Books: Jane Eyre

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"And Mrs. Reed?"

"Missis looks stout and well enough in the face, but I think she's
not quite easy in her mind: Mr. John's conduct does not please
her- -he spends a deal of money."

"Did she send you here, Bessie?"

"No, indeed: but I have long wanted to see you, and when I heard
that there had been a letter from you, and that you were going to
another part of the country, I thought I'd just set off, and get
a look at you before you were quite out of my reach."

"I am afraid you are disappointed in me, Bessie." I said this
laughing: I perceived that Bessie's glance, though it expressed
regard, did in no shape denote admiration.

"No, Miss Jane, not exactly: you are genteel enough; you look like
a lady, and it is as much as ever I expected of you: you were no
beauty as a child."

I smiled at Bessie's frank answer: I felt that it was correct, but
I confess I was not quite indifferent to its import: at eighteen
most people wish to please, and the conviction that they have not an
exterior likely to second that desire brings anything but gratification.

"I dare say you are clever, though," continued Bessie, by way of
solace. "What can you do? Can you play on the piano?"

"A little."

There was one in the room; Bessie went and opened it, and then asked
me to sit down and give her a tune: I played a waltz or two, and
she was charmed.

"The Miss Reeds could not play as well!" said she exultingly. "I
always said you would surpass them in learning: and can you draw?"

"That is one of my paintings over the chimney-piece." It was a
landscape in water colours, of which I had made a present to the
superintendent, in acknowledgment of her obliging mediation with
the committee on my behalf, and which she had framed and glazed.

"Well, that is beautiful, Miss Jane! It is as fine a picture as
any Miss Reed's drawing-master could paint, let alone the young
ladies themselves, who could not come near it: and have you learnt
French?"

"Yes, Bessie, I can both read it and speak it."

"And you can work on muslin and canvas?"

"I can."

"Oh, you are quite a lady, Miss Jane! I knew you would be: you
will get on whether your relations notice you or not. There was
something I wanted to ask you. Have you ever heard anything from
your father's kinsfolk, the Eyres?"

"Never in my life."

"Well, you know Missis always said they were poor and quite
despicable: and they may be poor; but I believe they are as much
gentry as the Reeds are; for one day, nearly seven years ago, a
Mr. Eyre came to Gateshead and wanted to see you; Missis said you
were it school fifty miles off; he seemed so much disappointed, for
he could not stay: he was going on a voyage to a foreign country,
and the ship was to sail from London in a day or two. He looked
quite a gentleman, and I believe he was your father's brother."

"What foreign country was he going to, Bessie?"

"An island thousands of miles off, where they make wine
-- the butler did tell me -- "

"Madeira?" I suggested.

"Yes, that is it -- that is the very word."

"So he went?"

"Yes; he did not stay many minutes in the house: Missis was very
high with him; she called him afterwards a 'sneaking tradesman.'
My Robert believes he was a wine-merchant."

"Very likely," I returned; "or perhaps clerk or agent to a
wine-merchant."

Bessie and I conversed about old times an hour longer, and then
she was obliged to leave me: I saw her again for a few minutes
the next morning at Lowton, while I was waiting for the coach. We
parted finally at the door of the Brocklehurst Arms there: each
went her separate way; she set off for the brow of Lowood Fell
to meet the conveyance which was to take her back to Gateshead, I
mounted the vehicle which was to bear me to new duties and a new
life in the unknown environs of Millcote.

CHAPTER XI

A new chapter in a novel is something like a new scene in a play;
and when I draw up the curtain this time, reader, you must fancy you
see a room in the George Inn at Millcote, with such large figured
papering on the walls as inn rooms have; such a carpet, such
furniture, such ornaments on the mantelpiece, such prints, including
a portrait of George the Third, and another of the Prince of Wales,
and a representation of the death of Wolfe. All this is visible
to you by the light of an oil lamp hanging from the ceiling, and
by that of an excellent fire, near which I sit in my cloak and
bonnet; my muff and umbrella lie on the table, and I am warming
away the numbness and chill contracted by sixteen hours' exposure
to the rawness of an October day: I left Lowton at four o'clock
a.m., and the Millcote town clock is now just striking eight.

