Aweek passed and no news arrived of Mr. Rochester: ten days, and still he did not come. I balmed my wounded heart in his absence and convinced myself to adhere to my old solitary life. Mrs. Fairfax said she should not be surprised if he were to go straight from the Leas to London, and thence to the Continent and not show his face again at Thornfield for a year to come. When I heard this, I was beginning to feel a strange chill and failing at the heart. I was actually permitting myself to experience a sickening sense of disappointment, but rallying my wits and recollecting my principles, I at once called my sensations to order and it was wonderful how I got over the temporary blunder.
Mr. Rochester had been absent upwards of a fortnight when the post brought Mrs. Fairfax a letter.
“It is from the master,” said she, as she looked at the direction. “Now I suppose we shall know whether we are to expect his return or not.”
And while she broke the seal and perused the document, I went on taking my coffee as if I did not care. Why my hand shook and why I involuntarily spilt half the contents of my cup into my saucer, I did not choose to consider.
“Mr. Rochester will be back in three days’ time next Thursday, he says, and not alone either. I don’t know how many of the fine people at the Leas are coming with him, but he sends directions for all the best bedrooms to be prepared and the library and drawing-rooms are to be cleaned out. We shall have a full house of it!” after exclaiming this, Mrs. Fairfax swallowed her breakfast and hastened away to commence operations.
The next three days were, as she had foretold, busy enough. I had thought all the rooms at Thornfield beautifully clean and well arranged, but it appears I was mistaken. Three women were got to help and such scrubbing, such brushing, such washing and such polishing I never beheld either before or since. I was expected to help and I found solace in the monotonous housework that did not allow me to think too much of Mr. Rochester or Blanche Ingram. At night I wept into my pillow but in the daylight at least, I was kept busy.
On the second day I chanced to see the third-storey staircase door (which of late had always been kept locked) open slowly and give passage to the form of Grace Poole. I watched her glide along the gallery, mutter something to a charwoman and then pass on. She would thus descend to the kitchen once a day, eat her dinner, smoke a moderate pipe on the hearth and go back carrying her pot of porter with her to her own gloomy, upper haunt. Only one hour in the twenty-four did she pass with her fellow-servants below and all the rest of her time was spent in some low-ceiled, oaken chamber of the second storey.
The strangest thing of all was that not a soul in the house except me noticed her habits or seemed to marvel at them. No one discussed her position or employment and no one pitied her solitude or isolation. I once overheard part of a dialogue between Leah and one of the charwomen of which Grace formed the subject. Leah had been saying something I had not caught, and the charwoman remarked, “She gets good wages, I guess?”
“Yes,” said Leah. “I wish I had as good, but it is not every one could fill her shoes even for all the money she gets.”
“That it is not!” was the reply. “I wonder whether the master—”
The charwoman was going on, but here Leah turned, perceived me and she instantly gave her companion a nudge.
“Doesn’t she know?” I heard the woman whisper.
Leah shook her head and the conversation was, of course, dropped. All I had gathered from it amounted to this: there was a mystery at Thornfield Hall, but I had yet to discover what it was.
Thursday came and we all wandered about the house that day, waiting for our master’s return in the evening. At last, wheels were heard and I leant out of a window on the se-cond-storey to see four equestrians galloping up the drive with two open carriages following. Mr. Rochester was astride his black horse, Mesrour, Pilot bounding before him and at his side rode a beautiful lady. Her purple riding-habit almost swept the ground, her veil streamed long on the breeze and gleaming through it shone rich raven ringlets.
“Miss Ingram!” exclaimed Mrs. Fairfax beside me, and away she hurried.
Adele, who stood by me also, petitioned to go down, but I took her on my knee and gave her to understand that she must not on any account think of venturing in sight of the ladies, either now or at any other time unless expressly sent for by Mr. Rochester. She was most upset about this, but I remained firm.
