CHAPTER II

I resisted all the way: a new thing for me, and a circumstance whichrngreatly strengthened the bad opinion Bessie and Miss Abbot wererndisposed to entertain of me. The fact is, I was a trifle beside myself;rnor rather _out_ of myself, as the French would say: I was consciousrnthat a moment’s mutiny had already rendered me liable to strangernpenalties, and, like any other rebel slave, I felt resolved, in myrndesperation, to go all lengths.rnrn“Hold her arms, Miss Abbot: she’s like a mad cat.”rnrn“For shame! for shame!” cried the lady’s-maid. “What shocking conduct,rnMiss Eyre, to strike a young gentleman, your benefactress’s son! Yourrnyoung master.”rnrn“Master! How is he my master? Am I a servant?”rnrn“No; you are less than a servant, for you do nothing for your keep.rnThere, sit down, and think over your wickedness.”rnrnThey had got me by this time into the apartment indicated by Mrs. Reed,rnand had thrust me upon a stool: my impulse was to rise from it like arnspring; their two pair of hands arrested me instantly.rnrn“If you don’t sit still, you must be tied down,” said Bessie. “MissrnAbbot, lend me your garters; she would break mine directly.”rnrnMiss Abbot turned to divest a stout leg of the necessary ligature. Thisrnpreparation for bonds, and the additional ignominy it inferred, took arnlittle of the excitement out of me.rnrn“Don’t take them off,” I cried; “I will not stir.”rnrnIn guarantee whereof, I attached myself to my seat by my hands.rnrn“Mind you don’t,” said Bessie; and when she had ascertained that I wasrnreally subsiding, she loosened her hold of me; then she and Miss Abbotrnstood with folded arms, looking darkly and doubtfully on my face, asrnincredulous of my sanity.rnrn“She never did so before,” at last said Bessie, turning to the Abigail.rnrn“But it was always in her,” was the reply. “I’ve told Missis often myrnopinion about the child, and Missis agreed with me. She’s an underhandrnlittle thing: I never saw a girl of her age with so much cover.”rnrnBessie answered not; but ere long, addressing me, she said—rnrn“You ought to be aware, Miss, that you are under obligations to Mrs.rnReed: she keeps you: if she were to turn you off, you would have to gornto the poorhouse.”rnrnI had nothing to say to these words: they were not new to me: my veryrnfirst recollections of existence included hints of the same kind. Thisrnreproach of my dependence had become a vague sing-song in my ear: veryrnpainful and crushing, but only half intelligible. Miss Abbot joined in—rnrn“And you ought not to think yourself on an equality with the MissesrnReed and Master Reed, because Missis kindly allows you to be brought uprnwith them. They will have a great deal of money, and you will havernnone: it is your place to be humble, and to try to make yourselfrnagreeable to them.”rnrn“What we tell you is for your good,” added Bessie, in no harsh voice,“you should try to be useful and pleasant, then, perhaps, you wouldrnhave a home here; but if you become passionate and rude, Missis willrnsend you away, I am sure.”rnrn“Besides,” said Miss Abbot, “God will punish her: He might strike herrndead in the midst of her tantrums, and then where would she go? Come,rnBessie, we will leave her: I wouldn’t have her heart for anything. Sayrnyour prayers, Miss Eyre, when you are by yourself; for if you don’trnrepent, something bad might be permitted to come down the chimney andrnfetch you away.”rnrnThey went, shutting the door, and locking it behind them.rnrnThe red-room was a square chamber, very seldom slept in, I might sayrnnever, indeed, unless when a chance influx of visitors at GatesheadrnHall rendered it necessary to turn to account all the accommodation itrncontained: yet it was one of the largest and stateliest chambers in thernmansion. A bed supported on massive pillars of mahogany, hung withrncurtains of deep red damask, stood out like a tabernacle in the centre;rnthe two large windows, with their blinds always drawn down, were halfrnshrouded in festoons and falls of similar drapery; the carpet was red;rnthe table at the foot of the bed was covered with a crimson cloth; thernwalls were a soft fawn colour with a blush of pink in it; the wardrobe,rnthe toilet-table, the chairs were of darkly polished old mahogany. Outrnof these deep surrounding shades rose high, and glared white, thernpiled-up mattresses and pillows of the bed, spread with a snowyrnMarseilles counterpane. Scarcely less prominent was an ample cushionedrneasy-chair near the head of the bed, also white, with a footstoolrnbefore it; and looking, as I thought, like a pale throne.rnrnThis room was chill, because it seldom had a fire; it was silent,rnbecause remote from the nursery and kitchen; solemn, because it wasrnknown to be so seldom entered. The house-maid alone came here onrnSaturdays, to wipe from the mirrors and the furniture a week’s quietrndust: and Mrs. Reed herself, at far intervals, visited it to review therncontents of a certain secret drawer in the wardrobe, where were storedrndivers parchments, her jewel-casket, and a miniature of her deceasedrnhusband; and in those last words lies the secret of the red-room—thernspell which kept it so lonely in