Reader, though I look comfortably accommodated, I am not very tranquil
in my mind. I thought when the coach stopped here there would be
some one to meet me; I looked anxiously round as I descended the
wooden steps the "boots" placed for my convenience, expecting to
hear my name pronounced, and to see some description of carriage
waiting to convey me to Thornfield. Nothing of the sort was
visible; and when I asked a waiter if any one had been to inquire
after a Miss Eyre, I was answered in the negative: so I had no
resource but to request to be shown into a private room: and here
I am waiting, while all sorts of doubts and fears are troubling my
thoughts.

It is a very strange sensation to inexperienced youth to feel
itself quite alone in the world, cut adrift from every connection,
uncertain whether the port to which it is bound can be reached,
and prevented by many impediments from returning to that it has
quitted. The charm of adventure sweetens that sensation, the glow
of pride warms it; but then the throb of fear disturbs it; and fear
with me became predominant when half-an-hour elapsed and still I
was alone. I bethought myself to ring the bell.

"Is there a place in this neighbourhood called Thornfield?" I
asked of the waiter who answered the summons.

"Thornfield? I don't know, ma'am; I'll inquire at the
bar." He vanished, but reappeared instantly -

"Is your name Eyre, Miss?"

"Yes."

"Person here waiting for you."

I jumped up, took my muff and umbrella, and hastened into the inn-
passage: a man was standing by the open door, and in the lamp-lit
street I dimly saw a one-horse conveyance.

"This will be your luggage, I suppose?" said the man rather abruptly
when he saw me, pointing to my trunk in the passage.

"Yes." He hoisted it on to the vehicle, which was a sort of car,
and then I got in; before he shut me up, I asked him how far it
was to Thornfield.

"A matter of six miles."

"How long shall we be before we get there?"

"Happen an hour and a half."

He fastened the car door, climbed to his own seat outside, and
we set off. Our progress was leisurely, and gave me ample time
to reflect; I was content to be at length so near the end of my
journey; and as I leaned back in the comfortable though not elegant
conveyance, I meditated much at my ease.

"I suppose," thought I, "judging from the plainness of the servant
and carriage, Mrs. Fairfax is not a very dashing person: so much
the better; I never lived amongst fine people but once, and I was
very miserable with them. I wonder if she lives alone except this
little girl; if so, and if she is in any degree amiable, I shall
surely be able to get on with her; I will do my best; it is a pity
that doing one's best does not always answer. At Lowood, indeed,
I took that resolution, kept it, and succeeded in pleasing; but
with Mrs. Reed, I remember my best was always spurned with scorn.
I pray God Mrs. Fairfax may not turn out a second Mrs. Reed; but
if she does, I am not bound to stay with her! let the worst come
to the worst, I can advertise again. How far are we on our road
now, I wonder?"

I let down the window and looked out; Millcote was behind us; judging
by the number of its lights, it seemed a place of considerable
magnitude, much larger than Lowton. We were now, as far as I could
see, on a sort of common; but there were houses scattered all over
the district; I felt we were in a different region to Lowood, more
populous, less picturesque; more stirring, less romantic.

The roads were heavy, the night misty; my conductor let his horse
walk all the way, and the hour and a half extended, I verily
believe, to two hours; at last he turned in his seat and said -

"You're noan so far fro' Thornfield now."

Again I looked out: we were passing a church; I saw its low broad
tower against the sky, and its bell was tolling a quarter; I saw
a narrow galaxy of lights too, on a hillside, marking a village or
hamlet. About ten minutes after, the driver got down and opened a
pair of gates: we passed through, and they clashed to behind us.
We now slowly ascended a drive, and came upon the long front of a
house: candlelight gleamed from one curtained bow-window; all the
rest were dark. The car stopped at the front door; it was opened
by a maid-servant; I alighted and went in.

"Will you walk this way, ma'am?" said the girl; and I followed
her across a square hall with high doors all round: she ushered me
into a room whose double illumination of fire and candle at first
dazzled me, contrasting as it did with the darkness to which my
eyes had been for two hours inured; when I could see, however, a
cosy and agreeable picture presented itself to my view.

A snug small room; a round table by a cheerful fire; an arm-chair
high-backed and old-fashioned, wherein sat the neatest imaginable
little elderly lady, in widow's cap, black silk gown, and snowy
muslin apron; exactly like what I had fancied Mrs. Fairfax, only
less stately and milder looking. She was occupied in knitting; a
large cat sat demurely at her feet; nothing in short was wanting
to complete the beau-ideal of domestic comfort. A more reassuring
introduction for a new governess could scarcely be conceived;
there was no grandeur to overwhelm, no stateliness to embarrass;
and then, as I entered, the old lady got up and promptly and kindly
came forward to meet me.

