vehicle which was to bear me to new duties and a new life in the
unknown environs of Millcote.
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CHAPTER XI
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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 you
see a room in the George Inn at Millcote, with such large figured
papering on the walls as inn rooms have; such a carpet, such
furniture, such ornaments on the mantel-piece, such prints,
including a portrait of George the Third, and another of the Prince of
Wales, and a representation of the death of Wolfe. All this is visible
to you by the light of an oil lamp hanging from the ceiling, and by
that of an excellent fire, near which I sit in my cloak and bonnet; my
muff and umbrella lie on the table, and I am warming away the numbness
and chill contracted by sixteen hours' exposure to the rawness of an
October day: I left Lowton at four o'clock A.M., and the Millcote town
clock is now just striking eight.
Reader, though I look comfortably accommodated, I am not very
tranquil in my mind. I thought when the coach stopped here there would
be some one to meet me; I looked anxiously round as I descended the
wooden steps the 'boots' placed for my convenience, expecting to
hear my name pronounced, and to see some description of carriage
waiting 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 a
Miss Eyre, I was answered in the negative: so I had no resource but to
request 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 feel
itself quite alone in the world, cut adrift from every connection,
uncertain whether the port to which it is bound can be reached, and
prevented by many impediments from returning to that it has quitted.
The charm of adventure sweetens that sensation, the glow of pride
warms it; but then the throb of fear disturbs it; and fear with me
became 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 asked
of the waiter who answered the summons.
'Thornfield? I don't know, ma'am; I'll inquire at the bar.' He
vanished, 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 the
inn-passage: a man was standing by the open door, and in the
lamp-lit street I dimly saw a one-horse conveyance.
'This will be your luggage, I suppose?' said the man rather
abruptly 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 to
Thornfield.
'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 we
set off. Our progress was leisurely, and gave me ample time to
reflect; I was content to be at length so near the end of my
journey; and as I leaned back in the comfortable though not elegant
conveyance, I meditated much at my ease.
'I suppose,' thought I, 'judging from the plainness of the
servant and carriage, Mrs. Fairfax is not a very dashing person: so
much the better; I never lived amongst fine people but once, and I was
very miserable with them. I wonder if she lives alone except this
little girl; if so, and if she is in any degree amiable, I shall
surely be able to get on with her; I will do my best; it is a pity
that doing one's best does not always answer. At Lowood, indeed, I
took that resolution, kept it, and succeeded in pleasing; but with
Mrs. Reed, I remember my best was always spurned with scorn. I pray
God 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, I
can 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 considerable
magnitude, much larger than Lowton. We were now, as far as I could
see, on a sort of common; but there were houses scattered all over the
district; I felt we were in a different region to Lowood, more
populous, less picturesque; more stirring, less romantic.
The roads were heavy, the night misty; my conductor let his horse
walk all the way, and the hour and a half extended, I verily
believe, 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 broad
tower against the sky, and its bell was tolling a quarter; I saw a
narrow galaxy of lights too, on a hillside, marking a village or
hamlet. About ten minutes after, the driver got down and opened a pair
of gates: we passed through, and they clashed to behind us. We now
slowly ascended a drive, and came upon the long front of a house:
candlelight gleamed from one curtained bow-window; all the rest were
dark. The car stopped at the front door; it was opened by a
maid-servant; I alighted and went in.
'Will you walk this way, ma'am?' said the girl; and I followed
her across a square hall with high doors all round: she ushered me
into a room whose double illumination of fire and candle at first
dazzled me, contrasting as it did with the darkness to which my eyes
had been for two hours inured; when I could see, however, a cosy and
agreeable picture presented itself to my view.
A snug small room; a round table by a cheerful fire; an arm-chair
high-backed and old-fashioned, wherein sat the neatest imaginable
little elderly lady, in widow's cap, black silk gown, and snowy muslin
apron; exactly like what I had fancied Mrs. Fairfax, only less stately
and milder looking. She was occupied in knitting; a large cat sat
demurely at her feet; nothing in short was wanting to complete the
beau-ideal of domestic comfort. A more reassuring introduction for a
new governess could scarcely be conceived; there was no grandeur to
overwhelm, no stateliness to embarrass; and then, as I entered, the
old 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 my
shawl and untie my bonnet-strings; I begged she would not give herself
so much trouble.
'Oh, it is no trouble; I daresay your own hands are almost numbed
with 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 of
keys, and delivered them to the servant.
'Now, then, draw nearer to the fire,' she continued. 'You've
brought 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 expected
such a reception; I anticipated only coldness and stiffness: this is
not like what I have heard of the treatment of governesses; but I must
not exult too soon.'
