'What we tell you is for your good,' added Bessie, in no harshvoice; 'you should try to be useful and pleasant, then, perhaps, youwould have a home here; but if you become passionate and rude,Missis will send you away, I am sure.'
'Besides,' said Miss Abbot, 'God will punish her: He might strikeher dead in the midst of her tantrums, and then where would she go?Come, Bessie, we will leave her: I wouldn't have her heart foranything. Say your prayers, Miss Eyre, when you are by yourself; forif you don't repent, something bad might be permitted to come down thechimney and fetch you away.'
They went, shutting the door, and locking it behind them.
The red-room was a square chamber, very seldom slept in, I mightsay never, indeed, unless when a chance influx of visitors atGateshead Hall rendered it necessary to turn to account all theaccommodation it contained: yet it was one of the largest andstateliest chambers in the mansion. A bed supported on massive pillarsof mahogany, hung with curtains of deep red damask, stood out like atabernacle in the centre; the two large windows, with their blindsalways drawn down, were half shrouded in festoons and falls of similardrapery; the carpet was red; the table at the foot of the bed wascovered with a crimson cloth; the walls were a soft fawn colour with ablush of pink in it; the wardrobe, the toilet-table, the chairs wereof darkly polished old mahogany. Out of these deep surroundingshades rose high, and glared white, the piled-up mattresses andpillows of the bed, spread with a snowy Marseilles counterpane.Scarcely less prominent was an ample cushioned easy-chair near thehead of the bed, also white, with a footstool before it; andlooking, as I thought, like a pale throne.
This room was chill, because it seldom had a fire; it was silent,because remote from the nursery and kitchen; solemn, because it wasknown to be so seldom entered. The housemaid alone came here onSaturdays, to wipe from the mirrors and the furniture a week's quietdust: and Mrs. Reed herself, at far intervals, visited it to reviewthe contents of a certain secret drawer in the wardrobe, where werestored divers parchments, her jewel-casket, and a miniature of herdeceased husband; and in those last words lies the secret of thered-room- the spell which kept it so lonely in spite of its grandeur.
Mr. Reed had been dead nine years: it was in this chamber hebreathed his last; here he lay in state; hence his coffin was borne bythe undertaker's men; and, since that day, a sense of drearyconsecration had guarded it from frequent intrusion.
My seat, to which Bessie and the bitter Miss Abbot had left meriveted, was a low ottoman near the marble chimney-piece; the bed rosebefore me; to my right hand there was the high, dark wardrobe, withsubdued, broken reflections varying the gloss of its panels; to myleft were the muffled windows; a great looking-glass between themrepeated the vacant majesty of the bed and room. I was not quitesure whether they had locked the door; and when I dared move, I got upand went to see. Alas! yes: no jail was ever more secure. Returning, Ihad to cross before the looking-glass; my fascinated glanceinvoluntarily explored the depth it revealed. All looked colder anddarker in that visionary hollow than in reality: and the strangelittle figure there gazing at me, with a white face and armsspecking the gloom, and glittering eyes of fear moving where allelse was still, had the effect of a real spirit: I thought it like oneof the tiny phantoms, half fairy, half imp, Bessie's evening storiesrepresented as coming out of lone, ferny dells in moors, and appearingbefore the eyes of belated travellers. I returned to my stool.
Superstition was with me at that moment; but it was not yet herhour for complete victory: my blood was still warm; the mood of therevolted slave was still bracing me with its bitter vigour; I had tostem a rapid rush of retrospective thought before I quailed to thedismal present.
All John Reed's violent tyrannies, all his sisters' proudindifference, all his mother's aversion, all the servants' partiality,turned up in my disturbed mind like a dark deposit in a turbid well.Why was I always suffering, always browbeaten, always accused, forever condemned? Why could I never please? Why was it useless to try towin any one's favour? Eliza, who, was headstrong and selfish, wasrespected. Georgiana, who had a spoiled temper, a very acrid spite,a captious and insolent carriage, was universally indulged. Herbeauty, her pink cheeks and golden curls, seemed to give delight toall who, looked at her, and to purchase indemnity for every fault.John no one thwarted, much less punished; though he twisted thenecks of the pigeons, killed the little pea-chicks, set the dogs atthe sheep, stripped the hothouse vines of their fruit, and broke thebuds off the choicest plants in the conservatory: he called his mother'old girl,' too; sometimes reviled her for her dark skin, similar tohis own; bluntly disregarded her wishes; not unfrequently tore andspoiled her silk attire; and he was still 'her own darling.' I daredcommit no fault: I strove to fulfil every duty; and I was termednaughty and tiresome, sullen and sneaking, from morning to noon, andfrom noon to night.
