Джейн Эйр / Jane Eyre

“I did not wish to disturb you, as you seemed engaged, sir.”

“What have you been doing during my absence?”

“Teaching Adele as usual.”

“Did you take any cold that night you half drowned me?”

“No.”

“Return to the drawing-room: you are leaving too early.”

“I am tired, sir.”

He looked at me for a minute.

“And a little depressed,” he said. “What about? Tell me.”

“Nothing – nothing, sir. I am not depressed.”

“But I affirm that you are: so much depressed that a few more words would bring tears to your eyes. Indeed, they are there now. If I had time, I would find out what all this means. Tonight I excuse you; but understand that so long as my visitors stay, I want you to appear in the drawing-room every evening. It is my wish; don’t ignore it. Now go, and send Sophie for Adele. Good-night, my —“

He stopped, bit his lip, and left me in a hurry.

Chapter 19

Merry days were these at Thornfield Hall; and busy days too. How different Thornfield was from the first three months of solitude and monotony!

The house was full of life and activity. You could not enter a room or climb the stairs without bumping into a lady’s maid or gentleman’s valet. The guests spent their time walking in the garden, having picnics on the lawn, or talking and laughing in the drawing-room. In the evenings, they played charades. They hung a curtain over a doorway, and turned it into a miniature stage, on which words and phrases were acted out.

And all the time I had to endure the sight of Miss Ingram flirting with Mr. Rochester. In one charade, they even enacted a wedding scene, with her as the bride and him as the groom.

I knew already that I loved Mr. Rochester, and unfortunately, I could not stop loving him, because there was another woman by his side. I knew they would probably marry soon. Perhaps, if Blanche had been worthy of him, I would have accepted that.

But she was not. She might have been beautiful but she was also empty-headed and had nothing to say. I heard her make hurtful remarks, and repeat witty phrases, which I knew were from books. She lacked tenderness or sympathy as well. I saw her being impatient with Adèle. She despised the little girl and flinched every time attention to herself.

I was convinced Mr. Rochester saw all this too, for he watched her as carefully as I did. It was clear he didn’t love her. They were not really close; I was sure he didn’t confide in her, as he had in me.

I tried to persuade myself that if he meant to marry her, it was for family connections. I could not blame rich people for their wedding traditions. Moreover, I reminded myself that he was free to make his own choice, even if I did not agree with it.

One day, Mr. Rochester was called to Millcote on business. It was a rainy day, and the guests settled down to read or play cards in the drawing room.

When a carriage pulled up outside, everyone thought it was the master coming home. But it was a tall, anxious-looking stranger who was shown into the hall. He introduced himself as Mr. Mason, an old friend of Mr. Rochester’s.

“I’m sorry to arrive when Mr. Rochester is away,” I heard him tell Mrs. Fairfax, “but I have had a long journey, and I must wait here until he returns.”

Mr. Mason joined us in the drawing room, where he talked to some of the gentlemen. Listening to them, I gathered that he lived abroad, in the West Indies, and that he had met Mr. Rochester there.

Just as I was wondering why Mr. Rochester might have gone to such a faraway place, a footman came in. He said that an old gypsy woman had come to the house. She was refusing to leave.

“Dismiss her, by all means, at once!” cried Lady Ingram.

“But I cannot persuade her to go away, my lady,” said the footman, “Mrs. Fairfax is with her just now but she says nothing will make her leave.”

“What does she want?”

“To tell the ladies their fortunes. She swears she must do it.”

“It would be a thousand pities to throw away such a chance of fun,” remarked one of the gentlemen.

The others agreed, and after some arguing, they agreed to let the gypsy wait in the library, where they could consult her one by one.

Blanche went in first, followed by her sister Maria, and Amy and Louisa Eshton. Blanche was the first. “What did you think? How do you feel? Is she a real fortune-teller?” everyone asked her as she came back. She smiled and proved that that was a real witch and she told her that her future would be bright. Though then Miss Ingram took a book, leant back in her chair, and so declined further conversation. I watched her for nearly half-an-hour: during all that time she never turned a page, and her face grew darker, more dissatisfied, and more disappointed.

The other girls couldn’t stop giggling about the gypsy’s strange appearance, and the things she had said. She seemed to know everything about them and their families, their hopes and fears.

Then the footman returned, and said that although she had been well paid, the gypsy woman still would not go.