She returned; with her own hands cleared her knitting apparatus and
a book or two from the table, to make room for the tray which Leah now
brought, and then herself handed me the refreshments. I felt rather
confused at being the object of more attention than I had ever
before received, and, that too, shown by my employer and superior; but
as she did not herself seem to consider she was doing anything out
of her place, I thought it better to take her civilities quietly.
'Shall I have the pleasure of seeing Miss Fairfax to-night?' I
asked, when I had partaken of what she offered me.
'What did you say, my dear? I am a little deaf,' returned the
good lady, approaching her ear to my mouth.
I repeated the question more distinctly.
'Miss Fairfax? Oh, you mean Miss Varens! Varens is the name of your
future pupil.'
'Indeed! Then she is not your daughter?'
'No,- I have no family.'
I should have followed up my first inquiry, by asking in what way
Miss Varens was connected with her; but I recollected it was not
polite to ask too many questions: besides, I was sure to hear in time.
'I am so glad,' she continued, as she sat down opposite to me,
and took the cat on her knee; 'I am so glad you are come; it will be
quite pleasant living here now with a companion. To be sure it is
pleasant at any time; for Thornfield is a fine old hall, rather
neglected of late years perhaps, but still it is a respectable
place; yet you know in winter-time one feels dreary quite alone in the
best quarters. I say alone- Leah is a nice girl to be sure, and John
and his wife are very decent people; but then you see they are only
servants, and one can't converse with them on terms of equality: one
must keep them at due distance, for fear of losing one's authority.
I'm sure last winter (it was a very severe one, if you recollect,
and when it did not snow, it rained and blew), not a creature but
the butcher and postman came to the house, from November till
February; and I really got quite melancholy with sitting night after
night alone; I had Leah in to read to me sometimes; but I don't
think the poor girl liked the task much: she felt it confining. In
spring and summer one got on better: sunshine and long days make
such a difference; and then, just at the commencement of this
autumn, little Adela Varens came and her nurse: a child makes a
house alive all at once; and now you are here I shall be quite gay.'
My heart really warmed to the worthy lady as I heard her talk;
and I drew my chair a little nearer to her, and expressed my sincere
wish that she might find my company as agreeable as she anticipated.
'But I'll not keep you sitting up late to-night,' said she; 'it
is on the stroke of twelve now, and you have been travelling all
day: you must feel tired. If you have got your feet well warmed,
I'll show you your bedroom. I've had the room next to mine prepared
for you; it is only a small apartment, but I thought you would like it
better than one of the large front chambers: to be sure they have
finer furniture, but they are so dreary and solitary, I never sleep in
them myself.'
I thanked her for her considerate choice, and as I really felt
fatigued with my long journey, expressed my readiness to retire. She
took her candle, and I followed her from the room. First she went to
see if the hall-door was fastened; having taken the key from the lock,
she led the way upstairs. The steps and banisters were of oak; the
staircase window was high and latticed; both it and the long gallery
into which the bedroom doors opened looked as if they belonged to a
church rather than a house. A very chill and vault-like air pervaded
the stairs and gallery, suggesting cheerless ideas of space and
solitude; and I was glad, when finally ushered into my chamber, to
find it of small dimensions, and furnished in ordinary, modern style.
When Mrs. Fairfax had bidden me a kind good-night, and I had
fastened my door, gazed leisurely round, and in some measure effaced
the eerie impression made by that wide hall, that dark and spacious
staircase, and that long, cold gallery, by the livelier aspect of my
little room, I remembered that, after a day of bodily fatigue and
mental anxiety, I was now at last in safe haven. The impulse of
gratitude swelled my heart, and I knelt down at the bedside, and
offered up thanks where thanks were due; not forgetting, ere I rose,
to implore aid on my further path, and the power of meriting the
kindness which seemed so frankly offered me before it was earned. My
couch had no thorns in it that night; my solitary room no fears. At
once weary and content, I slept soon and soundly: when I awoke it
was broad day.
The chamber looked such a bright little place to me as the sun
shone in between the gay blue chintz window curtains, showing
papered walls and a carpeted floor, so unlike the bare planks and
stained plaster of Lowood, that my spirits rose at the view. Externals
have a great effect on the young: I thought that a fairer era of
life was beginning for me- one that was to have its flowers and
pleasures, as well as its thorns and toils. My faculties, roused by
the change of scene, the new field offered to hope, seemed all
astir. I cannot precisely define what they expected, but it was
something pleasant: not perhaps that day or that month, but at an
indefinite future period.
I rose; I dressed myself with care: obliged to be plain- for I
had no article of attire that was not made with extreme simplicity-
I was still by nature solicitous to be neat. It was not my habit to be
disregardful of appearance or careless of the impression I made: on
the contrary, I ever wished to look as well as I could, and to
please as much as my want of beauty would permit. I sometimes
regretted that I was not handsomer; I sometimes wished to have rosy
