'The carrier, no doubt,' I thought, and ran downstairs withoutinquiry. I was passing the back-parlour or teachers' sitting-room, thedoor of which was half open, to go to the kitchen, when some one ranout-
'It's her, I am sure!- I could have told her anywhere!' cried theindividual who stopped my progress and took my hand.
I looked: I saw a woman attired like a well-dressed servant,matronly, yet still young; very good-looking, with black hair andeyes, and lively complexion.
'Well, who is it?' she asked, in a voice and with a smile I halfrecognised; 'you've not quite forgotten me, I think, Miss Jane?'
In another second I was embracing and kissing her rapturously:'Bessie! Bessie! Bessie!' that was all I said; whereat she halflaughed, half cried, and we both went into the parlour. By the firestood a little fellow of three years old, in plaid frock and trousers.
'That is my little boy,' said Bessie directly.
'Then you are married, Bessie?'
'Yes; nearly five years since to Robert Leaven, the coachman; andI've a little girl besides Bobby there, that I've christened Jane.'
'And you don't live at Gateshead?'
'I live at the lodge: the old porter has left.'
'Well, and how do they all get on? Tell me everything about them,Bessie: but sit down first; and, Bobby, come and sit on my knee,will you?' but Bobby preferred sidling over to his mother.
'You're not grown so very tall, Miss Jane, nor so very stout,'continued Mrs. Leaven. 'I daresay they've not kept you too well atschool: Miss Reed is the head and shoulders taller than you are; andMiss Georgiana would make two of you in breadth.'
'Georgiana is handsome, I suppose, Bessie?'
'Very. She went up to London last winter with her mama, and thereeverybody admired her, and a young lord fell in love with her: but hisrelations were against the match; and- what do you think?- he and MissGeorgiana made it up to run away; but they were found out and stopped.It was Miss Reed that found them out: I believe she was envious; andnow she and her sister lead a cat and dog life together; they arealways quarrelling.'
'Well, and what of John Reed?'
'Oh, he is not doing so well as his mama could wish. He went tocollege, and he got- plucked, I think they call it: and then hisuncles wanted him to be a barrister, and study the law: but he is sucha dissipated young man, they will never make much of him, I think.'
'What does he look like?'
'He is very tall: some people call him a fine-looking young man;but he has such thick lips.'
'And Mrs. Reed?'
'Missis looks stout and well enough in the face, but I thinkshe's not quite easy in her mind: Mr. John's conduct does not pleaseher- 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 heardthat there had been a letter from you, and that you were going toanother part of the country, I thought I'd just set off, and get alook at you before you were quite out of my reach.'
'I am afraid you are disappointed in me, Bessie.' I said thislaughing: I perceived that Bessie's glance, though it expressedregard, did in no shape denote admiration.
'No, Miss Jane, not exactly: you are genteel enough; you looklike a lady, and it is as much as ever I expected of you: you wereno 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 eighteenmost people wish to please, and the conviction that they have not anexterior likely to second that desire brings anything butgratification.
'I daresay you are clever, though,' continued Bessie, by way ofsolace. 'What can you do? Can you play on the piano?'
'A little.'
There was one in the room; Bessie went and opened it, and thenasked me to sit down and give her a tune: I played a waltz or two, andshe was charmed.
'The Miss Reeds could not play as well!' said she exultingly. 'Ialways said you would surpass them in learning: and can you draw?'
'That is one of my paintings over the chimney-piece.' It was alandscape in water colours, of which I had made a present to thesuperintendent, in acknowledgment of her obliging mediation with thecommittee on my behalf, and which she had framed and glazed.
'Well, that is beautiful, Miss Jane! It is as fine a picture as anyMiss Reed's drawing-master could paint, let alone the young ladiesthemselves, 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 willget on whether your relations notice you or not. There was something Iwanted to ask you. Have you ever heard anything from your father'skinsfolk, the Eyres?'
'Never in my life.'
'Well, you know, Missis always said they were poor and quitedespicable: and they may be poor; but I believe they are as muchgentry 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 wereat school fifty miles off; he seemed so much disappointed, for hecould not stay: he was going on a voyage to a foreign country, and theship was to sail from London in a day or two. He looked quite agentleman, 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 butlerdid 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 veryhigh with him; she called him afterwards a "sneaking tradesman." MyRobert believes he was a wine-merchant.'
'Very likely,' I returned; 'or perhaps clerk or agent to awine-merchant.'
Bessie and I conversed about old times an hour longer, and then shewas obliged to leave me: I saw her again for a few minutes the nextmorning at Lowton, while I was waiting for the coach. We partedfinally at the door of the Brocklehurst Arms there, each went herseparate way; she set off for the brow of Lowood Fell to meet theconveyance which was to take her back to Gateshead, I mounted thevehicle which was to bear me to new duties and a new life in theunknown environs of Millcote.