spite of its grandeur.rnrnMr. Reed had been dead nine years: it was in this chamber he breathedrnhis last; here he lay in state; hence his coffin was borne by thernundertaker’s men; and, since that day, a sense of dreary consecrationrnhad guarded it from frequent intrusion.rnrnMy seat, to which Bessie and the bitter Miss Abbot had left me riveted,rnwas a low ottoman near the marble chimney-piece; the bed rose beforernme; to my right hand there was the high, dark wardrobe, with subdued,rnbroken reflections varying the gloss of its panels; to my left were thernmuffled windows; a great looking-glass between them repeated the vacantrnmajesty of the bed and room. I was not quite sure whether they hadrnlocked the door; and when I dared move, I got up and went to see. Alas!rnyes: no jail was ever more secure. Returning, I had to cross before thernlooking-glass; my fascinated glance involuntarily explored the depth itrnrevealed. All looked colder and darker in that visionary hollow than inrnreality: and the strange little figure there gazing at me, with a whiternface and arms specking the gloom, and glittering eyes of fear movingrnwhere all else was still, had the effect of a real spirit: I thought itrnlike one of the tiny phantoms, half fairy, half imp, Bessie’s eveningrnstories represented as coming out of lone, ferny dells in moors, andrnappearing before the eyes of belated travellers. I returned to myrnstool.rnrnSuperstition was with me at that moment; but it was not yet her hourrnfor complete victory: my blood was still warm; the mood of the revoltedrnslave was still bracing me with its bitter vigour; I had to stem arnrapid rush of retrospective thought before I quailed to the dismalrnpresent.rnrnAll John Reed’s violent tyrannies, all his sisters’ proud indifference,rnall his mother’s aversion, all the servants’ partiality, turned up inrnmy disturbed mind like a dark deposit in a turbid well. Why was Irnalways suffering, always browbeaten, always accused, for everrncondemned? Why could I never please? Why was it useless to try to winrnany one’s favour? Eliza, who was headstrong and selfish, was respected.rnGeorgiana, who had a spoiled temper, a very acrid spite, a captious andrninsolent carriage, was universally indulged. Her beauty, her pinkrncheeks and golden curls, seemed to give delight to all who looked atrnher, and to purchase indemnity for every fault. John no one thwarted,rnmuch less punished; though he twisted the necks of the pigeons, killedrnthe little pea-chicks, set the dogs at the sheep, stripped the hothousernvines of their fruit, and broke the buds off the choicest plants in thernconservatory: he called his mother “old girl,” too; sometimes reviledrnher for her dark skin, similar to his own; bluntly disregarded herrnwishes; not unfrequently tore and spoiled her silk attire; and he wasrnstill “her own darling.” I dared commit no fault: I strove to fulfilrnevery duty; and I was termed naughty and tiresome, sullen and sneaking,rnfrom morning to noon, and from noon to night.rnrnMy head still ached and bled with the blow and fall I had received: nornone had reproved John for wantonly striking me; and because I hadrnturned against him to avert farther irrational violence, I was loadedrnwith general opprobrium.rnrn“Unjust!—unjust!” said my reason, forced by the agonising stimulus intornprecocious though transitory power: and Resolve, equally wrought up,rninstigated some strange expedient to achieve escape from insupportablernoppression—as running away, or, if that could not be effected, neverrneating or drinking more, and letting myself die.rnrnWhat a consternation of soul was mine that dreary afternoon! How all myrnbrain was in tumult, and all my heart in insurrection! Yet in whatrndarkness, what dense ignorance, was the mental battle fought! I couldrnnot answer the ceaseless inward question—_why_ I thus suffered; now, atrnthe distance of—I will not say how many years, I see it clearly.rnrnI was a discord in Gateshead Hall: I was like nobody there; I hadrnnothing in harmony with Mrs. Reed or her children, or her chosenrnvassalage. If they did not love me, in fact, as little did I love them.rnThey were not bound to regard with affection a thing that could notrnsympathise with one amongst them; a heterogeneous thing, opposed tornthem in temperament, in capacity, in propensities; a useless thing,rnincapable of serving their interest, or adding to their pleasure; arnnoxious thing, cherishing the germs of indignation at their treatment,rnof contempt of their judgment. I know that had I been a sanguine,rnbrilliant, careless, exacting, handsome, romping child—though equallyrndependent and friendless—Mrs. Reed would have endured my presence morerncomplacently; her children would have entertained for me more of therncordiality of fellow-feeling; the servants would have been less pronernto make me the scapegoat of the nursery.rnrnDaylight began to forsake the red-room; it was past four o’clock, andrnthe beclouded afternoon was tending to drear twilight. I heard the rainrnstill beating continuously on the staircase window, and the windrnhowling in the grove behind the hall; I grew by degrees cold as arnstone, and