“Whenever, in future, you should chance to fancy Mr. Rochester thinks well of you, take out these two pictures and compare them; say, ‘Mr. Rochester might probably win that noble lady’s love, if he chose to strive for it; is it likely he would waste a serious thought on this indigent and insignificant plebeian?’
“I’ll do it,” I resolved; and having framed this determination, I grew calm, and fell asleep.
I kept my word. An hour or two sufficed to sketch my own portrait in crayons; and in less than a fortnight I had completed an ivory miniature of an imaginary Blanche Ingram. It looked a lovely face enough, and when compared with the real head in chalk, the contrast was as great as self-control could desire. I derived benefit from the task; it had kept my head and hands employed, and had given force and fixedness to the new impressions I wished to stamp indelibly on my heart.
Ere long I had reason to congratulate myself on the course of wholesome discipline to which I had thus forced my feelings to submit; thanks to it, I was able to meet subsequent occurrences with a decent calm; which, had they found me unprepared, I should, probably, have been unequal to maintain even externally.
Chapter XVII
A week passed, and no news arrived of Mr. Rochester; ten days, and still he did not come. 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; he had not unfrequently quitted it in a manner quite as abrupt and unexpected. 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—how I cleared up the mistake of supposing Mr. Rochester’s movements a matter in which I had any cause to take a vital interest. Not that I humbled myself by a slavish notion of inferiority: on the contrary, I just said,
“You have nothing to do with the master of Thornfield, further than to receive the salary he gives you for teaching his protégée, and to be grateful for such respectful and kind treatment as, if you do your duty, you have a right to expect at his hands. Be sure that is the only tie he seriously acknowledges between you and him; so don’t make him the object of your fine feelings, your raptures, agonies, and so forth. He is not of your order; keep to your caste; and be too self respecting to lavish the love of the whole heart, soul, and strength, where such a gift is not wanted and would be despised.”
I went on with my day’s business tranquilly; but, ever and anon, vague suggestion kept wandering across my brain of reasons why I should quit Thornfield; and I kept involuntarily framing advertisements and pondering conjectures about new situations; these thoughts I did not think it necessary to check; they might germinate and bear fruit if they could.
Mr. Rochester had been absent upward 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 (we were at breakfast); it was hot, and I attributed to that circumstance a fiery glow which suddenly rose to my face. Why my hand shook, and why I involuntarily spilled half the contents of my cup into my saucer, I did not choose to consider.
“Well—I sometimes think we are too quiet; but we run a chance of being busy enough now, for a little while at least,” said Mrs. Fairfax, still holding the note before her spectacles.
Ere I permitted myself to request an explanation, I tied the string of Adèle’s pinafore, which happened to be loose; having helped her also to another bun and refilled her mug with milk, I said nonchalantly,
“Mr. Rochester is not likely to return soon, I suppose?”
“Indeed he is—in three days, he says; that will be next Thursday; and not alone either. I don’t know how many of the fine people at the Leas are coming with him; he sends directions for all the best bed-rooms to be prepared; and the library and drawing-rooms are to be cleaned out; and I am to get more kitchen hands from the George Inn, at Millcote, and from wherever else I can; and the ladies will bring their maids and the gentlemen their valets; so we shall have a full house of it.” And Mrs. Fairfax swallowed her breakfast and hastened away to commence operations.
The 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 of paint and beating of carpets, such taking down and putting up of pictures, such polishing of mirrors and lustres, such lighting of fires in bed-rooms, and airing of sheets and feather-beds on hearths, I never beheld, either before or since. Adèle ran quite wild in the midst of it; the preparations for company and the prospect of their arrival, seemed to throw her into ecstasies. She would have Sophie to look over all her “toilettes,” as she called frocks; to furbish up any that were “passées,”dn and to air and arrange the new. For herself, she did nothing but caper about in front chambers, jumping on and off the bedsteads, and lie on the mattresses and piled-up bolsters and pillows before the enormous fires roaring in the chimneys. From school duties she was exonerated—Mrs. Fairfax had pressed me into her service, and I was all day in the store-room, helping (or hindering) her and the cook; learning to make custards, and cheese-cakes, and French pastry, to truss game and garnish dessert-dishes.
The party were expected to arrive on Thursday afternoon in time for dinner at six. During the intervening period I had no time to nurse chimera; and, I believe, I was as active and gay as anybody—Adèle excepted. Still, now and then, I received a damping check to my cheerfulness; and was, in spite of myself, thrown back on the region of doubts and portents, and dark conjectures. This was when I chanced to see the third-story stair-case door (which of late had always been kept locked) open slowly, and give passage to the form of Grace Poole, in prim cap, white apron, and handkerchief—when I watched her glide along the gallery, her quiet tread muffled in a list slipper; when I saw her look into the bustling, topsy-turvy bed-rooms—just say a word, perhaps, to the charwomen about the proper way to polish a grate, or clean a marble mantel-piece, or take stains from papered walls, 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, for her private solace, in her own gloomy upper haunt. Only one hour in the twenty-four did she pass with her fellow-servants below; all the rest of her time was spent in some low-ceiled oaken chamber of the third story; there she sat and sewed—and probably laughed drearily to herself—as companion-less as a prisoner in his dungeon.
