The town clock was striking 8 p.m. when I arrived in Millcote on that raw October evening. No one from Thornfield was there to meet me, so I went into the inn to wait. After half an hour, I finally thought to ask a waiter for help.
"Is your name Eyre, miss?" he asked. "If so, a person has just arrived for you."
I jumped up, took my muff and umbrella, and hurried outside. A man was standing by a one-horse carriage. I stepped in and he hoisted my trunk aboard. Two hours passed before we drove through a pair of gates and arrived outside a large house. Candlelight gleamed from only one window; the rest of the house was dark.
A maid opened the carriage door and asked me to follow her into the house. She led me to a snug room, where a little old woman sat knitting by the fire while a cat slept on the rug. I couldn't imagine a more reassuring scene.
"Mrs. Fairfax?" I said.
"Yes, my dear. Come sit by the fire. You must be cold after your tedious journey. John drives so slowly." Then Mrs. Fairfax said to the maid, "Leah, bring us some hot tea and sandwiches."
Meanwhile Mrs. Fairfax went away to make sure that my luggage was carried to my room. When she returned, she cleared the table of her knitting to make space for the tea tray. I was confused by all the attention that my new employer was lavishing on me.
"Will I have the pleasure of seeing Miss Fairfax tonight?" I asked.
"Oh, you mean Miss Varens! Adele Varens is your pupil."
"Then she isn't your daughter?"
"No, I have no family."
I found this perplexing but didn't want to be impolite by asking more questions.
"It will be quite pleasant now that you're here," Mrs. Fairfax went on. "Leah and John are decent people and so is John's wife, Mary, who is the cook. But they're only servants, and one must keep them at a distance for fear of losing one's authority. Oh, here I am going on, and you're tired."
As she showed me upstairs, I felt that the whole house was cold and cheerless. I was glad to find that my own room was warm and welcoming. After a long day, I had reached a safe haven.
The next morning I dressed with care in my plain black frock. Looking in the mirror, I wished that I were taller and prettier, but I didn't know why I had these feelings. I went down the imposing oak staircase to the hall and out the front door.
Crossing the lawn, I turned and looked back at the house. It was three stories high, large but not imposing—a gentleman's estate. Mrs. Fairfax appeared at the door and called to me.
"How do you like Thornfield?" she asked.
I walked up to her. "I like it very much."
"It is a pretty place," she agreed. "But I fear it will start to decline unless Mr. Rochester decides to reside here permanently or at least to visit more often."
"Mr. Rochester!" I exclaimed. "Who's that?"
"The owner of Thornfield," she said, as if everyone knew that fact.
"But I thought Thornfield belonged to you." Now I was truly confused.
"To me? Bless you, child, what an idea!" Mrs. Fairfax smiled. "I'm only the housekeeper, though I am a distant relative of Mr. Rochester. His mother was a Fairfax."
"And my pupil?"
"She's Mr. Rochester's ward. He asked me to find a governess for her. Here she comes now with her nurse, Sophie."
A small child of perhaps seven or eight ran up to us. Her long, golden curls reached her waist.
"Is this my governess?" she asked her nurse in French, and the woman responded in the same language.
"Are they from France?" I asked Mrs. Fairfax.
"Yes. I was glad when you advertised that you speak French. I can't speak a word of it myself."
We went into breakfast, where I conversed with Adele and soon learned that Mr. Rochester had brought her to England after her mother died.
After breakfast Adele and I went to the library, which had been set up as our schoolroom. She was not used to school, so I taught her only a little that morning although I talked to her a great deal. At noontime I allowed her to return to her nurse. I decided to occupy myself until lunch by drawing some sketches for her.
As I was going to fetch my paper and pencils, I saw Mrs. Fairfax in the dining room—a stately room with purple chairs and walnut-paneled walls.
"What a beautiful room, and you keep it so nicely!" I exclaimed. "Except for the fact that the air feels chilly, one would think the room was used daily."
"I like to have everything ready for Mr. Rochester, although he rarely visits," she explained. "But when he does, it's always at the last minute, and he doesn't like the bustle of cleaning going on around him."
"Is he a fussy man?"
"Not particularly so."
"Do people generally like him?"
"Oh yes. The family has always been respected here, though he is a bit peculiar."
"Peculiar? In what way?"
"I don't know. You feel it when you speak to him. You can't always tell whether he's serious or not."
This made me feel curious about our employer's character, but Mrs. Fairfax said nothing more about it.
When we left the dining room, she volunteered to show me the whole house. I followed her upstairs and down, admiring as I went, for all was well arranged and handsome. The rooms on the third floor, though, were dark and small and filled with furniture long out of style. All this—plus the lone window at the end of the corridor—gave that floor an air of gloom.
Mrs. Fairfax led me up onto the flat roof of the house, which offered a fine view of the surrounding countryside. As I descended the steps to the third floor, she stayed behind to fasten the trapdoor.
Suddenly I heard a strange, mirthless laugh.
Startled, I called out to Mrs. Fairfax as she came downstairs. "Did you hear that laugh?"
"Oh, that's one of the servants. Grace Poole sews up here, and she and Leah are often noisy together."
Just then I heard the laugh again followed by an odd murmur.
"Grace!" exclaimed Mrs. Fairfax.
"Are you sure you don't have any ghosts in this house?" I asked nervously.
"Quite sure," Mrs. Fairfax replied. "Come along to lunch, my dear."