Jane Eyre: An Autobiography
The three days were, as she had foretold, busy enough. I had thought
all the rooms at Thornfield beautifully clean and well arranged; but it
appears I was mistaken. Three women were got to help; and such
scrubbing, such brushing, such washing of paint and beating of carpets,
such taking down and putting up of pictures, such polishing of mirrors
and lustres, such lighting of fires in bedrooms, such airing of sheets
and feather-beds on hearths, I never beheld, either before or since.
Adèle ran quite wild in the midst of it: the preparations for company
and the prospect of their arrival, seemed to throw her into ecstasies.
She would have Sophie to look over all her “toilettes,” as she called
frocks; to furbish up any that were “_passées_,” and to air and arrange
the new. For herself, she did nothing but caper about in the front
chambers, jump on and off the bedsteads, and lie on the mattresses and
piled-up bolsters and pillows before the enormous fires roaring in the
chimneys. From school duties she was exonerated: Mrs. Fairfax had
pressed me into her service, and I was all day in the storeroom,
helping (or hindering) her and the cook; learning to make custards and
cheese-cakes and French pastry, to truss game and garnish
desert-dishes.
The party were expected to arrive on Thursday afternoon, in time for
dinner at six. During the intervening period I had no time to nurse
chimeras; and I believe I was as active and gay as anybody—Adèle
excepted. Still, now and then, I received a damping check to my
cheerfulness; and was, in spite of myself, thrown back on the region of
doubts and portents, and dark conjectures. This was when I chanced to
see the third-storey staircase door (which of late had always been kept
locked) open slowly, and give passage to the form of Grace Poole, in
prim cap, white apron, and handkerchief; when I watched her glide along
the gallery, her quiet tread muffled in a list slipper; when I saw her
look into the bustling, topsy-turvy bedrooms,—just say a word, perhaps,
to the charwoman about the proper way to polish a grate, or clean a
marble mantelpiece, or take stains from papered walls, and then pass
on. She would thus descend to the kitchen once a day, eat her dinner,
smoke a moderate pipe on the hearth, and go back, carrying her pot of
porter with her, for her private solace, in her own gloomy, upper
haunt. Only one hour in the twenty-four did she pass with her
fellow-servants below; all the rest of her time was spent in some
low-ceiled, oaken chamber of the second storey: there she sat and
sewed—and probably laughed drearily to herself,—as companionless as a
prisoner in his dungeon.
The strangest thing of all was, that not a soul in the house, except
me, noticed her habits, or seemed to marvel at them: no one discussed
her position or employment; no one pitied her solitude or isolation. I
once, indeed, overheard part of a dialogue between Leah and one of the
charwomen, of which Grace formed the subject. Leah had been saying
something I had not caught, and the charwoman remarked—
“She gets good wages, I guess?”
“Yes,” said Leah; “I wish I had as good; not that mine are to complain
of,—there’s no stinginess at Thornfield; but they’re not one fifth of
the sum Mrs. Poole receives. And she is laying by: she goes every
quarter to the bank at Millcote. I should not wonder but she has saved
enough to keep her independent if she liked to leave; but I suppose
she’s got used to the place; and then she’s not forty yet, and strong
and able for anything. It is too soon for her to give up business.”
“She is a good hand, I daresay,” said the charwoman.
“Ah!—she understands what she has to do,—nobody better,” rejoined Leah
significantly; “and it is not every one could fill her shoes—not for
all the money she gets.”
“That it is not!” was the reply. “I wonder whether the master—”
The charwoman was going on; but here Leah turned and perceived me, and
she instantly gave her companion a nudge.
“Doesn’t she know?” I heard the woman whisper.
Leah shook her head, and the conversation was of course dropped. All I
had gathered from it amounted to this,—that there was a mystery at
Thornfield; and that from participation in that mystery I was purposely
excluded.
Thursday came: all work had been completed the previous evening;
carpets were laid down, bed-hangings festooned, radiant white
counterpanes spread, toilet tables arranged, furniture rubbed, flowers
piled in vases: both chambers and saloons looked as fresh and bright as
hands could make them. The hall, too, was scoured; and the great carved
clock, as well as the steps and banisters of the staircase, were
polished to the brightness of glass; in the dining-room, the sideboard
flashed resplendent with plate; in the drawing-room and boudoir, vases
of exotics bloomed on all sides.
Afternoon arrived: Mrs. Fairfax assumed her best black satin gown, her
gloves, and her gold watch; for it was her part to receive the
company,—to conduct the ladies to their rooms, &c. Adèle, too, would be
dressed: though I thought she had little chance of being introduced to
the party that day at least. However, to please her, I allowed Sophie
to apparel her in one of her short, full muslin frocks. For myself, I
had no need to make any change; I should not be called upon to quit my
sanctum of the schoolroom; for a sanctum it was now become to me,—“a
very pleasant refuge in time of trouble.”
It had been a mild, serene spring day—one of those days which, towards
the end of March or the beginning of April, rise shining over the earth
as heralds of summer. It was drawing to an end now; but the evening was
even warm, and I sat at work in the schoolroom with the window open.