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 enjoyment, no one pitied her solitude or isolation. I once, indeed, overheard a 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; not that mine are to complain of—there’s no stinginess at Thornfield—but they’re not one-fifth of the sum Mrs. Poole receives. And she is laying by; she goes every quarter to the bank at Millcote. I should not wonder but she has saved enough to keep her independent if she liked to leave, but I suppose she’s got used to the place, and then she’s not forty yet; and strong and able for anything. It is too soon for her to give up business.”
“She’s a good hand, I dare say,” said the charwoman.
“Ah! she understands what she has to do; nobody better,” rejoined Leah, significantly; “and it is not every one could fill her shoes, not for all the money she gets.”
; “That it is not!” was the reply. “I wonder whether master—”
The charwoman was going on, but here Leah turned and 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, that there was a mystery at Thornfield, and that from participation in that mystery I was purposely excluded.
Thursday came; all work had been completed the previous evening, carpets were laid down, bed-hangings festooned, radiant white counterpanes spread, toilet-tables arranged, furniture rubbed, flowers piled in vases; both chambers and saloons looked as fresh and bright as hands could make them. The hall, too, was scoured, and the great carved clock, as well as the steps and banisters of the stair-case, were polished to the brightness of glass; in the dining-room, the sideboard flashed resplendent with plate; in the drawing-room and boudoir, vases of exotics bloomed on all sides.
Afternoon arrived; Mrs. Fairfax assumed her best black satin gown, her gloves, and her gold watch; for it was her part to receive the company—to conduct the ladies to their rooms, &c. Adèle, too, would be dressed, though I thought she had little chance of being introduced to the party, that day at least. However, to please her, I allowed Sophie to apparel her in one of her short, full muslin frocks. For myself, I had no need to make any change; I should not be called upon to quit my sanctum of the school-room, for a sanctum it was now becoming to me, “a very pleasant refuge in time of trouble.”48
It had been a mild, serene spring day; one of those days which, toward the end of March or the beginning of April, rise shining over the earth as heralds of summer. It was drawing to an end now, but the evening was even warm, and I sat at work in the school-room with the window open.
“It gets late,” said Mrs. Fairfax, entering in rustling state. “I am glad I ordered dinner an hour after the time Mr. Rochester mentioned, for it is past six now. I have sent John down to the gates to see if there is anything on the road; one can see a long way from thence in the direction of Millcote.” She went to the window. “Here he is!” said she. “Well, John (leaning out), any news?”
“They’re coming, ma‘am,” was the answer. “They’ll be here in ten minutes.”
Adèle flew to the window. I followed, taking care to stand on one side, so that, screened by the curtain, I could see without being seen.
The ten minutes John had given seemed very long, but at last wheels were heard; four equestrians galloped up the drive, and after them came two open carriages. Fluttering veils and waving plumes filled the vehicles; two of the cavaliers were young, dashing-looking gentlemen; the third was Mr. Rochester, on his black horse, Mesrour,do Pilot bounding before him; at his side rode a lady, and he and she were the first of the party. Her purple riding-habit almost swept the ground, her veil streamed long on the breeze, mingling with its transparent folds, and gleaming through them shone rich raven ringlets.
“Miss Ingram!” exclaimed Mrs. Fairfax, and away she hurried to her post below.
The cavalcade, following the sweep of the drive, quickly turned the angle of the house, and I lost sight of it. Adèle now 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; that Mr. Rochester would be very angry, &c. “Some natural tears she shed” on being told this; but as I began to look very grave, she consented at last to wipe them.49
A joyous stir was now audible in the hall; gentlemen’s deep tones and ladies’ silvery accents blent harmoniously together, and distinguishable above all, though not loud, was the sonorous voice of the master of Thornfield Hall, welcoming his fair and gallant guests under his roof. Then light steps ascended the stairs, and there was a tripping through the gallery, and soft, cheerful laughs, and opening and closing doors, and, for a time, a hush.
“Elles changent de toilettes,”dp said Adèle, who, listening attentively, had followed every movement; and she sighed.
“Chez maman,” said she, “quand il y avait du monde, je les suivais partout, au salon et à leurs chambres; souvent je regardais les femmes de chambre coiffer et habiller les dames, et c’ était si amusant; comme cela on apprend.”dq
“Don’t you feel hungry, Adèle?”
