It was Bessie, I knew well enough; but I did not stir; her lightstep came tripping down the path.
'You naughty little thing!' she said. 'Why don't you come whenyou are called?'
Bessie's presence, compared with the thoughts over which I had beenbrooding, seemed cheerful; even though, as usual, she was somewhatcross. The fact is, after my conflict with and victory over Mrs. Reed,I was not disposed to care much for the nursemaid's transitoryanger; and I was disposed to bask in her youthful lightness ofheart. I just put my two arms round her and said, 'Come, Bessie! don'tscold.'
The action was more frank and fearless than any I was habituated toindulge in: somehow it pleased her.
'You are a strange child, Miss Jane,' she said, as she lookeddown at me; 'a little roving, solitary thing: and you are going toschool, I suppose?'
I nodded.
'And won't you be sorry to leave poor Bessie?'
'What does Bessie care for me? She is always scolding me.'
'Because you're such a queer, frightened, shy little thing. Youshould be bolder.'
'What! to get more knocks?'
'Nonsense! But you are rather put upon, that's certain. My mothersaid, when she came to see me last week, that she would not like alittle one of her own to be in your place.- Now, come in, and I'vesome good news for you.'
'I don't think you have, Bessie.'
'Child! what do you mean? What sorrowful eyes you fix on me!Well, but Missis and the young ladies and Master John are going out totea this afternoon, and you shall have tea with me. I'll ask cook tobake you a little cake, and then you shall help me to look over yourdrawers; for I am soon to pack your trunk. Missis intends you to leaveGateshead in a day or two, and you shall choose what toys you liketo take with you.'
'Bessie, you must promise not to scold me any more till I go.'
'Well, I will; but mind you are a very good girl, and don't beafraid of me. Don't start when I chance to speak rather sharply;it's so provoking.'
'I don't think I shall ever be afraid of you again, Bessie, becauseI have got used to you, and I shall soon have another set of people todread.'
'If you dread them they'll dislike you.'
'As you do, Bessie?'
'I don't dislike you, Miss: I believe I am fonder of you than ofall the others.'
'You don't show it.'
'You little sharp thing! you've got quite a new way of talking.What makes you so venturesome and hardy?'
'Why, I shall soon be away from you, and besides'- I was going tosay something about what had passed between me and Mrs. Reed, but onsecond thoughts I considered it better to remain silent on that head.
'And so you're glad to leave me?'
'Not at all, Bessie; indeed, just now I'm rather sorry.'
'Just now! and rather! How coolly my little lady says it! I daresaynow if I were to ask you for a kiss you wouldn't give it me: you'd sayyou'd rather not.'
'I'll kiss you and welcome: bend your head down.' Bessie stooped;we mutually embraced, and I followed her into the house quitecomforted. That afternoon lapsed in peace and harmony; and in theevening Bessie told me some of her most enchaining stories, and sangme some of her sweetest songs. Even for me life had its gleams ofsunshine.
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CHAPTER V
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FIVE o'clock had hardly struck on the morning of the 19th ofJanuary, when Bessie brought a candle into my closet and found mealready up and nearly dressed. I had risen half an hour before herentrance, and had washed my face, and put on my clothes by the lightof a half-moon just setting, whose rays streamed through the narrowwindow near my crib. I was to leave Gateshead that day by a coachwhich passed the lodge gates at six A.M. Bessie was the only personyet risen; she had lit a fire in the nursery, where she nowproceeded to make my breakfast. Few children can eat when excited withthe thoughts of a journey; nor could I. Bessie, having pressed me invain to take a few spoonfuls of the boiled milk and bread she hadprepared for me, wrapped up some biscuits in a paper and put them intomy bag; then she helped me on with my pelisse and bonnet, and wrappingherself in a shawl, she and I left the nursery. As we passed Mrs.Reed's bedroom, she said, 'Will you go in and bid Missis good-bye?'
'No, Bessie: she came to my crib last night when you were gone downto supper, and said I need not disturb her in the morning, or mycousins either; and she told me to remember that she had always beenmy best friend, and to speak of her and be grateful to heraccordingly.'
'What did you say, Miss?'
'Nothing: I covered my face with the bedclothes, and turned fromher to the wall.'