A joyous stir was now audible in the hall and gentlemen’s deep tones and ladies’ silvery accents blended harmoniously together. Distinguishable above all, though not loud, was the sonorous voice of the master of Thornfield Hall, welcoming his fair and gallant guests under its roof. At the sound of his familiar tones, I felt my knees go weak and I became lightheaded, but I told myself to be strong.
“What beautiful ladies!” cried Adele in English. “Oh, I wish I might go to them! Do you think Mr. Rochester will send for us by-and-bye, after dinner?”
“No, indeed, I do not. Mr. Rochester has other things to think about. Never mind the ladies to-night, perhaps you will see them to-morrow.”
That evening, Adele and I sat upstairs listening to the joy and commotion unfolding beneath us. I told her stories to pass the time, but she often seemed distracted. I too found it difficult to concentrate; memories of my childhood with the Reeds drifted into my mind and threw me into a melancholy mood. When the evening was far advanced, the sound of music issued from the drawing-room and Adele and I fell quiet to listen. Presently a voice blended with the rich tones of the piano and a lady sang sweetly. The solo over, a duet followed and I listened long, suddenly discovering that my ear was wholly intent on analysing the mingled sounds, trying to discriminate amidst the confusion of accents those of Mr. Rochester, but I could not.
The clock struck eleven and finally, Adele and I went to
bed.
The next day was as fine as its predecessor and it was devoted by the party to an excursion to some site in the neighbourhood. Miss Ingram was the only lady riding and as before, Mr. Rochester galloped at her side. I watched the two ride a little apart from the rest away from Thornfield and pointed out this circumstance to Mrs. Fairfax, who was standing at the window with me, “Mr. Rochester evidently prefers her to any of the other ladies.”
“No doubt he admires her.”
“And she him,” I added, trying to keep all forms of jealousy and sadness at bay. “Look how she leans her head towards him as if she were conversing confidentially. I wish I could see her face, I have not had a glimpse of it yet.”
“You will see her this evening,” answered Mrs. Fairfax. “I happened to remark to Mr. Rochester how much Adele wished to be introduced to the ladies, and he said: ‘Oh! Let her come into the drawing-room after dinner and request Miss Eyre to accompany her.’“
“I need not go, I am sure,” I answered quickly, my panic rising.
“Well, I observed to him that you were unused to company, and he replied, ‘Nonsense! If she resists, say I shall come and fetch her.’“
I was confused as to the meaning of this. Did he wish purely to gloat in front of me and give me pain? It was cruelty at the highest, but I could not refuse my master.
“I will go, if no better may be, but I don’t like it. Shall you be there, Mrs. Fairfax?”
“No, I pleaded off and he admitted my plea. If you do not wish to be seen, slip into the drawing-room while it is empty, choose your seat in a quiet nook and just let Mr. Rochester see you are there, then come away. Nobody will notice you.”
I sighed wearily, not at all pleased with these circumstances. I did not wish to see Mr. Rochester for the first time since our night together in a room full of strangers, but perhaps it would be for the best. Surrounded by others, the embarrassment of such a thing would most certainly be of little importance and neither of us would have the opportunity to talk about it.
“Will these people remain long, do you think?” I asked. “Perhaps two or three weeks, certainly not more.” Thus it was with some trepidation that I perceived the hour approach when I was to repair with my charge to the drawing-room. Adele had been in a state of ecstasy all day after hearing she was to be presented to the ladies in the evening and it was not till Sophie commenced the operation of dressing her that she sobered down. I too tried to look my best for the occasion wearing a silver-grey dress purchased for Miss Temple’s wedding, smoothing my hair and wearing my sole ornament: the pearl brooch. When we were both ready, we descended.
Fortunately we found the drawing-room vacant and while Adele sat down, without a word on a footstool, I retired to a window-seat. Taking a book from a table near, I endeavoured to read and not be noticed.
