Adele was not easy to teach that day. She kept running to the door and looking over the banister to see if she could get a glimpse of Mr. Rochester. I looked for him, too, on the pretext of running after her. She wanted to know what presents he had brought her. Apparently, on the night before, he had intimated that when his luggage came from Millcote, amongst it would be a little box in whose contents she had an interest.
Adele prattled on in French about her present and about Mr.
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Rochester. She insisted he must have brought me a present as well, and why should we wait? We should go down to the library and insist upon them. I would not indulge her. Probably vexed with me over my refusal to interrupt Mr. Rochester's business, she made up a little story about how he'd asked about me last night. What was my name? Was I a small, pale little one with eyes like the stars? Adele could be quite inventive when she was eager to have her way.
We remained in our new schoolroom, quite out of the way, and then we dined as usual in Mrs. Fairfax's parlour. It was a wild and snowy afternoon, and we returned to spend it in the schoolroom until dark. Only then did I allow Adele to put away her books and work and to go downstairs, for it was finally silent and Mr. Rochester was likely at liberty at such an hour.
Mrs. Fairfax came in. "Mr. Rochester would be glad if you and your pupil would take tea with him in the drawing room this evening."
"When is his tea time?" I inquired.
"Oh, at six o'clock. He keeps early hours in the country. You had better change your frock now. I will go with you and fasten it. Here is a candle."
"Is it necessary to change my frock?" We had never stood on such ceremony.
"Yes, you had better. I always dress for the evening when Mr. Rochester is here."
I repaired to my room and, with Mrs. Fairfax's aid, replaced my black stuff dress with one of black silk, the best and the only additional one I had, except one of light grey, which, in my Lowood notions of the toilette, I thought too fine to be worn, except on first-rate occasions.
"You want a brooch," said Mrs. Fairfax.
I had a single little pearl ornament, which Miss Temple had given me as a parting keepsake along with the Egyptian daggers. I put it on, then we went downstairs. Unused as I was to strangers, it was rather a trial to appear thus formally summoned in Mr. Rochester's
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presence. I tripped going down the stairs and couldn't keep my hands from fluttering nervously without great effort. How unlike me to dissolve into nerves! He was just a man. I reminded myself of this, but I let Mrs. Fairfax precede me into the dining room and kept in her shade as we crossed the apartment to the drawing room.
Two wax candles stood lit on the table, and two on the mantel-piece, three more candles than we usually kept lit in Mrs. Fairfax's parlour. Basking in the light and the heat of a superb fire lay Pilot. Adele knelt near him. Half-reclined on a couch, Mr. Rochester had his foot out, supported by a cushion. I knew my traveller with his dark eyebrows, square forehead, and black hair. I recognised his decisive nose, his grim mouth, chin, and jaw. His build, now divested of cloak, I perceived was as solid as I supposed.
Mr. Rochester must have been aware of the entrance of Mrs. Fairfax and me, but he appeared not to be in the mood to notice us.
"Here is Miss Slayre, sir," said Mrs. Fairfax in her quiet way.
He bowed, still not taking his eyes from the group of the dog and child.
"Let Miss Slayre be seated," he said with something in the forced stiff bow, in the impatient yet formal tone.
I sat down quite happily. Had he shown polite interest, he would probably have confused me, but harsh caprice laid me under no obligation. On the contrary, he gave me the advantage of returning his indifference, or worse. Besides, I grew all the more interested to see how he would go on.
He went on as a statue would; that is, he neither spoke nor moved. Perhaps he wasn't oblivious, but was steady and silent by nature. Mrs. Fairfax seemed to think it necessary that someone should be amiable, and she began to talk, kindly, as usual. She spoke of the snow and the roads, of the business visitors he'd had to endure all day, and on the likely frustration of being laid up with a sprained ankle.
"Madam, I should like some tea" was the only thing he said in return. When the tray came, she arranged the cups, spoons, and
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serving dishes with assiduous celerity. Adele and I went to the table, but the master did not leave his couch.
"Will you hand Mr. Rochester's cup?" Mrs. Fairfax asked me.
I did as requested.
As he took the cup from my hand, Adele, thinking the moment propitious for making a request in my favour, cried out. "N'est-ce pas, monsieur, qu'il y a un cadeau pour Mademoiselle Slayre dans votre petit coffre?"
"Who talks of cadeaux?" he said gruffly. "Did you expect a present, Miss Slayre? Are you fond of presents?" He searched my face with eyes that seemed dark, irate, and piercing.
I did not fluster. If his intent was to frighten me, he might be in for a surprise. "I hardly know, sir. I have little experience of them. They are generally thought pleasant things."
"Generally thought?" His eyes did not change. "But what do you think?"
"I should be obliged to take time, sir, before I could give you an answer worthy of your acceptance." Now I delivered a short little bow as disingenuous as his had been earlier. "A present has many faces to it, has it not? One should consider all before pronouncing an opinion as to its nature."
"Miss Slayre, you are not so unsophisticated as Adele. She demands a cadeau, clamorously, the moment she sees me. You beat about the bush."
