Джейн Эйр / Jane Eyre

“Tall and shapely, with lovely olive skin, and dark eyes, so sparkling they are, like jewels, and the thickest, glossiest black hair you ever saw, all in curls. On that night, she was wearing a white gown – how perfect she looked! She and Mr. Rochester sang a duet, I remember.”

“Mr. Rochester can sing?” I asked, trying to sound as calm as I could.

“Yes, he has a fine voice, like Miss Blanche.”

“How nice,” I smiled.

Alone in my room that night, I hated myself for ever thinking Mr. Rochester could like me. A few kind words, a look in his eye in a dark room filled with smoke – and I had dared to imagine he had feelings for me. Well, he did not. Why should he, when there were women like Blanche Ingram in his world – beautiful, accomplished, and of his own class? He would never choose me over someone like her. I had to stop dreaming.

I forced myself to look in the mirror at my plain little face, my thin lips, sallow skin and flat brown hair. I resolved to paint two pictures – one of myself, just as I was, and one of Blanche Ingram, beautiful and glowing, just as Mrs. Fairfax had described her. I kept my word. An hour or two sufficed to sketch my own portrait in crayons; and in less than a fortnight I completed a miniature of an imaginary Blanche Ingram. Then, whenever I thought about Mr. Rochester, I looked at the pictures, and the contrast was as great as self-control could only desire.

Chapter 18

A week passed, and there was no news of Mrs. Rochester. I worked hard with, and busied myself with my painting and sewing. Mrs. Fairfax said she would not be surprised if he went straight from his friends’ place to London, and then to the Continent, and not show his face again at Thornfield for a whole year. After hearing that I told myself, “You have nothing to do with the master of Thornfield.”

Yet when, two weeks after Mr. Rochester’s departure Mrs. Fairfax received a letter from him, and my calmness and self-control faded once again.

“Well, I sometimes think we are too quiet; but we will be busy enough now: for a little while at least,” she said. “The master’s coming back in three days, and not alone either,” she said. “I don’t know how many of the fine people are coming with him, but he wants all the bedrooms prepared. I need to bring in extra kitchen staff. The ladies will bring their maids and the gentlemen their valets: so we will have a full house of it.”

The next three days were, as promised, busy enough. Beds were aired, carpets were beaten, fireplaces were swept, and vases were filled with flowers. Extra servants were employed from the village, and I had to help too, so was excused from her lessons. She ran around the house in a frenzy of excitement, bouncing on the beds and chattering as we dusted, scrubbed and polished.

One afternoon, in the midst of all this activity, I heard Leah talking to one of the extra servants about Grace Poole, and I stopped to eavesdrop.

“She’s paid well, I suppose?” said the girl.

“Oh, yes,” said Leah. “I wish I were paid that much; not that my wages are to complain of.”

I did not see what was so challenging about sewing curtains and tablecloths, which seemed to be Grace Poole’s main task.

“I wonder whether the master —”

“Shhh,” said Leah. She had spotted me nearby.

“Doesn’t she know?” the girl whispered. Leah shook her head, and the conversation was over.

Thursday came. Everything was in order. In the afternoon Mrs. Fairfax dressed in her best satin gown and took her gloves and gold watch. Adèle too put on her best dress. I thought she had little chance of being introduced to the guests that day at least, but to please her, I allowed Sophie to dress her in one of her short muslin frocks.

“It gets late. I am glad I ordered dinner an hour after the time Mr. Rochester mentioned. They were supposed to be here at six,” said Mrs. Fairfax nervously, coming into the upstairs schoolroom where Adèle and I were sitting and reading. “I have sent John down to the gates to see if there is anything on the road!” She went to the window. “Here he is! Well, John, any news?”

“They’re coming,” was the answer. “They’ll be here in ten minutes!”

Adèle flew to the window. I followed, taking care to stand on one side as I wanted to see without being seen.

Adèle jumped and danced on the spot, full of anticipation, until at last we heard horses’ hooves. Four riders galloped up the drive, followed by two open carriages filled with gentlemen and ladies. Two of those on horseback were handsome young men. In front of them rode Mr. Rochester, with Pilot bounding along behind; and beside him rode a stunningly beautiful lady. Her long purple riding cloak almost swept the ground, and she had thick, glossy, raven-black curls.

“Miss Ingram!” exclaimed Mr. Fairfax, and she hurried away to greet the guests downstairs.