“Thank you,” I said, without glancing up, feeling instead at my twisted ankle. “I shall do: I have no broken bones—only a sprain.” Hoping to prove those words, I stood again and immediately felt a fiercer stab of pain in my ankle.
“I cannot think of leaving you, sir.”
It was only then, at this last insistence, that I truly saw the creature and realized that it was neither a sprite nor a child proper, but a young woman with a pale, otherworldly face, all bundled in a beaver bonnet and a merino cloak and a muff. I could not fathom what she might be doing on the path all alone at twilight. “I should think you ought to be at home yourself,” I said, “if you have a home in this neighborhood: where do you come from?”
I was surprised to hear her tell me she came from Thornfield itself. The warm familiarity with which she spoke the name of my home struck me as both charming and rather improper—clearly she had no idea I was its master, yet she harbored evident affection for it, as I once had. When I tried to draw out her identity without revealing my own, I was astonished to learn that she was the new governess.
“I cannot commission you to fetch help,” I said to her, “but you may help me a little yourself, if you will be so kind.” She had no umbrella on which I might lean to make my way to my horse, so I asked her to fetch Mesrour to me. I saw too late that she had no experience with horses—and Mesrour, proud beast, could tell that too. Yet she was a determined little thing, and fearless, and knowing Mesrour was well trained and would do her no harm, it brought me great pleasure to witness a stubbornness in her nature that seemed to match that of my spirited horse. God knows how long she would have kept at it if I had not in the end intervened, for her efforts had brought me near to laughter and it would have been cruel to keep on with it. “I see the mountain will never be brought to Mahomet,” I said, and I begged her to assist me to the horse instead.
Apologizing, I leaned quite heavily on this slight creature, and with her help I managed to limp to Mesrour, whom I mounted without much difficulty. Once astride, I looked down at her, struck again by something haunting in that little face, and I thanked her for her aid. She had a letter to mail in Hay, and so we parted ways. She did not know me still, and though I supposed she would learn soon enough that I was her master, there was something unyielding in her little spirit that made me unwilling, yet, to play my hand.
Over the rest of the way to Thornfield-Hall, despite the pain in my ankle, the encounter stayed in my mind. It was an incident of no great moment, yet I felt somehow as if it marked a change, however slight, in my life. The act of accepting her help had been both discomfiting and curiously pleasant. I could not help but wonder if I had been right at the first, that she was nothing but a woodland sprite, taken shape in the garb of a fragile governess. Her face was dissimilar to all others I had known—quiet, obedient, yet undeniably marked with intelligence and strength. Her tranquil expression stayed in my mind until I reached the estate. There I lingered at the gates; I lingered on the lawn.
I found, suddenly, that I did not like reentering Thornfield if it meant merging the world of this dreamlike sprite into one governed by the madwoman there. How could two such different women exist under my own roof?
Soon, though, Pilot could not help but announce our arrival, and John swiftly appeared to help me inside. He sent a boy for Carter and stoked a fire in the dining room, while Mrs. Fairfax hovered over me, Adèle caressed my leg as if such ministrations would cure the sprain, and Leah scurried to the kitchen to bring tea. I learned from Mrs. Fairfax that, to my relief, there had been no unexpected visitors in my absence, so Gerald Rochester, wherever he was, had not yet come to disturb my home.
Amid the excitement I might have forgotten the governess, but I did not. Such a delicate thing out alone at nightfall—I could not explain how I could have left her, knowing who she was, out on that icy path in the gathering gloom. I had a sudden need to know she was safe.
I turned to Adèle, at my arm. “What of your new governess, Adèle?” I asked. “What is her name? She is a small person, thin and a little pale, is she not? Tell me what you think of her.”
“Oh, Monsieur! Oui! Elle est—”
“In English, please.”
“Miss Eyre, she is fine. She is anartiste!”
“An artist?” I asked. That was not a good sign; I had had enough of artist types in Paris.
“Yes, but she is! Let me show you!”
She started to run off, but I stopped her. “Tomorrow,” I said. “I will see her work tomorrow.”
Just then Carter appeared, tutting over my accident and opening his case and setting to work. When he had finished and given me a sedative to ease the pain, sturdy John helped me up to my room. As he turned to leave, I thought to ask, “I have not yet seen the governess; surely she is about somewhere?”
“She has recently returned from a walk to Hay,” he said. “She is in her room, I believe. Did you want to meet with her this evening?”
“Oh no, John,” I said carelessly. “There is plenty of time for that another day.” And I settled myself in bed, closed my eyes, and drifted to sleep forthwith.
Chapter 11
Islept late, a drugged sleep, and when I arose, Ames and some of my tenants were already waiting to see me. I meant to have a quick cup of coffee and a boiled egg and then set to business, but suddenly Adèle flew into the room with a portfolio of Miss Eyre’s drawings under her arm. I was impatient to get on with the business of the day, but it seemed her excitement could not be contained. With a sigh, I flipped through the drawings quickly, or at least I meant to, but indeed, they turned out to be much more interesting than I had expected. Still, I had tenants waiting, so I handed the portfolio back to the child and sent her off, assuring her I would look at them again in the evening when I had more time.
My meetings ended up lasting most of the day, with Mrs. Fairfax popping quickly in and out, bringing tea to the guests. Eventually I signaled to her and confided that I desired to have Miss Eyre and Adèle with me for tea, for I thought it was time for a proper introduction.
Carter returned in the afternoon, and while he felt at my ankle I winced in acute pain. He glanced up at me. “That hurts?”
“Indeed, yes,” I responded.
He muttered something to himself that I insisted he repeat. “That is not a good sign,” he said. “Is it possible that you have injured this before?”
“Years ago, when I was a boy, I twisted it.”
“And what was done for it?”
“Nothing. Rest; it was just a twisted ankle.”
His experienced fingers probed more carefully. “I think we shall bind it,” he said.
