“Oh, East Wind,” said Fanny in agonized frustration. “What dire misdeed had my aunt Bertram done!”

But he said nothing, only turned to her at last, and his eyes were impossible to face. “I have your final answer, then?” he asked, his voice like distant reeds from an ancient shore. “You do not chuse to be with me again, in eternity, to have our souls bound with the purest bonds of love?”

“No, I do not. My dear, sweet, ancient love. In this life, I am already bound—to another. And as for eternity—I chuse to be bound to no one but myself.”

When she had spoken the word “another,” Fanny could not help but glance in the direction of Edmund, oblivious and engrossed in a conversation with his father.

Lord Eastwind saw her glance. And in resigned silence he nodded. He then got up, and with all kindness left her side.

Fanny sat stricken into a kind of dead silence for the rest of the evening, in which she had no idea what had occurred. She did not move until Susan touched her gently on the arm—the room had emptied, everyone retiring for the night, and candles were being put out.

Fanny was woken in the middle of the night by some exceedingly loud noises in the hallway and the room nearby her own tiny attic bedroom.

Barely having a moment to avail herself of a candle, she opened the door and with great trepidation looked out into the dim hallway.

She was not alone. There was Mr. Rochester with a candle, followed by a very mousy little governess by the name of Jane Eyre—ah, no, those were just the remnants of her dream; Fanny sighed at the tome[38] on her nightstand. She blinked, and just as she glanced again into the hallway, there was Edmund, coming up the stairs, followed by Sir Thomas, both dressed in hastily drawn robes, and behind them, Baddeley, with candles in a holder.

“Fanny! Oh, did you hear it, Fanny?” Edmund exclaimed in a hushed whisper.

“What, cousin? I am afraid I did not—not exactly. There were some noises—”

But in that moment everyone’s attention was drawn to an open door. It was the door to the famous secret attic room that was Lady Bertram’s favorite place. A beam of bright candle glow fell to illuminate the way, and they all advanced, for there were several agitated voices resounding from within, including that of Lady Bertram, and Maria.

“Please, my dear,” Lady Bertram was heard to speak in an agitated tonality above her usual placid mumble, and sounding to Fanny’s hearing for the first time very much like her own mother, the ever-harried Mrs. Price. “I really do not think it is wise to do this—he is charming, there is no doubt, but I do wish you would come down here at once, upon my word—”