"How do you do, my dear? I am afraid you have had a tedious ride;
John drives so slowly; you must be cold, come to the fire."

"Mrs. Fairfax, I suppose?" said I.

"Yes, you are right: do sit down."

She conducted me to her own chair, and then began to remove my shawl
and untie my bonnet-strings; I begged she would not give herself
so much trouble.

"Oh, it is no trouble; I dare say your own hands are almost numbed
with cold. Leah, make a little hot negus and cut a sandwich or
two: here are the keys of the storeroom."

And she produced from her pocket a most housewifely bunch of keys,
and delivered them to the servant.

"Now, then, draw nearer to the fire," she continued. "You've
brought your luggage with you, haven't you, my dear?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I'll see it carried into your room," she said, and bustled out.

"She treats me like a visitor," thought I. "I little expected such
a reception; I anticipated only coldness and stiffness: this is
not like what I have heard of the treatment of governesses; but I
must not exult too soon."

She returned; with her own hands cleared her knitting apparatus
and a book or two from the table, to make room for the tray which
Leah now brought, and then herself handed me the refreshments. I
felt rather confused at being the object of more attention than
I had ever before received, and, that too, shown by my employer
and superior; but as she did not herself seem to consider she was
doing anything out of her place, I thought it better to take her
civilities quietly.

"Shall I have the pleasure of seeing Miss Fairfax to-night?" I
asked, when I had partaken of what she offered me.

"What did you say, my dear? I am a little deaf," returned the good
lady, approaching her ear to my mouth.

I repeated the question more distinctly.

"Miss Fairfax? Oh, you mean Miss Varens! Varens is the name of
your future pupil."

"Indeed! Then she is not your daughter?"

"No, -- I have no family."

I should have followed up my first inquiry, by asking in what way
Miss Varens was connected with her; but I recollected it was not
polite to ask too many questions: besides, I was sure to hear in
time.

"I am so glad," she continued, as she sat down opposite to me, and
took the cat on her knee; "I am so glad you are come; it will be
quite pleasant living here now with a companion. To be sure it
is pleasant at any time; for Thornfield is a fine old hall, rather
neglected of late years perhaps, but still it is a respectable
place; yet you know in winter-time one feels dreary quite alone in
the best quarters. I say alone -- Leah is a nice girl to be sure,
and John and his wife are very decent people; but then you see
they are only servants, and one can't converse with them on terms
of equality: one must keep them at due distance, for fear of losing
one's authority. I'm sure last winter (it was a very severe one,
if you recollect, and when it did not snow, it rained and blew),
not a creature but the butcher and postman came to the house, from
November till February; and I really got quite melancholy with sitting
night after night alone; I had Leah in to read to me sometimes;
but I don't think the poor girl liked the task much: she felt it
confining. In spring and summer one got on better: sunshine and
long days make such a difference; and then, just at the commencement
of this autumn, little Adela Varens came and her nurse: a child
makes a house alive all at once; and now you are here I shall be
quite gay."

My heart really warmed to the worthy lady as I heard her talk; and
I drew my chair a little nearer to her, and expressed my sincere
wish that she might find my company as agreeable as she anticipated.

"But I'll not keep you sitting up late to-night," said she; "it is
on the stroke of twelve now, and you have been travelling all day:
you must feel tired. If you have got your feet well warmed, I'll
show you your bedroom. I've had the room next to mine prepared for
you; it is only a small apartment, but I thought you would like it
better than one of the large front chambers: to be sure they have
finer furniture, but they are so dreary and solitary, I never sleep
in them myself."

I thanked her for her considerate choice, and as I really felt
fatigued with my long journey, expressed my readiness to retire.
She took her candle, and I followed her from the room. First she
went to see if the hall-door was fastened; having taken the key
from the lock, she led the way upstairs. The steps and banisters
were of oak; the staircase window was high and latticed; both it
and the long gallery into which the bedroom doors opened looked
as if they belonged to a church rather than a house. A very chill
and vault-like air pervaded the stairs and gallery, suggesting cheerless
ideas of space and solitude; and I was glad, when finally ushered
into my chamber, to find it of small dimensions, and furnished in
ordinary, modern style.