My head still ached and bled with the blow and fall I had received:no one had reproved John for wantonly striking me; and because I hadturned against him to avert farther irrational violence, I wasloaded with general opprobrium.
'Unjust!- unjust!' said my reason, forced by the agonising stimulusinto precocious though transitory power: and Resolve, equallywrought up, instigated some strange expedient to achieve escape frominsupportable oppression- as running away, or, if that could not beeffected, never eating or drinking more, and letting myself die.
What a consternation of soul was mine that dreary afternoon! Howall my brain was in tumult, and all my heart in insurrection! Yet inwhat darkness, what dense ignorance, was the mental battle fought! Icould not answer the ceaseless inward question- why I thus suffered;now, at the distance of- I will not say how many years, I see itclearly.
I was a discord in Gateshead Hall: I was like nobody there; I hadnothing in harmony with Mrs. Reed or her children, or her chosenvassalage. If they did not love me, in fact, as little did I lovethem. They were not bound to regard with affection a thing thatcould not sympathise with one amongst them; a heterogeneous thing,opposed to them in temperament, in capacity, in propensities; auseless thing, incapable of serving their interest, or adding to theirpleasure; a noxious thing, cherishing the germs of indignation attheir treatment, of contempt of their judgment. I know that had I beena sanguine, brilliant, careless, exacting, handsome, romping child-though equally dependent and friendless- Mrs. Reed would haveendured my presence more complacently; her children would haveentertained for me more of the cordiality of fellow-feeling; theservants would have been less prone to make me the scapegoat of thenursery.
Daylight began to forsake the red-room; it was past four o'clock,and the beclouded afternoon was tending to drear twilight. I heard therain still beating continuously on the staircase window, and thewind howling in the grove behind the hall; I grew by degrees cold as astone, and then my courage sank. My habitual mood of humiliation,self-doubt, forlorn depression, fell damp on the embers of my decayingire. All said I was wicked, and perhaps I might be so; what thoughthad I been but just conceiving of starving myself to death? Thatcertainly was a crime: and was I fit to die? Or was the vault underthe chancel of Gateshead Church an inviting bourne? In such vault Ihad been told did Mr. Reed lie buried; and led by this thought torecall his idea, I dwelt on it with gathering dread. I could notremember him; but I knew that he was my own uncle- my mother'sbrother- that he had taken me when a parentless infant to his house;and that in his last moments he had required a promise of Mrs. Reedthat she would rear and maintain me as one of her own children. Mrs.Reed probably considered she had kept this promise; and so she had,I dare say, as well as her nature would permit her; but how couldshe really like an interloper not of her race, and unconnected withher, after her husband's death, by any tie? It must have been mostirksome to find herself bound by a hard-wrung pledge to stand in thestead of a parent to a strange child she could not love, and to see anuncongenial alien permanently intruded on her own family group.
A singular notion dawned upon me. I doubted not- never doubted-that if Mr. Reed had been alive he would have treated me kindly; andnow, as I sat looking at the white bed and overshadowed walls-occasionally also turning a fascinated eye towards the dimlygleaming mirror- I began to recall what I had heard of dead men,troubled in their graves by the violation of their last wishes,revisiting the earth to punish the perjured and avenge theoppressed; and I thought Mr. Reed's spirit, harassed by the wrongsof his sister's child, might quit its abode- whether in the churchvault or in the unknown world of the departed- and rise before me inthis chamber. I wiped my tears and hushed my sobs, fearful lest anysign of violent grief might waken a preternatural voice to comfort me,or elicit from the gloom some haloed face, bending over me withstrange pity. This idea, consolatory in theory, I felt would beterrible if realised: with all my might I endeavoured to stifle it-I endeavoured to be firm. Shaking my hair from my eyes, I lifted myhead and tried to look boldly round the dark room; at this moment alight gleamed on the wall. Was it, I asked myself, a ray from the moonpenetrating some aperture in the blind? No; moonlight was still, andthis stirred; while I gazed, it glided up to the ceiling andquivered over my head. I can now conjecture readily that this streakof light was, in all likelihood, a gleam from a lantern carried bysome one across the lawn: but then, prepared as my mind was forhorror, shaken as my nerves were by agitation, I thought the swiftdarting beam was a herald of some coming vision from another world. Myheart beat thick, my head grew hot; a sound filled my ears, which Ideemed the rushing of wings; something seemed near me; I wasoppressed, suffocated: endurance broke down; I rushed to the doorand shook the lock in desperate effort. Steps came running along theouter passage; the key turned, Bessie and Abbot entered.