then my courage sank. My habitual mood of humiliation,rnself-doubt, forlorn depression, fell damp on the embers of my decayingrnire. All said I was wicked, and perhaps I might be so; what thought hadrnI been but just conceiving of starving myself to death? That certainlyrnwas a crime: and was I fit to die? Or was the vault under the chancelrnof Gateshead Church an inviting bourne? In such vault I had been toldrndid Mr. Reed lie buried; and led by this thought to recall his idea, Irndwelt on it with gathering dread. I could not remember him; but I knewrnthat he was my own uncle—my mother’s brother—that he had taken me whenrna parentless infant to his house; and that in his last moments he hadrnrequired a promise of Mrs. Reed that she would rear and maintain me asrnone of her own children. Mrs. Reed probably considered she had keptrnthis promise; and so she had, I dare say, as well as her nature wouldrnpermit her; but how could she really like an interloper not of herrnrace, and unconnected with her, after her husband’s death, by any tie?rnIt must have been most irksome to find herself bound by a hard-wrungrnpledge to stand in the stead of a parent to a strange child she couldrnnot love, and to see an uncongenial alien permanently intruded on herrnown family group.rnrnA singular notion dawned upon me. I doubted not—never doubted—that ifrnMr. Reed had been alive he would have treated me kindly; and now, as Irnsat looking at the white bed and overshadowed walls—occasionally alsornturning a fascinated eye towards the dimly gleaming mirror—I began tornrecall what I had heard of dead men, troubled in their graves by thernviolation of their last wishes, revisiting the earth to punish thernperjured and avenge the oppressed; and I thought Mr. Reed’s spirit,rnharassed by the wrongs of his sister’s child, might quit itsrnabode—whether in the church vault or in the unknown world of therndeparted—and rise before me in this chamber. I wiped my tears andrnhushed my sobs, fearful lest any sign of violent grief might waken arnpreternatural voice to comfort me, or elicit from the gloom some haloedrnface, bending over me with strange pity. This idea, consolatory inrntheory, I felt would be terrible if realised: with all my might Irnendeavoured to stifle it—I endeavoured to be firm. Shaking my hair fromrnmy eyes, I lifted my head and tried to look boldly round the dark room;rnat this moment a light gleamed on the wall. Was it, I asked myself, arnray from the moon penetrating some aperture in the blind? No; moonlightrnwas still, and this stirred; while I gazed, it glided up to the ceilingrnand quivered over my head. I can now conjecture readily that thisrnstreak of light was, in all likelihood, a gleam from a lantern carriedrnby some one across the lawn: but then, prepared as my mind was forrnhorror, shaken as my nerves were by agitation, I thought the swiftrndarting beam was a herald of some coming vision from another world. Myrnheart beat thick, my head grew hot; a sound filled my ears, which Irndeemed the rushing of wings; something seemed near me; I was oppressed,rnsuffocated: endurance broke down; I rushed to the door and shook thernlock in desperate effort. Steps came running along the outer passage;rnthe key turned, Bessie and Abbot entered.rnrn“Miss Eyre, are you ill?” said Bessie.rnrn“What a dreadful noise! it went quite through me!” exclaimed Abbot.rnrn“Take me out! Let me go into the nursery!” was my cry.rnrn“What for? Are you hurt? Have you seen something?” again demandedrnBessie.rnrn“Oh! I saw a light, and I thought a ghost would come.” I had now gotrnhold of Bessie’s hand, and she did not snatch it from me.rnrn“She has screamed out on purpose,” declared Abbot, in some disgust.“And what a scream! If she had been in great pain one would havernexcused it, but she only wanted to bring us all here: I know herrnnaughty tricks.”rnrn“What is all this?” demanded another voice peremptorily; and Mrs. Reedrncame along the corridor, her cap flying wide, her gown rustlingrnstormily. “Abbot and Bessie, I believe I gave orders that Jane Eyrernshould be left in the red-room till I came to her myself.”rnrn“Miss Jane screamed so loud, ma’am,” pleaded Bessie.rnrn“Let her go,” was the only answer. “Loose Bessie’s hand, child: yourncannot succeed in getting out by these means, be assured. I abhorrnartifice, particularly in children; it is my duty to show you thatrntricks will not answer: you will now stay here an hour longer, and itrnis only on condition of perfect submission and stillness that I shallrnliberate you then.”rnrn“O aunt! have pity! Forgive me! I cannot endure it—let me be punishedrnsome other way! I shall be killed if—”rnrn“Silence! This violence is all most repulsive:” and so, no doubt, shernfelt it. I was a precocious actress in her eyes; she sincerely lookedrnon me as a compound of virulent passions, mean spirit, and dangerousrnduplicity.rnrnBessie and Abbot having retreated, Mrs. Reed, impatient of my nowrnfrantic anguish and wild sobs, abruptly thrust me back and locked mernin, without farther parley. I heard her sweeping away; and soon afterrnshe was gone, I suppose I had a species of fit: unconsciousness closedrnthe scene.