Джейн Эйр / Jane Eyre

“I am sorry to say it, but they are in great trouble now. John Reed died, just a week since, at his offices in London. He was leading a wild life, Miss – drinking, and gambling, and using up all his mother’s money. He ruined his health and his estate. How he died, God knows! – they say he killed himself.”

“And how does his mother bear it?”

“The information about Mr. John’s death and the manner of it came too suddenly: it brought on a stroke. She didn’t speak for three days, but when she could, she called for you.”

“It seems to me I must go,” I said.

I found Mr. Rochester in the billiard room, playing a game with Blanche. I did not care, I did not have time for that.

“Mr. Rochester,” I said. “I must speak to you.”

He followed me outside.

“I must beg leave for a week or two, sir,” I said.

“What to do? – where to go?”

“To see a sick lady who has sent for me. Her name is Reed, sir – Mrs. Reed.”

“And what have you to do with her? How do you know her?”

“Mr. Reed was my uncle – my mother’s brother.”

“You never told me that before: you always said you had no relations.”

“Mr. Reed is dead, and his wife cast me off. But that is long ago; and when her circumstances were very different: I cannot neglect her wishes now.”

“Promise me only to stay a week —“

“Thank you, sir. And Mr. Rochester, I would love to mention another matter of business to you while I have the opportunity. You said you were going to get married.”

“Yes; what then?”

“In that case, sir, ought to go to school, so she does not get in the new Mrs. Rochester’s way. And that means I will not have a job. I mean to advertise soon.”

He looked horrified.

“Promise me one thing,” he then said. “Not to advertise. I’ll find you a job myself.”

“Only if I and Adèle are both safe out of the house before your bride enters it.”

“Very well! I swear.”

“Farewell, Mr. Rochester, for the present.”

After a two-day journey, we arrived at the lodge of Gateshead Hall on a warm spring afternoon.

“Bless you, Jane! I knew you would come! Oh, you’ve grown into quite a lady!” Bessie was in the doorway, with a baby in her arms. Behind her, two more children played by the hearth. “This is young Robert, and my little girl Jane,” she said.

As I watched her setting out the tea things and cutting slices of bread, old memories crowded my mind. Bessie was still only in her twenties, and as sweet and pretty as ever. But what would it be like seeing Mrs. Reed?

“I hope I’m not too late,” I said. “Is Mrs. Reed still alive?”

“She was a little better today, and still asking for you. We’ll go and see her after tea.”

As we walked up the drive from the lodge to the house, I remembered the last time I had been here. Then I had been angry and full of hatred.

I went into the breakfast room first, and there, sitting at the table, were Georgiana and Eliza Reed.

I hardly recognized them. Eliza was tall and thin, with combed back hair, a crucifix around her neck, and a severe expression on her face. Georgiana, by contrast, had become very plump, though she still had her pretty blue eyes. They both were in black.

They rose and greeted me politely as “Miss Eyre”, but I could see the distrust in their eyes.

I asked to see Mrs. Reed, but they did not want me to go to her room. However, these two could no longer give me any orders, and I did not want to have made this journey in vain. I went to the housekeeper, and told her I would stay for several days. Then I found Bessie and asked her to take me to Mrs. Reed.

When I saw Mrs. Reed, I felt only pity for her. She was lying in her bed, her round stern face was pale. Her eyes, watery and confused, looked up at us.

“You are Jane Eyre,” she said quietly.

“Yes, aunt,” I took her hand, but she pulled it away. “Jane Eyre,” she said again, more angrily. “No child has ever been so evil!”

“Why did you hate her so much?” I asked.

“I disliked her mother! She was my husband’s only sister, and he loved her immensely! When we heard she was dead, he sent for the baby. I hated it the first time I saw it. Reed pitied it; and he used to nurse it and notice it as if it had been his own: more, indeed, than he ever noticed his own children at that age. Then he made me vow to care for the little thing when he died! He was a weak man, Reed – not like my son John. Oh, John! I dreamt about him…”

“We had better leave now,” said Bessie.

Several days later Mrs. Reed recovered. Meanwhile, I spent my time drawing, Eliza read or wrote letters, and Georgiana sighed with boredom, as she dreamt about returning to London. They both seemed to long to their mother’s death and found each other’s company unbearable.

When Mrs. Reed got better, I had another conversation with her.

“Aunt Reed?” I called, pushing open her door.

“It is Jane Eyre, is it not?” she asked weakly.

“Yes, aunt. You wanted to talk to me.”

She stared at me for a while. Then she said: “I am very ill, I know. And I confess to you about some things before I die. Are we alone?”

I assured her we were.