A Master in The House

Next day no sign of the Master of the house, but AdŠle was not easy to teach, being over excited, and wanting to speak only of Mr Rochester, not of her lessons. I had to sting her palm for her to gain her attention, and repeat the prescription more than once. Mrs Fairfax was engaged all day, putting the house in suitable order, seeing the surgeon when he called, chivying the servants and generally making herself busy. The atmosphere of the house had changed. It had a Master now, and I liked it better so.

In the afternoon, Mrs Fairfax called at the schoolroom to tell me that Mr Rochester had asked to see me when he took his tea, at six o'clock.

I attended him as instructed, wearing my best pearl grey dress, my hair swept smoothly back, my person neat and clean, for Mrs Fairfax had warned me that he expected those around him not to display slovenliness or disorder in their dress. At first he quizzed me about my relatives, or the lack of them, and my time at Lowood school, remarking that he had heard that the Principal was a parson, and opining that, as all girls, I must have been in love with him. I hastened to deny it, assuring him that Mr Brocklehurst was a strict, harsh mentor, more feared for his cruelty than loved for his piety or position as our pastor.

"And what form did this cruelty take then, that you disliked him so?"

"He starved us, and cut off our hair, and beat us most severely."

"Come now," Mr Rochester snorted, "every school girl, and young wives too, needs a swishing from time to time, if she is to remain docile and obedient. Surely that was not cruelty."

"It was, as practised by the Reverend Brocklehurst," I protested indignantly, "he beat us, or instituted practices where by we were beaten by the teachers, beyond bearing and justice. I agree that as young females we needed the rod from time to time, but at Lowood we were whipped to the blood, sometimes three or four times in a week. We learnt to cringe at the sight of the rod, and our bottoms were never free of welts and pain."

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much," he replied, quoting the bard, "I cannot see a milk and water creature like yourself enduring such a whipping. Why, if I lifted one of those sticks at you," pointing to the collection of canes and other rods that reposed in the umbrella stand in the corner, "you would run a mile, rather than endure even a schoolish six with it."

"Indeed Sir!" I cried, caution and sense gone out the window, so provoked was I by his belittling of the sufferings we had had to endure for all those years, "if you wish, you may prove it for yourself on my person, that is so used to the kiss of the rod, the bite of the cane."

"Ah. The kitten has spirit. She arches her back and spits. I like that in a woman. Very well, Puss, I accept your invitation. Let us see of what stuff you are made. Fetch me your choice of rod from the stand, and you shall demonstrate how you take your cuts at Lowood."

I stared at him a moment, appalled at the outcome of my foolhardiness, but I would not back away now. My blood was up, and I would show him, though I would suffer for it a most apposite penalty under the circumstances. I advanced to the stand, keeping my chin high, and looked over its direful contents. What should I choose? Even the thinnest of them was springy enough to sting abominably in a strong male hand but, if I chose such I had no doubt he would mock my courage again.

Fired with indignation and renewed madness, I seized that penal rod I had used to thrash Ada's fat globes and marched back to where he stood, presenting the rod on my two outstretched palms.

He looked from it to me. "This is a rod for a well grown woman," he said, "I warn you, I shall not spare you, just because you are young and tender. You may change it now, for something more suited to a girl, if you wish."

I did wish, my belly quaked, my knees quivered at what I had done, but my pride and anger ruled, and I thrust it at him.

"Mr Brocklehurst used as bad, or worse, upon our buttocks at Lowood, so you need not fear to employ it now."

"Very well," he replied, "it shall be as you wish. Now, prepare yourself, and we will put it to the test."

"Prepare myself, Sir?" I stammered. "How may that be?"

"Why, I assume it was not done over skirt and petticoats at Lowood. Indeed, I understand the rule in school is bare bum, so off with your drawers, and your skirts over your head, while you grip your ankles on my hearth rug."

"But Sir," I cried in consternation, "it would not be seemly in front of a man."

"Was Brocklehurst any less of a man than I?" he demanded, and I had to admit it was not so, having had the proof in my deflowering, "besides, Miss, it is a bit late for false modesty, seeing you have already shown me all you have."

I blushed furiously at the memory of how I had thrust my naked fork almost into his face in the lane, and reached for my drawers. With them out of the way, I bent, pulling up my skirts at the same time so that, while I grasped my ankles as instructed, they fell forward, leaving me bare and vulnerable behind.

"Ah ha," he said, "I see another side of you," and indeed he did, for it was my back side, not my front, that was on display this time. "From the front I thought you but a slip of a girl, but from this angle you are definitely woman."

It was true. At eighteen I appeared slight, but, uncovered, my buttocks betrayed a certain fullness that spoke of womanhood, a suggestion of fattiness in the underbum that attracted the best efforts of my chastisers, attentions that they were well able to withstand without my health suffering, although it could not be said that I did not suffer.

"This puts a different complexion on matters," my own was fiery red, "I shall have to look to my laurels, if you are to be subdued. You shall feel these, Jane Eyre," he promised, "and regret your boasting."

I was regretting it already, but not about to give him the satisfaction of seeing it, and held my position, determined not to fail, though my poor rear cheeks clenched and shivered with fright as much as when in the presence of Mr Brocklehurst. It was not just the fear of the excruciating agony I knew was coming. In a different manner, this man affected me as strongly as the soul scarring clergyman ever did.

I remember it now as if it were but yesterday. A woman always treasures the first time she feels her Master's hand and, although he has thrashed me at greater length, and with more force, a hundred times since, even today I can recall each stroke of my dear Master's first chastisement of my cringing person. He was as good as his word, and did not spare me. As he promised, I felt every stroke keenly, and my regret welled up about my eyes and trickled down my cheeks, but I would not speak, or give more cry than a sob forced from my throat by each impact, a moan as I rode the pain that heavy rod, those searing strokes, brought in their train. I took my six without surrender, but, when I rose at his command, I knew I had entered on a new career of chastisement. He had hurt me as deep as I had ever been, and I had had much experience of pain, and I knew my new Master would be one I would never cease to love, honour and respect.

I think he looked at me with a new respect himself, as I stood before him, red faced, red cheeked, before and behind, red eyed, but with my head still held high.

"You are a remarkable young woman, Miss Eyre," he observed. "First you are like an elf, that springs from the hedge to throw my horse, then you display the courage of an Amazon in the frame of a child." I bridled, for I felt that, at eighteen I was grown. "I dare say you would like to go to your room to touch your hair, or mend your face, whatever it is that young ladies do at these times. When you are composed, come to me again, for we have matters to discuss." Then, as I accepted my dismissal, for the time-being at least, he held out my drawers on the point of the rod, which he still held.

"Here. Take these. You don't think I have any use for them do you."

Blushing still redder, I snatched them from the stick and fled.