“Mais oui, mademoiselle; voilà cinq or six heures que nous n‘avons pas mange.”dr
“Well, now, while the ladies are in their rooms, I will venture down and get you something to eat.”
And issuing from my asylum with precaution, I sought a back stairs which conducted directly to the kitchen. All in that region was fire and commotion; the soup and fish were in the last stage of projection, and the cook hung over crucibles in a frame of mind and body threatening spontaneous combustion.ds In the serhall two coachmen and three gentlemen’s gentlemen stood or sat round the fire; the Abigails I suppose were up stairs with their mistresses, the new servants that had been hired from Millcote were bustling about everywhere. Threading this chaos, I at last reached the larder; there I took possession of a cold chicken, a roll of bread, some tarts, a plate or two, and a knife and fork; with this booty I made a hasty retreat. I had regained the gallery, and was just shutting the back door behind me, when an accelerated hum warned me that the ladies were about to issue from their chambers. I could not proceed to the school room without passing some of their doors, and running the risk of being surprised with my cargo of victualage, so I stood still at this end, which, being windowless, was dark, quite dark now, for the sun was set and twilight gathering.
Presently the chambers gave up their fair tenants one after another; each came out gayly and airily, with dress that gleamed lustrous through the dusk. For a moment they stood grouped together at the other extremity of the gallery, conversing in a key of sweet subdued vivacity; they then descended the stair-case, almost as noiselessly as a bright mist rolls down a hill. Their collective appearance had left on me an impression of high-born elegance, such as I had never before received.
I found Adèle peeping through the school-room door, which she held ajar. “What beautiful ladies!” cried she, in English. “Oh, I wish I might go to them! Do you think Mr. Rochester will send for us by and by, after dinner?”
“No, indeed, I don’t; Mr. Rochester has something else to think about. Never mind the ladies to-night; perhaps you will see them to-morrow; here is your dinner.”
She was really hungry, so the chicken and tarts served to divert her attention for a time. It was well I secured this forage; or both she, I, and Sophie, to whom I conveyed a share of our repast, would have run a chance of getting no dinner at all; every one down stairs was too much engaged to think of us. The dessert was not carried out till after nine, and at ten, footmen were still running to and fro with trays and coffee-cups. I allowed Adèle to sit up much later than usual; for she declared she could not possibly go to sleep while the doors kept opening and shutting below, and people bustling about. Besides, she added, a message might possibly come from Mr. Rochester when she was undressed; “et alors quel dommage!”dt
I told her stories as long as she would listen to them; and then, for a change, I took her out into the gallery. The hall lamp was now lighted, and it amused her to look over the balustrade and watch the servants passing backward and forward. When the evening was far advanced, a sound of music issued from the drawing-room, whither the piano had been removed. Adèle and I sat down on the top step of the stairs to listen. Presently a voice blent with the rich tones of the instrument; it was a lady who sang, and very sweet her notes were. The solo over, a duet followed, and then a glee; a joyous conversational murmur filled up the intervals. I listened long; suddenly I discovered that my ear was wholly intent on analyzing the mingled sounds, and trying to discriminate amid the confusion of accents those of Mr. Rochester; and when it caught them, which it soon did, it found a further task in framing the tone
s, rendered by distance inarticulate, into words.
The clock struck eleven. I looked at Adèle, whose head leaned against my shoulder; her eyes were waxing heavy, so I took her up in my arms and carried her off to bed. It was near one before the gentlemen and ladies sought their chambers.
The next day was as fine as its predecessor; it was devoted by the party to an excursion to some site in the neighborhood. They set out early in the forenoon, some on horseback, the rest in carriages; I witnessed both the departure and the return. Miss Ingram, as before, was the only lady equestrian; and, as before, Mr. Rochester galloped at her side: the two rode a little apart from the rest. I pointed out this circumstance to Mrs. Fairfax, who was standing at the window with me.
“You said it was not likely they should think of being married,” said I; “but you see Mr. Rochester evidently prefers her to any of the other ladies.”
“Yes, I dare say; no doubt he admires her.”
“And she him,” I added; “look how she leans her head toward him as if she were conversing confidentially! I wish I could see her face; I have never had a glimpse of it yet.”
“You will see her this evening,” answered Mrs. Fairfax. “I happened to remark to Mr. Rochester how much Adèle 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.’ ”
“Yes—he said that from mere politeness; I need not go, I am sure,” I answered.
“Well—I observed to him that as you were unused to company, I did not think you would like appearing before so gay a party—all strangers; and he replied, in his quick way, ‘Nonsense! If she objects, tell her it is my particular wish; and if she resists, say I shall come and fetch her in case of contumacy.’ ”
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