A soft sound of rising now became audible and a band of ladies entered the drawing room. There were but eight, yet somehow, as they flocked in, they gave the impression of a much larger number. Some of them were very tall, many were dressed in white and all had a sweeping amplitude of array that seemed to magnify their persons as a mist magnifies the moon. I rose and curtseyed to them and one or two bent their heads in return. The others only stared at me.
They dispersed about the room, reminding me of a flock of white plumy birds. Some of them threw themselves in half-reclining positions on the sofas and ottomans, some bent over the tables and examined the flowers and books, and the rest gathered in a group round the fire. I knew their names afterwards, and may as well mention them now.
First, there was Mrs. Eshton and two of her daughters. She had evidently been a handsome woman in her youth and was well preserved still. Of her daughters, the eldest, Amy, was rather little, naive and child-like in face and manner. The second, Louisa, was taller and more elegant in figure with a very pretty face. Both sisters were fair as lilies.
Lady Lynn was a large and stout personage of about forty, very erect, very haughty-looking, and richly dressed in a satin robe of changeful sheen. Her dark hair shone glossily under the shade of an azure plume and within the circlet of a band of gems.
Mrs. Colonel Dent was less showy but, I thought, more lady-like. She had a slight figure, a pale, gentle face, and fair hair. Her black satin dress, her scarf of rich foreign lace and her pearl ornaments, pleased me better than the rainbow radiance of the titled dame.
But the three most distinguished—partly perhaps because they were the tallest figures of the band—were the Dowager Lady Ingram and her daughters, Blanche and Mary. The Dowager might be between forty and fifty, her shape was still fine, her hair still black and her teeth too were still apparently perfect. Most people would have termed her a splendid woman of her age physically speaking, but then there was an expression of almost insupportable haughtiness in her bearing and countenance. Blanche and Mary too were straight and tall as poplars. Mary was too slim for her height, but Blanche was moulded like a Dian. I regarded her, of course, with special interest. She was undeniably beautiful. The noble bust, the sloping shoulders, the graceful neck, the dark eyes and black ringlets were all there, but her face? Her face was like her mother’s with the same sneering pride. However, I thought that most men would admire her and I knew too well that Mr. Rochester did for there was much to admire. I could not find fault with her physically and nor could I match up to such beauty; I felt that only too keenly.
You are not to suppose, Reader, that Adele had all this time been sitting motionless on a stool. No, when the ladies entered, she rose and advanced to meet them, saying with gravity, “Bon jour, mesdames.”
Miss Ingram looked down at her with a mocking air, and exclaimed, “Oh, what a little puppet!”
Lady Lynn remarked, “It is Mr. Rochester’s ward, I suppose.”
Mrs. Dent kindly took her hand, and given her a kiss. Amy and Louisa Eshton cried out simultaneously, “What a love of a child!”
And then they had called her to a sofa where she sat ensconced between them, chattering alternately in French and broken English, getting spoilt to her heart’s content.
At last coffee was brought in, and the gentlemen were summoned. The collective appearance of them, like that of the ladies, was very imposing. They were all costumed in black; most of them tall and some young. Henry and Frederick Lynn were very dashing sparks indeed and Colonel Dent was a fine soldierly man. Mr. Eshton, the magistrate of the district, was gentleman-like with white hair and dark whiskers, while Lord Ingram, like his sisters, was very tall and handsome.
And where was Mr. Rochester?
He came in at last and I jumped slightly in my seat at the sight of him. I had forgotten the magnetic nature of his presence, which seeped across the room and seemed to grasp my heart in a breath-taking clutch. Images of our last night together flashed through my mind, mingling with my memories of our evening on the causeway and I saw his drenched shirt in candlelight as I knelt before him, desire burning in his eyes, and then his dark features gleaming in the moonlight as I lay beneath him and he thrust into me. My fingers began to shake.