'That was wrong, Miss Jane.'
'It was quite right, Bessie. Your Missis has not been my friend:she has been my foe.'
'O Miss Jane! don't say so!'
'Good-bye to Gateshead!' cried I, as we passed through the hall andwent out at the front door.
The moon was set, and it was very dark; Bessie carried a lantern,whose light glanced on wet steps and gravel road sodden by a recentthaw. Raw and chill was the winter morning: my teeth chattered as Ihastened down the drive. There was a light in the porter's lodge: whenwe reached it, we found the porter's wife just kindling her fire: mytrunk, which had been carried down the evening before, stood corded atthe door. It wanted but a few minutes of six, and shortly after thathour had struck, the distant roll of wheels announced the comingcoach; I went to the door and watched its lamps approach rapidlythrough the gloom.
'Is she going by herself?' asked the porter's wife.
'Yes.'
'And how far is it?'
'Fifty miles.'
'What a long way! I wonder Mrs. Reed is not afraid to trust herso far alone.'
The coach drew up; there it was at the gates with its four horsesand its top laden with passengers: the guard and coachman loudly urgedhaste; my trunk was hoisted up; I was taken from Bessie's neck, towhich I clung with kisses.
'Be sure and take good care of her,' cried she to the guard, ashe lifted me into the inside.
'Ay, ay!' was the answer: the door was slapped to, a voiceexclaimed 'All right,' and on we drove. Thus was I severed from Bessieand Gateshead; thus whirled away to unknown, and, as I then deemed,remote and mysterious regions.
I remember but little of the journey; I only know that the dayseemed to me of a preternatural length, and that we appeared to travelover hundreds of miles of road. We passed through several towns, andin one, a very large one, the coach stopped; the horses were takenout, and the passengers alighted to dine. I was carried into an inn,where the guard wanted me to have some dinner; but, as I had noappetite, he left me in an immense room with a fireplace at eachend, a chandelier pendent from the ceiling, and a little red galleryhigh up against the wall filled with musical instruments. Here Iwalked about for a long time, feeling very strange, and mortallyapprehensive of some one coming in and kidnapping me; for I believedin kidnappers, their exploits having frequently figured in Bessie'sfireside chronicles. At last the guard returned; once more I wasstowed away in the coach, my protector mounted his own seat, sounded
The afternoon came on wet and somewhat misty: as it waned intodusk, I began to feel that we were getting very far indeed fromGateshead: we ceased to pass through towns; the country changed; greatgrey hills heaved up round the horizon: as twilight deepened, wedescended a valley, dark with wood, and long after night hadoverclouded the prospect, I heard a wild wind rushing amongst trees.
Lulled by the sound, I at last dropped asleep; I had not longslumbered when the sudden cessation of motion awoke me; the coach-doorwas open, and a person like a servant was standing at it: I saw herface and dress by the light of the lamps.
'Is there a little girl called Jane Eyre here?' she asked. Ianswered 'Yes', and was then lifted out; my trunk was handed down, andthe coach instantly drove away.
I was stiff with long sitting, and bewildered with the noise andmotion of the coach: gathering my faculties, I looked about me.Rain, wind, and darkness filled the air; nevertheless, I dimlydiscerned a wall before me and a door open in it; through this doorI passed with my new guide: she shut and locked it behind her. Therewas now visible a house or houses- for the building spread far- withmany windows, and lights burning in some; we went up a broad pebblypath, splashing wet, and were admitted at a door; then the servant ledme through a passage into a room with a fire, where she left me alone.
I stood and warmed my numbed fingers over the blaze, then Ilooked round; there was no candle, but the uncertain light from thehearth showed, by intervals, papered walls, carpet, curtains,shining mahogany furniture: it was a parlour, not so spacious orsplendid as the drawing-room at Gateshead, but comfortable enough. Iwas puzzling to make out the subject of a picture on the wall, whenthe door opened, and an individual carrying a light entered; anotherfollowed close behind.
The first was a tall lady with dark hair, dark eyes, and a pale andlarge forehead; her figure was partly enveloped in a shawl, hercountenance was grave, her bearing erect.
'The child is very young to be sent alone,' said she, putting hercandle down on the table. She considered me attentively for a minuteor two, then further added-
'She had better be put to bed soon; she looks tired: are youtired?' she asked, placing her hand on my shoulder.
