That night and the next morning, I trembled continuously. I dreamt fitfully of clutching fingers and hot caresses and ghostly lovers. I was now sure that the man I had laid with yesterday evening in the ditch near Hay was Mr. Rochester, but part of me still considered him to be a dream; a manifestation of my intense desire. I wondered fervently what was to become of me, whether he would dismiss me in disgrace or lay with me again and I am ashamed to admit that I keenly wished for the latter.
By the surgeon’s orders, the returned master of Thornfield Hall went to bed early so he was not present when I finally left my room that evening and he did not rise early the next morning either. I was in limbo, walking about the house with permanent flushed cheeks, wondering what my fate would be. Though I had been intimate with this man, I knew nothing about him or his temper and thus I did not know how he would react. He must have realised that I was a resident of his house when I said that I had come from Thornfield; perhaps he was currently pondering what to do with me. I pleaded that he would keep me here, for my foolish, young fancy of my dark-eyed lover had returned and having finally found his human likeness, I could not bear to be sent away.
Adele was not easy to teach that day; she could not apply and I was a sullen, distracted teacher. She kept running to the door and looking to see if she could get a glimpse of Mr. Rochester, which constantly threw me into a fit of anxiety. When I got a little angry and made her sit still, she continued to talk incessantly of her “ami, Monsieur Edouard Fairfax de Rochester,” as she dubbed him and to conjecture what presents he had brought her.
However, he did not appear or call for her all day and when evening came upon us, I and my pupil dined as usual in Mrs. Fairfax’s parlour. At dark I allowed Adele to put away books and work, and to run downstairs. Left alone, I walked to the window, but nothing was to be seen thence, only twi-light and snowflakes together thickening the air. I let down the curtain and went back to the fireside.
I was staring into the flames when Mrs. Fairfax suddenly entered.
“Mr. Rochester would be glad if you and your pupil would take tea with him in the drawing-room this evening,” said she. “He has been so much engaged all day that he could not ask to see you before.”
A rush of dread swept through me, but the thought of seeing those dark, brooding eyes once more kept me from fleeing as I had last night.
“When is his tea-time?” I inquired in a steady tone.
“Oh, at six o’clock, he keeps early hours in the country. You had better change your frock now and I will go with you and fasten it. Here is a candle.”
“Is it necessary to change my frock?” I asked, thinking that it was good enough for him yesterday, but such thoughts only increased my anxiousness.
“Yes, you had better. I always dress for the evening when Mr. Rochester is here.”
I repaired to my room and with Mrs. Fairfax’s aid, replaced my black stuff” dress by one of black silk. Luckily, she did not appear to notice my shaking, fumbling fingers.
“You want a brooch,” she said when I was dressed. I had a single little pearl ornament which Miss Temple gave me as a parting keepsake and I put it on. Then we went downstairs and I let Mrs. Fairfax precede me into the dining-room, keeping in her shade as we crossed that apartment, my legs trembling.
Two wax candles stood lighted on the table and two on the mantelpiece. Basking in the light and heat of a superb fire, lay Pilot with Adele knelt near him. Half reclined on a couch appeared Mr. Rochester, his foot supported by a cushion. He must have been aware of the entrance of Mrs. Fairfax and myself, but it appeared he was not in the mood to notice us, for he never lifted his head as we approached. This threw me at once for it was the last reaction I had expected and I almost doubted what had happened yesterday.
“Here is Miss Eyre, sir,” said Mrs. Fairfax.
He bowed, still not taking his eyes from the group of the dog and child.
“Let Miss Eyre be seated,” said he, and there was something in the forced stiff bow, in the impatient yet formal tone, which seemed further to express, “What the deuce is it to me whether Miss Eyre be there or not? At this moment I am not disposed to accost her.”
I sat down quite embarrassed.
He neither spoke nor moved. Mrs. Fairfax seemed to think it necessary that some one should be amiable and she began to talk. Kindly, as usual and, as usual, rather trite. She condoled with him on the pressure of business he had had all day, on the annoyance it must have been to him with that painful sprain and then she commended his patience and perseverance in going through with it.
“Madam, I should like some tea,” was the sole rejoinder she got. She hastened to ring the bell and when the tray came, she proceeded to arrange the cups and spoons with assiduous celerity. I and Adele went to the table, but the master did not leave his couch.
“Will you hand Mr. Rochester’s cup?” said Mrs. Fairfax to me, “Adele might perhaps spill it.”
I took the tea from her, my hands shaking and jingling the china. I used my other hand to steady it so as not to be noticed and slowly walked over to Mr. Rochester. I stopped before him and for the first time that evening, his dark eyes met mine. I almost gasped aloud for a great throb of desire tore through my stomach. His eyes were even blacker by firelight and there seemed to be a hint of amusement within them, as if he knew my discomfort and it pleased him.
Carefully he took the cup from me, making sure to press his fingers against mine. It sent a thrilling ripple of tingling heat up my arm and the skin where we had touched was scorched. Involuntarily I licked my lips. His likeness to my dark-eyed lover was so accurate, that I wondered briefly if he were a Rochester ancestor.
“N’est-ce pas, monsieur,” Adele suddenly cried out, making me jump and breaking my musings. “Qu’il y a un ca-deau pour Mademoiselle Eyre dans votre petit coffre?”
“Who talks of cadeaux?” said he gruffly. “Did you expect a present, Miss Eyre? Are you fond of presents?” He searched my face with eyes and I became breathless and hot.
“I hardly know, sir,” I whispered. “I have little experience of them, but they are generally thought pleasant things.”
“Oh, don’t fall back on over-modesty! I have examined Adele and find you have taken great pains with her. She is not bright, she has no talents and yet in a short time she has made much improvement.”