When Mrs. Fairfax had bidden me a kind good-night, and I had fastened
my door, gazed leisurely round, and in some measure effaced the
eerie impression made by that wide hall, that dark and spacious
staircase, and that long, cold gallery, by the livelier aspect of
my little room, I remembered that, after a day of bodily fatigue
and mental anxiety, I was now at last in safe haven. The impulse
of gratitude swelled my heart, and I knelt down at the bedside,
and offered up thanks where thanks were due; not forgetting, ere I
rose, to implore aid on my further path, and the power of meriting
the kindness which seemed so frankly offered me before it was
earned. My couch had no thorns in it that night; my solitary room
no fears. At once weary and content, I slept soon and soundly:
when I awoke it was broad day.

The chamber looked such a bright little place to me as the sun shone
in between the gay blue chintz window curtains, showing papered
walls and a carpeted floor, so unlike the bare planks and stained
plaster of Lowood, that my spirits rose at the view. Externals
have a great effect on the young: I thought that a fairer era of
life was beginning for me, one that was to have its flowers and
pleasures, as well as its thorns and toils. My faculties, roused
by the change of scene, the new field offered to hope, seemed all
astir. I cannot precisely define what they expected, but it was
something pleasant: not perhaps that day or that month, but at an
indefinite future period.

I rose; I dressed myself with care: obliged to be plain -- for I
had no article of attire that was not made with extreme simplicity
-- I was still by nature solicitous to be neat. It was not my habit
to be disregardful of appearance or careless of the impression I
made: on the contrary, I ever wished to look as well as I could,
and to please as much as my want of beauty would permit. I sometimes
regretted that I was not handsomer; I sometimes wished to have rosy
cheeks, a straight nose, and small cherry mouth; I desired to be
tall, stately, and finely developed in figure; I felt it a misfortune
that I was so little, so pale, and had features so irregular and
so marked. And why had I these aspirations and these regrets?
It would be difficult to say: I could not then distinctly say it
to myself; yet I had a reason, and a logical, natural reason too.
However, when I had brushed my hair very smooth, and put on my black
frock -- which, Quakerlike as it was, at least had the merit of
fitting to a nicety -- and adjusted my clean white tucker, I thought
I should do respectably enough to appear before Mrs. Fairfax, and
that my new pupil would not at least recoil from me with antipathy.
Having opened my chamber window, and seen that I left all things
straight and neat on the toilet table, I ventured forth.

Traversing the long and matted gallery, I descended the slippery
steps of oak; then I gained the hall: I halted there a minute; I
looked at some pictures on the walls (one, I remember, represented
a grim man in a cuirass, and one a lady with powdered hair and a
pearl necklace), at a bronze lamp pendent from the ceiling, at a great
clock whose case was of oak curiously carved, and ebon black with
time and rubbing. Everything appeared very stately and imposing to
me; but then I was so little accustomed to grandeur. The hall-door,
which was half of glass, stood open; I stepped over the threshold.
It was a fine autumn morning; the early sun shone serenely on
embrowned groves and still green fields; advancing on to the lawn,
I looked up and surveyed the front of the mansion. It was three
storeys high, of proportions not vast, though considerable: a
gentleman's manor-house, not a nobleman's seat: battlements round
the top gave it a picturesque look. Its grey front stood out well
from the background of a rookery, whose cawing tenants were now on
the wing: they flew over the lawn and grounds to alight in a great
meadow, from which these were separated by a sunk fence, and where
an array of mighty old thorn trees, strong, knotty, and broad as
oaks, at once explained the etymology of the mansion's designation.
Farther off were hills: not so lofty as those round Lowood, nor so
craggy, nor so like barriers of separation from the living world;
but yet quiet and lonely hills enough, and seeming to embrace
Thornfield with a seclusion I had not expected to find existent
so near the stirring locality of Millcote. A little hamlet, whose
roofs were blent with trees, straggled up the side of one of these
hills; the church of the district stood nearer Thornfield: its
old tower-top looked over a knoll between the house and gates.

I was yet enjoying the calm prospect and pleasant fresh air, yet
listening with delight to the cawing of the rooks, yet surveying
the wide, hoary front of the hall, and thinking what a great place
it was for one lonely little dame like Mrs. Fairfax to inhabit,
when that lady appeared at the door.

"What! out already?" said she. "I see you are an early riser."
I went up to her, and was received with an affable kiss and shake
of the hand.

"How do you like Thornfield?" she asked. I told her I liked it
very much.