"Because I have less confidence than Adele has. She says you have always been in the habit of giving her playthings. But if I had to make out a case, I should be puzzled, since I am a stranger and have done nothing to entitle me to an acknowledgment."
"Oh, don't fall back on overmodesty! I have examined Adele and find you have taken great pains with her. She is not bright. She has no talents. Yet in a short time she has made much improvement."
"Sir, you have now given me my cadeau. I am obliged to you."
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I gave him a genuine nod. "It is the mead teachers most covet, praise of their pupils' progress."
"Humph!" said Mr. Rochester, then he took his tea in silence.
"Come to the fire," said the master when the tray was taken away, and Mrs. Fairfax had settled into a corner with her knitting. Adele and I obeyed. She wanted to take a seat on my knee, but she was ordered to amuse herself with Pilot.
"You have been resident in my house three months?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you came from ...? "
"From Lowood school."
"Ah! I know it. A charitable concern. How long were you there?"
"Eight years."
"Eight years! You must be tenacious of life. I should think half the time in such a place would kill me. Indeed, it killed many, if I remember the stories." I could feel his gaze on me but I refused to meet it, preferring to look down at the table.
"That was in my first year." I smiled, recalling the part I had played in it and keeping it my own treasured secret. "It was much improved afterwards."
"Still, to have lived there so long! No wonder you have rather the look of another world. I marvelled where you had got that sort of face, so serious yet so bright-eyed all at once. When you came on me in Hay Lane last night, I thought unaccountably of fairy tales and had half a mind to demand whether you had bewitched my horse. I am not sure yet. Who are your parents?"
I could feel him wishing I would look up, and still I refused. "I have none."
"Nor ever had, I suppose? Do you remember them?"
"No."
"I thought not. And so you were waiting for your people when you sat on that stile?"
"For whom, sir?"
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"For the fairy folk. It was a proper moonlight evening for them. Did I break through one of your rings that you sprea
d that damned ice on the causeway?"
I shook my head. "The fairies all forsook England a hundred years ago," said I, speaking as seriously as he had done. "And not even in hay Lane, or the fields about it, could you find a trace of them."
Mrs. Fairfax had dropped her knitting and, with raised eyebrows, seemed wondering what sort of talk this was.
"Well," resumed Mr. Rochester, "if you disown parents, you must have some sort of kinsfolk: uncles and aunts?"
"No; none." None to acknowledge.
"And your home?"
"I have none."
"Where do your brothers and sisters live?"
"I have no brothers or sisters."
"Who recommended you to come here?"
"I advertised, and Mrs. Fairfax answered my advertisement."
"Yes," said the good lady, who now knew what ground we were upon, "and I am daily thankful for the choice Providence led me to make. Miss Slayre has been an invaluable companion to me, and a kind and careful teacher to Adele."
"Don't trouble yourself to give her a character," returned Mr. Rochester. "I shall judge for myself. She began by felling my horse."
"Sir?" said Mrs. Fairfax.
"I have to thank her for this sprain."
The widow looked bewildered.
I sat still, quite untroubled by his accusations. Better he lived with a sprain than the fate that might have befallen him had I not been present.
"Miss Slayre, have you ever lived in a town?"
"No, sir."
"Have you seen much society?"
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"None but the pupils and teachers of Lowood, and now the inmates of Thornfield."
"Inmates indeed." he laughed. "Have you read much?"
"Only such books as came in my way, and they have not been numerous or very learned."
"No doubt you've lived the life of a nun. What age were you when you went to school?"
"About ten."
"And you stayed there eight years. You are now, then, eighteen. And what did you learn at Lowood? Can you play?"
"A little."
"Of course. That is the established answer. Go into the library--I mean, if you please. You must excuse my tone of command. I am used to say, 'Do this,' and it is done. I cannot alter my customary habits for one new inmate. Go, then, into the library; take a candle with you, leave the door open. Sit down to the piano and play a tune."
I departed, obeying his directions. I hid my astonishment that he would even ask for me to excuse his commanding tone. And why should I? Was I not in his employ? But it touched me that he would ask for my consideration on it. I did as he asked. I played.
"Enough!" he called out in a few minutes. "You play a little, I see, like any other English schoolgirl. Perhaps rather better than some, but not well."
I closed the piano and returned.
"Adele showed me some sketches this morning, which she said were yours," Mr. Rochester said. "I don't know whether they were entirely of your doing. Probably a master aided you?"
"No, indeed!"
"Ah! That pricks pride. Well, fetch me your portfolio, if you can vouch for its contents being original, but don't pass your word unless you are certain."
"Then I will say nothing, and you shall judge for yourself, sir."
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I brought the portfolio from the library.
"Approach the table," said he; and I wheeled it to his couch. He deliberately scrutinised each sketch and painting. Three he laid aside. The others, when he had examined them, he swept from him.
"Take them off to the other table, Mrs. Fairfax," said he, "and look at them with Adele. You"--glancing at me--"resume your seat and answer my questions. I perceive those pictures were done by one hand. Was that hand yours?"
