Bessie, when she heard this narrative, sighed and said, 'PoorMiss Jane is to be pitied too, Abbot.'
'Yes,' responded Abbot; 'if she were a nice, pretty child, onemight compassionate her forlornness; but one really cannot care forsuch a little toad as that.'
'Not a great deal, to be sure,' agreed Bessie: 'at any rate, abeauty like Miss Georgiana would be more moving in the samecondition.'
'Yes, I doat on Miss Georgiana!' cried the fervent Abbot. 'Littledarling!- with her long curls and her blue eyes, and such a sweetcolour as she has; just as if she were painted!- Bessie, I could fancya Welsh rabbit for supper.'
'So could I- with a roast onion. Come, we'll go down.' They went.
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CHAPTER IV
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FROM my discourse with Mr. Lloyd, and from the above reportedconference between Bessie and Abbot, I gathered enough of hope tosuffice as a motive for wishing to get well: a change seemed near,-I desired and waited it in silence. It tarried, however: days andweeks passed: I had regained my normal state of health, but no newallusion was made to the subject over which I brooded. Mrs. Reedsurveyed me at times with a severe eye, but seldom addressed me: sincemy illness, she had drawn a more marked line of separation than everbetween me and her own children; appointing me a small closet to sleepin by myself, condemning me to take my meals alone, and pass all mytime in the nursery, while my cousins were constantly in thedrawing-room. Not a hint, however, did she drop about sending me toschool: still I felt an instinctive certainty that she would notlong endure me under the same roof with her; for her glance, nowmore than ever, when turned on me, expressed an insuperable and rootedaversion.
Eliza and Georgiana, evidently acting according to orders, spoke tome as little as possible: John thrust his tongue in his cheek wheneverhe saw me, and once attempted chastisement; but as I instantlyturned against him, roused by the same sentiment of deep ire anddesperate revolt which had stirred my corruption before, he thought itbetter to desist, and ran from me uttering execrations, and vowing Ihad burst his nose. I had indeed levelled at that prominent feature ashard a blow as my knuckles could inflict; and when I saw that eitherthat or my look daunted him, I had the greatest inclination tofollow up my advantage to purpose; but he was already with his mama. Iheard him in a blubbering tone commence the tale of how 'that nastyJane Eyre' had flown at him like a mad cat: he was stopped ratherharshly-
'Don't talk to me about her, John: I told you not to go near her;she is not worthy of notice; I do not choose that either you or yoursisters should associate with her.'
Here, leaning over the banister, I cried out suddenly, andwithout at all deliberating on my words-
'They are not fit to associate with me.'
Mrs. Reed was rather a stout woman; but, on hearing this strangeand audacious declaration, she ran nimbly up the stair, swept melike a whirlwind into the nursery, and crushing me down on the edge ofmy crib, dared me in an emphatic voice to rise from that place, orutter one syllable during the remainder of the day.
'What would Uncle Reed say to you, if he were alive?' was myscarcely voluntary demand. I say scarcely voluntary, for it seemedas if my tongue pronounced words, without my will consenting totheir utterance: something spoke out of me over which I had nocontrol.
'What?' said Mrs. Reed under her breath: her usually coldcomposed grey eye became troubled with a look like fear; she tookher hand from my arm, and gazed at me as if she really did not knowwhether I were child or fiend. I was now in for it.
'My Uncle Reed is in heaven, and can see all you do and think;and so can papa and mama: they know how you shut me up all day long,and how you wish me dead.'
Mrs. Reed soon rallied her spirits: she shook me most soundly,she boxed both my ears, and then left me without a word. Bessiesupplied the hiatus by a homily of an hour's length, in which sheproved beyond a doubt that I was the most wicked and abandoned childever reared under a roof. I half believed her; for I felt indeedonly bad feelings surging in my breast.