"Yes," she said, "it is a pretty place; but I fear it will be
getting out of order, unless Mr. Rochester should take it into his
head to come and reside here permanently; or, at least, visit it
rather oftener: great houses and fine grounds require the presence
of the proprietor."

"Mr. Rochester!" I exclaimed. "Who is he?"

"The owner of Thornfield," she responded quietly. "Did you not
know he was called Rochester?"

Of course I did not -- I had never heard of him before; but the
old lady seemed to regard his existence as a universally understood
fact, with which everybody must be acquainted by instinct.

"I thought," I continued, "Thornfield belonged to you."

"To me? Bless you, child; what an idea! To me! I am only the
housekeeper -- the manager. To be sure I am distantly related to
the Rochesters by the mother's side, or at least my husband was;
he was a clergyman, incumbent of Hay -- that little village yonder
on the hill -- and that church near the gates was his. The present
Mr. Rochester's mother was a Fairfax, and second cousin to my
husband: but I never presume on the connection -- in fact, it is
nothing to me; I consider myself quite in the light of an ordinary
housekeeper: my employer is always civil, and I expect nothing
more."

"And the little girl -- my pupil!"

"She is Mr. Rochester's ward; he commissioned me to find a governess
for her. He intended to have her brought up in -shire, I believe.
Here she comes, with her 'bonne,' as she calls her nurse." The
enigma then was explained: this affable and kind little widow was
no great dame; but a dependant like myself. I did not like her the
worse for that; on the contrary, I felt better pleased than ever.
The equality between her and me was real; not the mere result of
condescension on her part: so much the better -- my position was
all the freer.

As I was meditating on this discovery, a little girl, followed by
her attendant, came running up the lawn. I looked at my pupil,
who did not at first appear to notice me: she was quite a child,
perhaps seven or eight years old, slightly built, with a pale,
small-featured face, and a redundancy of hair falling in curls to
her waist.

"Good morning, Miss Adela," said Mrs. Fairfax. "Come and speak to
the lady who is to teach you, and to make you a clever woman some
day." She approached.

"C'est le ma gouverante!" said she, pointing to me, and
addressing her nurse; who answered -

"Mais oui, certainement."

"Are they foreigners?" I inquired, amazed at hearing the French
language.

"The nurse is a foreigner, and Adela was born on the Continent;
and, I believe, never left it till within six months ago. When
she first came here she could speak no English; now she can make
shift to talk it a little: I don't understand her, she mixes it
so with French; but you will make out her meaning very well, I dare
say."

Fortunately I had had the advantage of being taught French by a
French lady; and as I had always made a point of conversing with
Madame Pierrot as often as I could, and had besides, during the last
seven years, learnt a portion of French by heart daily -- applying
myself to take pains with my accent, and imitating as closely as
possible the pronunciation of my teacher, I had acquired a certain
degree of readiness and correctness in the language, and was not
likely to be much at a loss with Mademoiselle Adela. She came and
shook hand with me when she heard that I was her governess; and as
I led her in to breakfast, I addressed some phrases to her in her
own tongue: she replied briefly at first, but after we were seated
at the table, and she had examined me some ten minutes with her
large hazel eyes, she suddenly commenced chattering fluently.

"Ah!" cried she, in French, "you speak my language as well as
Mr. Rochester does: I can talk to you as I can to him, and so can
Sophie. She will be glad: nobody here understands her: Madame
Fairfax is all English. Sophie is my nurse; she came with me over
the sea in a great ship with a chimney that smoked -- how it did
smoke! -- and I was sick, and so was Sophie, and so was Mr. Rochester.
Mr. Rochester lay down on a sofa in a pretty room called the salon,
and Sophie and I had little beds in another place. I nearly fell
out of mine; it was like a shelf. And Mademoiselle -- what is your
name?"

"Eyre -- Jane Eyre."

"Aire? Bah! I cannot say it. Well, our ship stopped in the
morning, before it was quite daylight, at a great city -- a huge
city, with very dark houses and all smoky; not at all like the
pretty clean town I came from; and Mr. Rochester carried me in his
arms over a plank to the land, and Sophie came after, and we all
got into a coach, which took us to a beautiful large house, larger
than this and finer, called an hotel. We stayed there nearly a
week: I and Sophie used to walk every day in a great green place
full of trees, called the Park; and there were many children there
besides me, and a pond with beautiful birds in it, that I fed with
crumbs."