'Miss Eyre, are you ill?' said Bessie.
'What a dreadful noise! it went quite through me!' exclaimed Abbot.
'Take me out! Let me go into the nursery!' was my cry.
'What for? Are you hurt? Have you seen something?' again demandedBessie.
'Oh! I saw a light, and I thought a ghost would come.' I had nowgot hold of Bessie's hand, and she did not snatch it from me.
'She has screamed out on purpose,' declared Abbot, in some disgust.'And what a scream! If she had been in great pain one would haveexcused it, but she only wanted to bring us all here: I know hernaughty tricks.'
'What is all this?' demanded another voice peremptorily; and Mrs.Reed came along the corridor, her cap flying wide, her gown rustlingstormily. 'Abbot and Bessie, I believe I gave orders that Jane Eyreshould be left in the red-room till I came to her myself.'
'Miss Jane screamed so loud, ma'am,' pleaded Bessie.
'Let her go,' was the only answer. 'Loose Bessie's hand, child: youcannot succeed in getting out by these means, be assured. I abhorartifice, particularly in children; it is my duty to show you thattricks will not answer: you will now stay here an hour longer, andit is only on condition of perfect submission and stillness that Ishall liberate you then.'
'O aunt! have pity! forgive me! I cannot endure it- let me bepunished some other way! I shall be killed if-'
'Silence! This violence is all most repulsive:' and so, no doubt,she felt it. I was a precocious actress in her eyes; she sincerely.looked on me as a compound of virulent passions, mean spirit, anddangerous duplicity.
Bessie and Abbot having retreated, Mrs. Reed, impatient of my nowfrantic anguish and wild sobs, abruptly thrust me back and locked mein, without farther parley. I heard her sweeping away; and soonafter she was gone, I suppose I had a species of fit:unconsciousness closed the scene.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER III
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE next thing I remember is, waking up with a feeling as if Ihad had a frightful nightmare, and seeing before me a terrible redglare, crossed with thick black bars. I heard voices, too, speakingwith a hollow sound, and as if muffled by a rush of wind or water:agitation, uncertainty, and an all-predominating sense of terrorconfused my faculties. Ere long, I became aware that some one washandling me; lifting me up and supporting me in a sitting posture, andthat more tenderly than I had ever been raised or upheld before. Irested my head against a pillow or an arm, and felt easy.
In five minutes more the cloud of bewilderment dissolved: I knewquite well that I was in my own bed, and that the red glare was thenursery fire. It was night: a candle burnt on the table; Bessiestood at the bed-foot with a basin in her hand, and a gentleman sat ina chair near my pillow, leaning over me.
I felt an inexpressible relief, a soothing conviction of protectionand security, when I knew that there was a stranger in the room, anindividual not belonging to Gateshead, and not related to Mrs. Reed.Turning from Bessie (though her presence was far less obnoxious tome than that of Abbot, for instance, would have been), I scrutinisedthe face of the gentleman: I knew him; it was Mr. Lloyd, anapothecary, sometimes called in by Mrs. Reed when the servants wereailing: for herself and the children she employed a physician.
'Well, who am I?' he asked.
I pronounced his name, offering him at the same time my hand: hetook it, smiling and saying, 'We shall do very well by and by.' Thenhe laid me down, and addressing Bessie, charged her to be very carefulthat I was not disturbed during the night. Having given some furtherdirections, and intimated that he should call again the next day, hedeparted; to my grief: I felt so sheltered and befriended while he satin the chair near my pillow; and as he closed the door after him,all the room darkened and my heart again sank: inexpressible sadnessweighed it down.
'Do you feel as if you should sleep, Miss?' asked Bessie, rathersoftly.
Scarcely dared I answer her; for I feared the next sentence mightbe rough. 'I will try.'