November, December, and half of January passed away. Christmasand the New Year had been celebrated at Gateshead with the usualfestive cheer; presents had been interchanged, dinners and eveningparties given. From every enjoyment I was, of course, excluded: myshare of the gaiety consisted in witnessing the daily apparelling ofEliza and Georgiana, and seeing them descend to the drawing-room,dressed out in thin muslin frocks and scarlet sashes, with hairelaborately ringleted; and afterwards, in listening to the sound ofthe piano or the harp played below, to the passing to and fro of thebutler and footman, to the jingling of glass and china as refreshmentswere handed, to the broken hum of conversation as the drawing-roomdoor opened and closed. When tired of this occupation, I wouldretire from the stair-head to the solitary and silent nursery:there, though somewhat sad, I was not miserable. To speak truth, I hadnot the least wish to go into company, for in company I was veryrarely noticed; and if Bessie had but been kind and companionable, Ishould have deemed it a treat to spend the evenings quietly withher, instead of passing them under the formidable eye of Mrs. Reed, ina room full of ladies and gentlemen. But Bessie, as soon as she haddressed her young ladies, used to take herself off to the livelyregions of the kitchen and housekeeper's room, generally bearing thecandle along with her. I then sat with my doll on my knee till thefire got low, glancing round occasionally to make sure that nothingworse than myself haunted the shadowy room; and when the embers sankto a dull red, I undressed hastily, tugging at knots and strings asI best might, and sought shelter from cold and darkness in my crib. Tothis crib I always took my doll; human beings must love something,and, in the dearth of worthier objects of affection, I contrived tofind a pleasure in loving and cherishing a faded graven image,shabby as a miniature scarecrow. It puzzles me now to remember withwhat absurd sincerity I doated on this little toy, half fancying italive and capable of sensation. I could not sleep unless it was foldedin my night-gown; and when it lay there safe and warm, I wascomparatively happy, believing it to be happy likewise.
Long did the hours seem while I waited the departure of thecompany, and listened for the sound of Bessie's step on the stairs:sometimes she would come up in the interval to seek her thimble or herscissors, or perhaps to bring me something by way of supper- a bunor a cheese-cake- then she would sit on the bed while I ate it, andwhen I had finished, she would tuck the clothes round me, and twiceshe kissed me, and said, 'Good night, Miss Jane.' When thus gentle,Bessie seemed to me the best, prettiest, kindest being in the world;and I wished most intensely that she would always be so pleasant andamiable, and never push me about, or scold, or task me unreasonably,as she was too often wont to do. Bessie, Lee must, I think, havebeen a girl of good natural capacity, for she was smart in all shedid, and had a remarkable knack of narrative; so, at least, I judgefrom the impression made on me by her nursery tales. She was prettytoo, if my recollections of her face and person are correct. Iremember her as a slim young woman, with black hair, dark eyes, verynice features, and good, clear complexion; but she had a capriciousand hasty temper, and indifferent ideas of principle or justice:still, such as she was, I preferred her to any one else at GatesheadHall.
It was the fifteenth of January, about nine o'clock in the morning:Bessie was gone down to breakfast; my cousins had not yet beensummoned to their mama; Eliza was putting on her bonnet and warmgarden-coat to go and feed her poultry, an occupation of which she wasfond: and not less so of selling the eggs to the housekeeper andhoarding up the money she thus obtained. She had a turn for traffic,and a marked propensity for saving; shown not only in the vending ofeggs and chickens, but also in driving hard bargains with the gardenerabout flower-roots, seeds, and slips of plants; that functionaryhaving orders from Mrs. Reed to buy of his young lady all the productsof her parterre she wished to sell: and Eliza would have sold the hairoff her head if she could have made a handsome profit thereby. As toher money, she first secreted it in odd corners, wrapped in a rag oran old curl-paper; but some of these hoards having been discoveredby the housemaid, Eliza, fearful of one day losing her valuedtreasure, consented to intrust it to her mother, at a usurious rate ofinterest- fifty or sixty per cent.; which interest she exacted everyquarter, keeping her accounts in a little book with anxious accuracy.
Georgiana sat on a high stool, dressing her hair at the glass,and interweaving her curls with artificial flowers and faded feathers,of which she had found a store in a drawer in the attic. I wasmaking my bed, having received strict orders from Bessie to get itarranged before she returned, (for Bessie now frequently employed meas a sort of under-nurserymaid, to tidy the room, dust the chairs,etc.). Having spread the quilt and folded my night-dress, I went tothe window-seat to put in order some picture-books and doll's housefurniture scattered there; an abrupt command from Georgiana to let herplaythings alone (for the tiny chairs and mirrors, the fairy platesand cups, were her property) stopped my proceedings; and then, forlack of other occupation, I fell to breathing on the frost-flowerswith which the window was fretted, and thus clearing a space in theglass through which I might look out on the grounds, where all wasstill and petrified under the influence of a hard frost.