“It gets late,” said Mrs. Fairfax, entering in rustling state. “I am
glad I ordered dinner an hour after the time Mr. Rochester mentioned;
for it is past six now. I have sent John down to the gates to see if
there is anything on the road: one can see a long way from thence in
the direction of Millcote.” She went to the window. “Here he is!” said
she. “Well, John” (leaning out), “any news?”
“They’re coming, ma’am,” was the answer. “They’ll be here in ten
minutes.”
Adèle flew to the window. I followed, taking care to stand on one side,
so that, screened by the curtain, I could see without being seen.
The ten minutes John had given seemed very long, but at last wheels
were heard; four equestrians galloped up the drive, and after them came
two open carriages. Fluttering veils and waving plumes filled the
vehicles; two of the cavaliers were young, dashing-looking gentlemen;
the third was Mr. Rochester, on his black horse, Mesrour, Pilot
bounding before him; at his side rode a lady, and he and she were the
first of the party. Her purple riding-habit almost swept the ground,
her veil streamed long on the breeze; mingling with its transparent
folds, and gleaming through them, shone rich raven ringlets.
“Miss Ingram!” exclaimed Mrs. Fairfax, and away she hurried to her post
below.
The cavalcade, following the sweep of the drive, quickly turned the
angle of the house, and I lost sight of it. Adèle now petitioned to go
down; but I took her on my knee, and gave her to understand that she
must not on any account think of venturing in sight of the ladies,
either now or at any other time, unless expressly sent for: that Mr.
Rochester would be very angry, &c. “Some natural tears she shed” on
being told this; but as I began to look very grave, she consented at
last to wipe them.
A joyous stir was now audible in the hall: gentlemen’s deep tones and
ladies’ silvery accents blent harmoniously together, and
distinguishable above all, though not loud, was the sonorous voice of
the master of Thornfield Hall, welcoming his fair and gallant guests
under its roof. Then light steps ascended the stairs; and there was a
tripping through the gallery, and soft cheerful laughs, and opening and
closing doors, and, for a time, a hush.
“Elles changent de toilettes,” said Adèle; who, listening attentively,
had followed every movement; and she sighed.
“Chez maman,” said she, “quand il y avait du monde, je le suivais
partout, au salon et à leurs chambres; souvent je regardais les femmes
de chambre coiffer et habiller les dames, et c’était si amusant: comme
cela on apprend.”
“Don’t you feel hungry, Adèle?”
“Mais oui, mademoiselle: voilà cinq ou six heures que nous n’avons pas
mangé.”
“Well now, while the ladies are in their rooms, I will venture down and
get you something to eat.”
And issuing from my asylum with precaution, I sought a back-stairs
which conducted directly to the kitchen. All in that region was fire
and commotion; the soup and fish were in the last stage of projection,
and the cook hung over her crucibles in a frame of mind and body
threatening spontaneous combustion. In the servants’ hall two coachmen
and three gentlemen’s gentlemen stood or sat round the fire; the
abigails, I suppose, were upstairs with their mistresses; the new
servants, that had been hired from Millcote, were bustling about
everywhere. Threading this chaos, I at last reached the larder; there I
took possession of a cold chicken, a roll of bread, some tarts, a plate
or two and a knife and fork: with this booty I made a hasty retreat. I
had regained the gallery, and was just shutting the back-door behind
me, when an accelerated hum warned me that the ladies were about to
issue from their chambers. I could not proceed to the schoolroom
without passing some of their doors, and running the risk of being
surprised with my cargo of victualage; so I stood still at this end,
which, being windowless, was dark: quite dark now, for the sun was set
and twilight gathering.
Presently the chambers gave up their fair tenants one after another:
each came out gaily and airily, with dress that gleamed lustrous
through the dusk. For a moment they stood grouped together at the other
extremity of the gallery, conversing in a key of sweet subdued
vivacity: they then descended the staircase almost as noiselessly as a
bright mist rolls down a hill. Their collective appearance had left on
me an impression of high-born elegance, such as I had never before
received.
I found Adèle peeping through the schoolroom door, which she held ajar.
“What beautiful ladies!” cried she in English. “Oh, I wish I might go
to them! Do you think Mr. Rochester will send for us by-and-by, after
dinner?”
“No, indeed, I don’t; Mr. Rochester has something else to think about.
Never mind the ladies to-night; perhaps you will see them to-morrow:
here is your dinner.”
She was really hungry, so the chicken and tarts served to divert her
attention for a time. It was well I secured this forage, or both she,
I, and Sophie, to whom I conveyed a share of our repast, would have run
a chance of getting no dinner at all: every one downstairs was too much
engaged to think of us. The dessert was not carried out till after
nine; and at ten footmen were still running to and fro with trays and
coffee-cups. I allowed Adèle to sit up much later than usual; for she
declared she could not possibly go to sleep while the doors kept
opening and shutting below, and people bustling about. Besides, she
added, a message might possibly come from Mr. Rochester when she was
undressed; “et alors quel dommage!”
I told her stories as long as she would listen to them; and then for a
change I took her out into the gallery. The hall lamp was now lit, and
it amused her to look over the balustrade and watch the servants
passing backwards and forwards. When the evening was far advanced, a
sound of music issued from the drawing-room, whither the piano had been
removed; Adèle and I sat down on the top step of the stairs to listen.