“Sir, you have now given me my ‘cadeau’—praise of my pupils’ progress. There is no better present to a teacher.”
“Humph!” said Mr. Rochester, and he took his tea in silence.
He did not speak again until the tray was taken away, and Mrs. Fairfax had settled into a corner with her knitting, while Adele played with Pilot.
“Come here,” he said to me, gesturing to a chair.
I obeyed, and we sat opposite each other, bathed in firelight. The heat from his gaze and the fire was almost too much and I felt my skin redden under their glare.
“You have been resident in my house three months?” he asked.
I wondered if he would confront me about yesterday now, perhaps he had not at first recognised me, but there was something still in his expression that was playful.
“Yes, sir.”
“And you came from . . . ?”
“From Lowood school.”
“Ah! A charitable concern. How long were you there?”
“Three years.”
“Three years! No wonder you have rather the look of another world. I marvelled where you had got that sort of face. When you came on me in Hay Lane last night, I thought unaccountably of fairy tales, and had half a mind to demand whether you had bewitched my horse. I am not sure yet.”
I jumped slightly, startled by his mentioning our meeting in front of Adele and Mrs. Fairfax. I glanced at both who seemed not to have noticed and were quietly and individually absorbed in what they were doing. I let out a shaky breath and wrung my hands, my nerves almost at their ends.
“Who recommended you to come here?” he continued.
I swallowed hard before I again allowed myself to look on him. “I advertised, and Mrs. Fairfax answered my advertisement.”
“Miss Eyre, if you indeed went to Lowood then you have lived the life of a nun. No doubt you are well drilled in religious forms. Brocklehurst, who I understand directs Lowood, is a parson, is he not?”
“Yes, sir.”
I felt he was making a point and asking how it could be possible that the girl who had attended Lowood for three years was the very same that had lain in a ditch with him in ecstasy. I did not have the answer, but I knew that I had never experienced such pleasure as he had induced by any one else before. Even the thought made the muscles in my thighs clench.
“Adele showed me some sketches this morning, which she said were yours,” he carried on, forever switching from subject to subject as if to confuse me and lead me to reveal something. “I don’t know whether they were entirely of your doing, probably a master aided you?”
“No, indeed!” I interjected.
“Ah! That pricks pride. Well, fetch me your portfolio, if you can vouch for its contents being original, but don’t pass your word unless you are certain. I can recognise patchwork.”
“Then I will say nothing, and you shall judge for yourself, sir.”
I brought the portfolio from the library. “Approach the table,” said he, and I wheeled it to his couch.
He deliberately scrutinised each sketch and painting. Three he laid aside; the others, when he had examined them, he swept from him.
“Where did you get your copies?”
“Out of my head.”
“That head I see now on your shoulders?” “Yes, sir.”
He spread the pictures before him and again surveyed them alternately.
They were in watercolours and of a wild and peculiar nature, being supernatural in subject rather than depicting a pretty view or a pretty subject. In these pieces, I had allowed my imagination to run wild and create desolate hills, raging seas, eerie moonlight, and floating corpses.
“Were you happy when you painted these pictures?” asked Mr. Rochester presently.
“I was absorbed, sir. To paint them, in short, was to enjoy one of the keenest pleasures I have ever known.”
“That is not saying much. Your pleasures, by your own account have been few, but I daresay you did exist in a kind of artist’s dreamland while you blended and arranged these strange tints. Did you feel self-satisfied with the result of your ardent labours?”
“Far from it. I was tormented by the contrast between my idea and my handiwork.”
He regarded me for a moment before barking, “It is nine o’clock. What are you about, Miss Eyre, to let Adele sit up so long? Take her to bed.”
He suddenly seemed indifferent to me and wishing that I was out of his sight.
Adele went to kiss him before quitting the room and he endured the caress, but scarcely seemed to relish it more than Pilot would have done.
“I wish you all good-night, now,” said he, making a movement of the hand towards the door, in token that he was tired of our company and wished to dismiss us. Mrs. Fairfax folded up her knitting, I took my portfolio, and we curtseyed to him, received a frigid bow in return, and so withdrew.
“How do you find Mr. Rochester?” asked Mrs. Fairfax, when I rejoined her in her room, after putting Adele to bed.
I looked the other way and tried to hide my flushed cheeks in the firelight. “He is very changeful and abrupt,” I finally answered.
“True, no doubt he may appear so to a stranger, but I am so accustomed to his manner that I never think of it. And then, if he has peculiarities of temper, allowance should be made.”
“Why?”
“Family troubles, for one thing.” “But he has no family.”
“Not now, but he has had. He lost his elder brother a few years since.”
“His elder brother?”
“Yes. The present Mr. Rochester has not been very long in possession of the property, only about nine years.”
“Nine years is a tolerable time. Was he so very fond of his brother as to be still inconsolable for his loss?”
“Why no, perhaps not. I believe there were some misunderstandings between them. Mr. Rowland Rochester and Old Mr. Rochester combined to bring Mr. Edward into what he considered a painful position for the sake of making his fortune. What the precise nature of that position was I never clearly knew, but his spirit could not brook what he had to suffer in it. He is not very forgiving and he broke with his family, and now for many years he has led an unsettled kind of life. I don’t think he has ever been resident at Thornfield for a fortnight together, since the death of his brother.”
“Why should he shun it?”
“Perhaps he thinks it gloomy.”
The answer was evasive. I should have liked something clearer, but Mrs. Fairfax either could not, or would not give me more explicit information. It was evident, indeed, that she wished me to drop the subject, which I did accordingly.
It seemed clear to me now, however, that Mr. Rochester did not wish to dismiss me for the events of yesterday. What he would do with me though, I was not sure.