'A little, ma'am.'
'And hungry too, no doubt: let her have some supper before she goesto bed, Miss Miller. Is this the first time you have left your parentsto come to school, my little girl?'
I explained to her that I had no parents. She inquired how longthey had been dead: then how old I was, what was my name, whether Icould read, write, and sew a little: then she touched my cheekgently with her forefinger, and saying, 'She hoped I should be agood child,' dismissed me along with Miss Miller.
The lady I had left might be about twenty-nine; the one who wentwith me appeared some years younger: the first impressed me by hervoice, look, and air. Miss Miller was more ordinary; ruddy incomplexion, though of a careworn countenance; hurried in gait andaction, like one who had always a multiplicity of tasks on hand: shelooked, indeed, what I afterwards found she really was, anunder-teacher. Led by her, I passed from compartment to compartment,from passage to passage, of a large and irregular building; till,emerging from the total and somewhat dreary silence pervading thatportion of the house we had traversed, we came upon the hum of manyvoices, and presently entered a wide, long room, with great dealtables, two at each end, on each of which burnt a pair of candles, andseated all round on benches, a congregation of girls of every age,from nine or ten to twenty. Seen by the dim light of the dips, theirnumber to me appeared countless, though not in reality exceedingeighty; they were uniformly dressed in brown stuff frocks of quaintfashion, and long holland pinafores. It was the hour of study; theywere engaged in conning over their to-morrow's task, and the hum I hadheard was the combined result of their whispered repetitions.
Miss Miller signed to me to sit on a bench near the door, thenwalking up to the top of the long room she cried out-
'Monitors, collect the lesson-books and put them away!'
Four tall girls arose from different tables, and going round,gathered the books and removed them. Miss Miller again gave the wordof command-
'Monitors, fetch the supper-trays!'
The tall girls went out and returned presently, each bearing atray, with portions of something, I knew not what, arranged thereon,and a pitcher of water and mug in the middle of each tray. Theportions were handed round; those who liked took a draught of thewater, the mug being common to all. When it came to my turn, Idrank, for I was thirsty, but did not touch the food, excitement andfatigue rendering me incapable of eating; I now saw, however, thatit was a thin oaten cake shared into fragments.
The meal over, prayers were read by Miss Miller, and the classesfiled off, two and two, upstairs. Overpowered by this time withweariness, I scarcely noticed what sort of a place the bedroom was,except that, like the schoolroom, I saw it was very long. To-night Iwas to be Miss Miller's bed-fellow; she helped me to undress: whenlaid down I glanced at the long rows of beds, each of which wasquickly filled with two occupants; in ten minutes the single light wasextinguished, and amidst silence and complete darkness I fell asleep.
The night passed rapidly: I was too tired even to dream; I onlyonce awoke to hear the wind rave in furious gusts, and the rain fallin torrents, and to be sensible that Miss Miller had taken her placeby my side. When I again unclosed my eyes, a loud bell was ringing;the girls were up and dressing; day had not yet begun to dawn, and arushlight or two burned in the room. I too rose reluctantly; it wasbitter cold, and I dressed as well as I could for shivering, andwashed when there was a basin at liberty, which did not occur soon, asthere was but one basin to six girls, on the stands down the middle ofthe room. Again the bell rang; all formed in file, two and two, and inthat order descended the stairs and entered the cold and dimly litschoolroom: here prayers were read by Miss Miller; afterwards shecalled out-
'Form classes!'
A great tumult succeeded for some minutes, during which Miss Millerrepeatedly exclaimed, 'Silence!' and 'Order!' When it subsided, Isaw them all drawn up in four semicircles, before four chairs,placed at the four tables; all held books in their hands, and agreat book, like a Bible, lay on each table, before the vacant seat. Apause of some seconds succeeded, filled up by the low, vague hum ofnumbers; Miss Miller walked from class to class, hushing thisindefinite sound.
A distant bell tinkled: immediately three ladies entered theroom, each walked to a table and took her seat; Miss Miller assumedthe fourth vacant chair, which was that nearest the door, and aroundwhich the smallest of the children were assembled: to this inferiorclass I was called, and placed at the bottom of it.