From this window were visible the porter's lodge and thecarriage-road, and just as I had dissolved so much of the silver-whitefoliage veiling the panes as left room to look out, I saw the gatesthrown open and a carriage roll through. I watched it ascending thedrive with indifference; carriages often came to Gateshead, but noneever brought visitors in whom I was interested; it stopped in front ofthe house, the door-bell rang loudly, the new-comer was admitted.All this being nothing to me, my vacant attention soon foundlivelier attraction in the spectacle of a little hungry robin, whichcame and chirruped on the twigs of the leafless cherry-tree nailedagainst the wall near the casement. The remains of my breakfast ofbread and milk stood on the table, and having crumbled a morsel ofroll, I was tugging at the sash to put out the crumbs on thewindow-sill, when Bessie came running upstairs into the nursery.
'Miss Jane, take off your pinafore; what are you doing there?Have you washed your hands and face this morning?' I gave anothertug before I answered, for I wanted the bird to be secure of itsbread: the sash yielded; I scattered the crumbs, some on the stonesill, some on the cherry-tree bough, then, closing the window, Ireplied-
'No, Bessie; I have only just finished dusting.'
'Troublesome, careless child! and what are you doing now? Youlook quite red, as if you have been about some mischief: what were youopening the window for?'
I was spared the trouble of answering, for Bessie seemed in toogreat a hurry to listen to explanations; she hauled me to thewashstand, inflicted a merciless, but happily brief scrub on my faceand hands with soap, water, and a coarse towel; disciplined my headwith a bristly brush, denuded me of my pinafore, and then hurryingme to the top of the stairs, bid me go down directly, as I waswanted in the breakfast-room.
I would have asked who wanted me: I would have demanded if Mrs.Reed was there; but Bessie was already gone, and had closed thenursery-door upon me. I slowly descended. For nearly three months, Ihad never been called to Mrs. Reed's presence; restricted so long tothe nursery, the breakfast, dining, and drawing-rooms were becomefor me awful regions, on which it dismayed me to intrude.
I now stood in the empty hall; before me was the breakfast-roomdoor, and I stopped, intimidated and trembling. What a miserablelittle poltroon had fear, engendered of unjust punishment, made ofme in those days! I feared to return to the nursery, and feared togo forward to the parlour; ten minutes I stood in agitated hesitation;the vehement ringing of the breakfast-room bell decided me; I mustenter.
'Who could want me?' I asked inwardly, as with both hands Iturned the stiff door-handle, which, for a second or two, resistedmy efforts. 'What should I see besides Aunt Reed in the apartment?-a man or a woman?' The handle turned, the door unclosed, and passingthrough and curtseying low, I looked up at- a black pillar!- such,at least, appeared to me, at first sight, the straight, narrow,sable-clad shape standing erect on the rug: the grim face at the topwas like a carved mask, placed above the shaft by way of capital.
Mrs. Reed occupied her usual seat by the fireside; she made asignal to me to approach; I did so, and she introduced me to the stonystranger with the words: 'This is the little girl respecting whom Iapplied to you.'
He, for it was a man, turned his head slowly towards where I stood,and having examined me with the two inquisitive-looking grey eyeswhich twinkled under a pair of bushy brows, said solemnly, and in abass voice, 'Her size is small: what is her age?'
'Ten years.'
'So much?' was the doubtful answer; and he prolonged his scrutinyfor some minutes. Presently he addressed me-
'Your name, little girl?'
'Jane Eyre, sir.'
In uttering these words I looked up: he seemed to me a tallgentleman; but then I was very little; his features were large, andthey and all the lines of his frame were equally harsh and prim.
'Well, Jane Eyre, and are you a good child?'
Impossible to reply to this in the affirmative: my little worldheld a contrary opinion: I was silent. Mrs. Reed answered for me by anexpressive shake of the head, adding soon, 'Perhaps the less said onthat subject the better, Mr. Brocklehurst.'
'Sorry indeed to hear it! she and I must have some talk;' andbending from the perpendicular, he installed his person in thearm-chair opposite Mrs. Reed's. 'Come here,' he said.
I stepped across the rug; he placed me square and straight beforehim. What a face he had, now that it was almost on a level withmine! what a great nose! and what a mouth! and what large prominentteeth!
'No sight so sad as that of a naughty child,' he began, 'especiallya naughty little girl. Do you know where the wicked go after death?'
