The next morning we were unable to wash because the water in our pitchers had frozen overnight. The wind whistled through the cracks in our bedroom windows, and by breakfast I was ready to perish from the cold.
In the schoolroom the lessons seemed long and difficult because I was not used to memorizing. So I was glad when one of the teachers gave me a strip of muslin to hem.
Most of the girls were sewing, but one class still stood around Miss Scatcherd's chair reading English history aloud. When the chapter had been read through twice, Miss Scatcherd quizzed the students. Many of them could not even respond, but Helen Burns always knew the right answer.
I expected Miss Scatcherd to praise Helen for paying attention, but instead she cried out, "You dirty, disagreeable girl! You didn't clean your nails this morning!"
Helen said nothing, and I wondered at her silence. Why didn't she explain that she hadn't been able to clean her nails or wash her face because the water was frozen? But I couldn't think about this for very long because my teacher needed me to help her wind a skein of thread.
When I returned to my seat, I saw that Helen was now carrying a rod made from a bundle of twigs tied together at one end. She handed this to Miss Scatcherd, who instantly whipped her a dozen times. Not a tear rose to Helen's eye, but my hands shook so much from anger that I could not sew.
In the evenings we had an hour of play in the schoolroom. That night I found Helen, sitting alone and reading by the fire. We talked about her home in the north of England and then I said, "You must want to leave Lowood."
She seemed quite surprised. "No, why? I was sent here to get an education, and it would be foolish to leave before I have done so."
"But Miss Scatcherd is so cruel to you!"
"Cruel? Not at all. She dislikes my faults," explained Helen. "I seldom put my things in order. I'm careless. I forget rules and I read when I should be learning my lessons."
"And if I were you, I'd dislike her," I said firmly. "I would resist her. If she struck me with that rod, I'd snatch it from her and break it under her nose!"
"If you did," said Helen, "Mr. Brocklehurst would expel you from school, and that would be a great grief to your relatives. It's better to endure a beating patiently than to commit a hasty action that disgraces your family."
But I disagreed. "When we are struck without reason, we should strike back hard to teach that person never to do it again."
Helen hoped I would change my mind and reminded me that the Bible says we should love our enemies.
"Then I should love Mrs. Reed, which I cannot do."
Helen asked me to explain, so I described in great detail my unhappy life with my aunt and cousins.
"Wouldn't you be happier if you tried to forget Mrs. Reed's severity and the anger it ignited?" she asked.
But I couldn't be as forgiving as Helen.
One afternoon, when I had been at Lowood for about three weeks, I sat with a slate in my hand, puzzling over a long division problem. I looked up, and there at the front of the schoolroom stood Mr. Brocklehurst, as tall and forbidding as ever. All the girls and teachers rose to their feet.
I had been dreading his appearance because I knew that he would brand me as a bad child. He began to speak quietly to Miss Temple, and I quickly realized he was not talking about me.
"In settling accounts with the housekeeper," he said, "I find that a snack of bread and cheese has been served twice to the girls in the past two weeks. Who added this innovation and by what authority?"
"I am responsible for that," said Miss Temple. "On those days breakfast was so ill prepared that the girls could not possibly eat it."
"You are aware that my plan for bringing up these girls does not include introducing them to luxury?" said Mr. Brocklehurst. "They need to learn patience and self-denial. If their meals are spoiled again, you should address them on the sufferings of the early Christians and the torments of the martyrs. You should not provide extra food."
Miss Temple stared straight ahead, looking as pale and hard as marble. Mr. Brocklehurst majestically surveyed the whole school while I shrank down to avoid his gaze. Suddenly he opened his eyes as if he'd seen something shocking.
"Miss Temple! Who is that girl with red hair? Why is her hair in curls?" His hand shook as he pointed.
"That is Julia Severn and her hair curls naturally," Miss Temple replied quietly.
"She is not conforming to the principles of this school. Her hair must be cut off!" He pointed to the oldest students and cried, "Tell these girls to face the wall!"
Miss Temple did so, and Mr. Brocklehurst walked behind them, examining the braids in their hair. "All this hair must be cut off!" he ordered.
"Surely they could arrange their hair in a less offensive manner," protested Miss Temple.
"My mission is to teach them to clothe themselves soberly, not with braided hair and costly apparel."
Meanwhile I had been holding my slate in front of my face to avoid detection. Suddenly the slate slipped from my hand with a loud crash! Everyone looked at me as I picked up my broken slate and prepared for the worst.
"The new girl!" said Mr. Brocklehurst. "I have something to say regarding her. Let the child who broke her slate come forward!"
Miss Temple guided me toward him and gently whispered, "Don't be afraid, Jane. I saw it was an accident; you won't be punished."
"In another minute she will despise me," I said to myself.
Mr. Brocklehurst forced me to stand on a high stool.
"Do you see this girl?" he said. "Girls, you must be on your guard against her, and teachers, you must watch her. For this girl is a liar! I learned this from the kind and generous lady who raised her as her own. And how did this girl repay the good lady? With lies and ingratitude!"
Mr. Brocklehurst prepared to go. "Let her stand for half an hour on that stool, and let no one speak to her for the rest of the day!"
With that, he departed and I was left to my humiliating punishment.