

Mrs Fairfax looked at me as though I were an infant.

‘You don’t understand, do you? After the fire Mr Rochester goes away for a week. That’s how it happens.’