Джейн Эйр / Jane Eyre

By way of an answer, Mr. Briggs took a folded piece of paper from his pocket, and read aloud from it the details of the marriage of Mr. Edward Fairfax Rochester to Miss Bertha Antoinette Mason, fifteen years previously, in Jamaica.

“So I was married,” Mr. Rochester snarled. “That does not mean my wife is still alive.”

“She was still living three months ago,” said the solicitor. “I have a witness who saw her.”

Now the second figure came out of the shadows at the back of the church. It was Mr. Mason.

Mr. Rochester was still holding my hand, and I felt a wave of fury go through him. He stepped forward as if to strike Mason.

“Remember where you are,” said the vicar sternly. Then he asked Mason: “Does he really have a wife?”

“He does,” said Mason. “She lives at Thornfield Hall, and I saw her there in April. I am her brother.”

“What nonsense,” said the vicar angrily. “I have lived in this area for many years, and I have never heard of any Mrs. Rochester at Thornfield Hall.”

Mr. Rochester was staring hard at the ground. After a long silence, he said: “You have never heard of her, because I kept her hidden. It is all true. I admit I was planning to marry again, because I wanted happiness for myself.”

He looked up at them, but he could hardly bear to look at me. Then he began to speak again.

“I know that I have done a terrible thing. There will be no wedding today. For I do have a wife already – if you can call her that. A wife my father forced me to marry fifteen years ago. A wife who – although they concealed it from me – is a madwoman, a wild, drunken monster. If you don’t believe me, you can come and see her. Come on,” he said, “we’re going up to the house to visit her now, and you can see for yourselves why I wanted to be with this lovely girl, to be adored and treated kindly, and married to someone I would be proud to call a wife. Come on!”

Still dragging me by the hand, he strode hurriedly out of the church, with the vicar, Mr. Briggs and Mr. Mason following close behind. Outside Thornfield, Mrs. Fairfax, Leah, Sophie and were waiting to greet us, but he brushed them aside impatiently. We went into the house, up the stairs and along the hall, up the attic staircase, along the dark passageway, and finally into the room where I had nursed Mr. Mason’s wounded arm. Mr. Rochester drew aside the tapestry to reveal the hidden door, opened it, and summoned us inside.

A fire burned in the grate, and over it leaned the familiar shape of Grace Poole, stirring something in a saucepan.

Beyond her, a strange creature moved to and fro, crouching and crawling on all fours. It wore a long white gown, and a tangle of matted hair hid its face.

“Hello, Mrs. Poole!” cried Mr. Rochester in a loud, cheery voice, although he was still gripping my hand, and I could feel that he was shaking. “And how is the patient today?”

“A little snappish, sir,” said Grace, “but not too bad.”

At this, the creature in the corner drew itself up to its full height, and began to groan and gurgle.

“She sees you,” said Grace Poole. “Take care, sir.”

Now the creature pulled the hair away from its face, and I knew for certain it was the strange woman who had come into my room the night before last. She gave that now familiar loud, monstrous laugh, then suddenly leaped forward, and seized Mr. Rochester around the neck, shrieking in a high-pitched wail. He could have beaten her off, but he would not strike her; instead he wrestled her into a chair, and Grace Poole quickly tied her down.

Mr. Rochester turned to us, his face hot and red.

“Meet my wife, Bertha,” he said. “This is her. This is all I have for a life’s companion – and these roars and attacks are all I can expect. And this,” he added, coming over to me, “this is what I wanted – this sweet, kind young lady to be my own. Look at her, and blame me if you can. Now, leave me, while I sort out matters here.”

In silence, the vicar, the two gentlemen and I left the room and descended the attic stairs. In the lower hallway, Mr. Briggs said: “You are not to blame for any of this, Miss Eyre. I can see you knew nothing of the marriage. And your uncle will be glad to hear it.”

“My uncle?” I was confused. “But – how do you know about him?”

“Your uncle is a friend of Mr. Mason. When he received your letter, he told Mr. Mason about the wedding. They realized what was going on, and Mason came to intervene. We arrived just in time.”

“My uncle did not write to me,” I said faintly.

“I am sure he will,” said Mr. Briggs. “But he himself is very sick, and may not recover. You must wait for news about his state of health.”

Then they all left, and I found myself standing in the hallway, alone. I went into my room and bolted the door.

I was in too much shock to cry. Instead, I calmly took off my white gown, and put on the plain dress I had been wearing the day before. Then I sat down, laid my head on my arms and thought hard about what had happened.