He did not turn to look at me once, indeed, it was as if I was not there. I suppose he could not with the beauty of Miss Ingram before him. I bent my head and tried desperately not to weep. I had been telling myself since he left that he did not care for me and I should delude my fantasies not longer but somehow having it confirmed in such a way was deeply painful.
“Mr. Rochester, I thought you were not fond of children?” said Miss Blanche Ingram, walking across the room to stand beside him as the other guests chattered between them-selves.
“Nor am I.”
“Then, what induced you to take charge of such a little doll as that?” (pointing to Adele). “Where did you pick her up?”
“I did not pick her up, she was left on my hands.”
“You should have sent her to school.”
“I could not afford it. Schools are so dear.”
“Why, I suppose you have a governess for her. I saw a person with her just now, is she gone? Oh, no! There she is still, behind the window-curtain. You pay her, of course and I should think it quite as expensive.”
I feared the allusion to me would make Mr. Rochester glance my way and I involuntarily shrank farther into the shade, but he never turned his eyes. With such beauty before him as Miss Ingram, I did not wish him to see me.
“I have not considered the subject,” said he indifferently, staring straight ahead.
“You should hear mama speak of governesses! Mary and I have had, I should think, a dozen at least in our day and half of them detestable and the rest ridiculous. All were in-cubi were they not, mama?”
“My dearest, don’t mention governesses,” returned the Dowager Lady Ingram. “The very word makes me nervous. I thank Heaven I have now done with them!”
Mrs. Dent here bent over to the pious lady and whispered something in her ear. I suppose from the answer elicited, it was a reminder that one of the anathematised race was present.
“I hope it may do her good!” said her ladyship. “I noticed her; I am a judge of physiognomy and in hers, I see all the faults of her class.”
“What are they, madam?” inquired Mr. Rochester.
“I will tell you in your private ear,” replied she.
“My curiosity will not last.”
“Ask Blanche, she is nearer you than I.”
“Oh, don’t refer him to me, mama! I have just one word to say of the whole tribe—they are a nuisance. Am I right, Baroness Ingram, of Ingram Park?”
“My lily-flower, you are right now, as always.”
“Then no more need be said—change the subject.”
Why don’t you give us some music, sweet?” suggested her mother.
She smiled gallantly and both she and Mr. Rochester walked to the piano. While Miss Ingram played, they both began to sing.
“Now is my time to slip away,” thought I, but the tones that then severed the air arrested me. Mrs. Fairfax had said Mr. Rochester possessed a fine voice and he did; a mellow, powerful bass into which he threw his own feeling, his own force. I waited till the last deep and full vibration had expired and the tide of talk resumed its flow before I could leave. I then quitted my sheltered corner and made my exit by the side-door, which was fortunately near. Thence a narrow passage led into the hall and in crossing it, I perceived my sandal was loose. I stopped to tie it and heard the dining-room door unclose. A gentleman came out and rising hastily, I stood face to face with him. It was Mr. Rochester.
“How do you do?” he asked.
“I am very well, sir.”
“Why did you not come and speak to me in the room?”
I might have asked him the same question but, looking down, I merely answered, “I did not wish to disturb you as you seemed engaged, sir.”
“What have you been doing during my absence?”
“Nothing particular. Teaching Adele as usual.”
“And getting a good deal paler than you were as I saw at first sight. What is the matter?”
Oh how could he ask me that question? I wished to scream out, but I stayed calm.
“Nothing at all, sir.”
“Return to the drawing-room, you are deserting too early.”
“I am tired, sir.”
He looked at me for a minute.
“And a little depressed,” he said. “What about? Tell me.”
“Nothing. Nothing, sir. I am not depressed.”
“But I affirm that you are so much depressed that a few more words would bring tears to your eyes. Well, to-night I excuse you, but understand that so long as my visitors stay, I expect you to appear in the drawing-room every evening. It is my wish and don’t neglect it. Now go and send Sophie for Adele. Good-night my—” He stopped, bit his lip, and abruptly left me.