Джейн Эйр / Jane Eyre

Lastly, taking up the candle again, she turned and headed for the door, which brought her right past my bed. She stopped, leaned over me, and looked at me closely, her face close to mine. I was so overcome with fright that, for only the second time in my life, I fell unconscious from fear.

When I awoke, daylight had come, and my door was firmly closed. When I remembered what I had seen in the night, I was sure it had been another dream. But when I looked on the floor, I saw the veil there. It had been ripped in half.

What I had seen seemed so strange and bizarre that I was afraid to tell Mrs. Fairfax or Leah about it. I longed for Mr. Rochester to come home. I waited all day for him to return, as the wind blew stronger and the rain hammered on the roof.

When at last he came back, I opened my heart to him, and told him everything I had seen. He listened carefully, asking questions about the creature’s appearance and behaviour.

Finally, he said: “Jane, this is to be expected. You are anxious about your wedding, and having bad dreams. This was just another of them.”

“No,” I insisted. “The veil was really torn.” “Then,” he answered gravely, “I am afraid the only explanation can be that it really was Grace Poole, but in your half-asleep state, you saw her differently, and imagined she was a demon.”

He hugged me tightly. “What a blessing she only tore the veil,” he said, “and did not harm you, my love. Yes, you are still wondering why I keep her here, and one day I will tell you – but not now. Tomorrow is our wedding day, and we must think of that.”

I could not believe his words were true. I had seen the woman so vividly, so closely, and she was nothing like Grace Poole. But there was no better explanation, so I told him he must be right.

“There is enough room in Adele’s little bed for you. You must share it with her to-night, Jane. I would not like you to sleep alone. Promise me to go to the nursery.”

I agreed.

“And you will not dream of separation and sorrow tonight; but of happy love and union.”

This prediction was but half fulfilled. When I climbed into Adèle’s bed and watched her in her deep sleep, I did not indeed dream of sorrow, but I did not dream of joy either. I never slept at all.

Chapter 26

Sophie came at seven to dress me. It took her so long that I was nearly late, but she made me look in the mirror before I set out. I saw a robed and veiled figure, so unlike my usual self that it seemed almost the image of a stranger.

“Jane!” called Mr. Rochester’s voice, and I hastened down.

I saw the servants taking all our cases outside to load them into the carriage.

“Are you ready?” my groom said, taking me by the hand, and leading me across the hall. Mrs. Fairfax was standing there, but I had no time to speak to her as we passed. Mr. Rochester seemed to be in a great hurry, and very determined, as if he could not relax until we were married.

It was to be a simple wedding. There were no relatives or bridesmaids – just us two, the vicar, and a clerk and his wife as witnesses. The church was close to Thornfield, but by the time Mr. Rochester had marched me there I was almost out of breath.

As we entered the churchyard, I noticed two figures wandering among the gravestones. They disappeared around the back of the church before Mr. Rochester could see them.

We walked into the dark, cool stone building and up to the little altar, where the vicar, Mr. Wood, waited for us, the witnesses beside him. The service began. The vicar announced that we were here to be married, then asked us if we knew of any reason why we should not be.

There was a pause, as there always is at that part of the ceremony. When is that pause ever broken? So, after a while, Mr. Wood reached out a hand to Mr. Rochester, opened his mouth and took a breath to continue with the declarations.

At that moment, a voice at the back of the church said: “The marriage cannot take place – I declare an impediment.”

For a moment Mr. Rochester swayed, as if he had been struck by a blow. Then he steadied himself, looked at the vicar, and said firmly: “Proceed.”

“I cannot proceed,” said the vicar, “until we find out what the impediment is, and if it can be proved.”

“Oh, I can prove it,” said the voice.

“What is the nature of the problem?” said the vicar impatiently, peering at the shadows. “Let us sort it out at once and get on with the wedding.”

“That won’t be possible,” said the speaker, who now stepped forward. He was a middle-aged man with a small white moustache.

“Mr. Rochester is already married,” he said.

His words sliced through me like a knife.

I managed to stay still and calm, but I felt as if my blood had frozen solid. I looked up at Mr. Rochester, and saw that same look of fixed determination on his face. Then he took my hand and pulled me closer to his side.

“Who are you?” he asked the stranger.

“I am Mr. Briggs, a solicitor from London.”

“And you say I have a wife, do you?”