"Yes."
"And when did you find time to do them? They have taken time and thought."
"I did them in the last two vacations I spent at Lowood."
"Where did you get your copies?"
"Out of my head."
"That head I see now on your shoulders?"
"The very same." I was not a zombie. I only had one, and it was not detachable.
He spread the pictures before him and again surveyed them alternately.
"Were you happy when you painted these pictures?"
"I was absorbed, sir, yes, and I was happy. To paint them, in short, was to enjoy one of the keenest pleasures I have ever known."
"That is not saying much. Your pleasures, by your own account, have been few. I daresay, though, you did exist in a kind of artist's dreamland while you blended and arranged these strange tints. Did you sit at them long each day?"
"From morning until noon, and from noon until night. It was vacation. I had little else to do."
"And you felt self-satisfied with the result of your ardent labours?"
"Far from it. I was tormented by the contrast between my idea and my handiwork. In each case, I had imagined something which I turned out to be quite powerless to realise."
"Not quite, I'm guessing. You have secured the shadow of your
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thought, but no more, probably. You had not enough of the artist's skill and science to give it full being: yet the drawings are, for a schoolgirl, peculiar. As to the thoughts, they are elfish. These eyes you must have seen in a dream. How could you make them look so clear, and yet not at all brilliant? And what meaning is that in their solemn depth? And who taught you to paint wind? There is a high gale in that sky, and on this hilltop. And this last one? Such a terrible sense of justice there. How could you know it? Put the drawings away!"
"Yes, sir."
"It is nine o'clock," he said, glancing at his watch before I could even put the drawings away. "What are you about, Miss Slayre, to let Adele sit up so long? Take her to bed."
Adele went to kiss him before quitting the room. He endured the caress, but he seemed to relish it little more than Pilot would have done, nor so much.
"I wish you all good night, now." He made a movement of the hand towards the door, in token that he was tired of our company and wished to dismiss us. Mrs. Fairfax folded up her knitting. I took my portfolio. We curtsied to him, received a frigid bow in return, and so withdrew.
"You said Mr. Rochester was not strikingly peculiar, Mrs. Fairfax," I observed when I rejoined her in her room, after putting Adele to bed.
"Well, is he?"
"I think so. He is very changeful and abrupt."
"True. No doubt he may appear so to a stranger, but I am so accustomed to his manner. And then, if he has peculiarities of temper, allowance should be made."
"Why?"
"Partly because it is his nature--and we can none of us help our nature. And partly because he has painful thoughts, no doubt, to harass him and make his spirits unequal."
"What about?"
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"Family troubles, for one thing. He lost his elder brother a few years since."
"His elder brother?"
"Yes. The present Mr. Rochester has not been very long in possession of the property; only about nine years."
"Was he so very fond of his brother as to be still inconsolable for his loss?"
"Why, no--perhaps not. I believe there were some misunderstandings between them. Mr. Rowland Rochester was not quite just to Mr. Edward and perhaps he prejudiced his father against him. The old gentleman was fond of money and anxious to keep the family estate together, and yet he was anxious that Mr. Edward should have wealth, too, to keep up the consequence of the name. Old Mr. Rochester and Mr. Rowland combined to bring Mr. Edward into what he considered a painful position, for the sake of making his fortune. I never knew the precise nature of that position, but his spirit could not brook what he had to suffer in it. He is not very forgiving. He broke with his family, and now for many years he has led an unsettled kind of life. I don't think he has ever been resident at Thornfield for a fortnight together since the death of his brother without a will left him master of the estate. Indeed, no won
der he shuns the old place."
"Why should he shun it?"
"Perhaps he thinks it gloomy."
The answer was evasive. I should have liked something clearer, but Mrs. Fairfax either could not or would not give me more explicit information of the origin and nature of Mr. Rochester's trials. She averred they were a mystery to her, and that what she knew was chiefly from conjecture. It was evident, indeed, that she wished me to drop the subject, which I did accordingly.
I thought of him all night, that pained look in his eyes when he spoke of my paintings and the feelings that might have inspired them. No doubt he had read some of his personal tragedies into my
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work. Well, I could indentify with family struggles. Yet I did not pity him. I rather liked him. He was, at least, direct with his words if evasive with his emotions.
CHAPTER 17
FOR THE NEXT SEVERAL days, I saw little of Mr. Rochester. In the mornings he seemed much engaged with business. In the afternoon, gentlemen from Millcote or the neighbourhood called. When his sprain was well enough for him to return to exercise, he rode out a good deal. I would usually be awake to hear him just coming in.
During this interval, even Adele was seldom sent for to his presence, and all my acquaintance with him was confined to an occasional passing in the hall, on the stairs, or in the gallery, when he would sometimes look with a haughty stare in my direction and just barely acknowledge my presence with a nod. Other times, when he would make the effort to bow and smile, I didn't know what to make of him. His changes of mood did not offend me because I saw I had nothing to do with it; the ebb and flow depended on causes quite disconnected with me.
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