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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 yousee a room in the George Inn at Millcote, with such large figuredpapering on the walls as inn rooms have; such a carpet, suchfurniture, such ornaments on the mantel-piece, such prints,including a portrait of George the Third, and another of the Prince ofWales, and a representation of the death of Wolfe. All this is visibleto you by the light of an oil lamp hanging from the ceiling, and bythat of an excellent fire, near which I sit in my cloak and bonnet; mymuff and umbrella lie on the table, and I am warming away the numbnessand chill contracted by sixteen hours' exposure to the rawness of anOctober day: I left Lowton at four o'clock A.M., and the Millcote townclock is now just striking eight.
Reader, though I look comfortably accommodated, I am not verytranquil in my mind. I thought when the coach stopped here there wouldbe some one to meet me; I looked anxiously round as I descended thewooden steps the 'boots' placed for my convenience, expecting tohear my name pronounced, and to see some description of carriagewaiting 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 aMiss Eyre, I was answered in the negative: so I had no resource but torequest 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 feelitself quite alone in the world, cut adrift from every connection,uncertain whether the port to which it is bound can be reached, andprevented by many impediments from returning to that it has quitted.The charm of adventure sweetens that sensation, the glow of pridewarms it; but then the throb of fear disturbs it; and fear with mebecame 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 askedof the waiter who answered the summons.
'Thornfield? I don't know, ma'am; I'll inquire at the bar.' Hevanished, 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 theinn-passage: a man was standing by the open door, and in thelamp-lit street I dimly saw a one-horse conveyance.
'This will be your luggage, I suppose?' said the man ratherabruptly 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 toThornfield.
'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 weset off. Our progress was leisurely, and gave me ample time toreflect; I was content to be at length so near the end of myjourney; and as I leaned back in the comfortable though not elegantconveyance, I meditated much at my ease.
'I suppose,' thought I, 'judging from the plainness of theservant and carriage, Mrs. Fairfax is not a very dashing person: somuch the better; I never lived amongst fine people but once, and I wasvery miserable with them. I wonder if she lives alone except thislittle girl; if so, and if she is in any degree amiable, I shallsurely be able to get on with her; I will do my best; it is a pitythat doing one's best does not always answer. At Lowood, indeed, Itook that resolution, kept it, and succeeded in pleasing; but withMrs. Reed, I remember my best was always spurned with scorn. I prayGod 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, Ican 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 considerablemagnitude, much larger than Lowton. We were now, as far as I couldsee, on a sort of common; but there were houses scattered all over thedistrict; I felt we were in a different region to Lowood, morepopulous, less picturesque; more stirring, less romantic.
The roads were heavy, the night misty; my conductor let his horsewalk all the way, and the hour and a half extended, I verilybelieve, 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 broadtower against the sky, and its bell was tolling a quarter; I saw anarrow galaxy of lights too, on a hillside, marking a village orhamlet. About ten minutes after, the driver got down and opened a pairof gates: we passed through, and they clashed to behind us. We nowslowly ascended a drive, and came upon the long front of a house:candlelight gleamed from one curtained bow-window; all the rest weredark. The car stopped at the front door; it was opened by amaid-servant; I alighted and went in.
'Will you walk this way, ma'am?' said the girl; and I followedher across a square hall with high doors all round: she ushered meinto a room whose double illumination of fire and candle at firstdazzled me, contrasting as it did with the darkness to which my eyeshad been for two hours inured; when I could see, however, a cosy andagreeable picture presented itself to my view.
A snug small room; a round table by a cheerful fire; an arm-chairhigh-backed and old-fashioned, wherein sat the neatest imaginablelittle elderly lady, in widow's cap, black silk gown, and snowy muslinapron; exactly like what I had fancied Mrs. Fairfax, only less statelyand milder looking. She was occupied in knitting; a large cat satdemurely at her feet; nothing in short was wanting to complete thebeau-ideal of domestic comfort. A more reassuring introduction for anew governess could scarcely be conceived; there was no grandeur tooverwhelm, no stateliness to embarrass; and then, as I entered, theold 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 myshawl and untie my bonnet-strings; I begged she would not give herselfso much trouble.
'Oh, it is no trouble; I daresay your own hands are almost numbedwith 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 ofkeys, and delivered them to the servant.
'Now, then, draw nearer to the fire,' she continued. 'You'vebrought 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 expectedsuch a reception; I anticipated only coldness and stiffness: this isnot like what I have heard of the treatment of governesses; but I mustnot exult too soon.'
She returned; with her own hands cleared her knitting apparatus anda book or two from the table, to make room for the tray which Leah nowbrought, and then herself handed me the refreshments. I felt ratherconfused at being the object of more attention than I had everbefore received, and, that too, shown by my employer and superior; butas she did not herself seem to consider she was doing anything outof her place, I thought it better to take her civilities quietly.
