I waited until after dinner to broach the subject. Miss Ingram had been at my side all evening. Sitting in the Eshtons’ drawing room, listening to Miss Ingram play the piano, I thought again of Jane, of her amusing lack of skill at that instrument, but also her lack of embarrassment about it. It was time for me to return to Thornfield: I yearned to see Jane again, and I worried over Bertha. I knew I would receive word from Thornfield if another event occurred, but I also knew I could not afford to wait for that to happen. I needed to be on hand, I told myself. I needed to make sure that all was still well. And I could not keep Gerald Rochester out of my mind. Someday he would appear, I was sure, and I could not leave those at Thornfield, who knew nothing of him, to deal with him alone.
When Miss Ingram finished her piece, I vigorously applauded, and before anyone else could say anything, I rose. “Miss Ingram, perhaps you don’t know that I purchased a new pianoforte when I returned from Jamaica. While I have dabbled at playing on it, I would like nothing more than to have you christen it properly. Why don’t we all”—I cast my gaze around the room to include all present—“why don’t we all move on to Thornfield-Hall, where it has been many years since a party of this significance has entered our gates.” How could they decline such an invitation? As I expected, Miss Ingram was the first to gush her enthusiasm, and the next morning I sent a message to Mrs. Fairfax to prepare for our arrival.
***
I may have fled like a coward from Thornfield, but a fortnight later I returned like a king, and what a procession we must have seemed as we rode up the drive to Thornfield-Hall: the carriages polished and shined, the coach horses trotting briskly with braided manes and ribboned tails, and the rest of us on horseback leading the way, with Miss Ingram and I in front, she resplendent in purple with a matching purple veil surrounding her black curls, and I sitting proudly on Mesrour. I only hoped Adèle might have dragged Jane to the window to watch our approach.
I did not see Jane the day we arrived, nor did I expect to. She would have, as a matter of course, kept Adèle and herself invisible to the company unless they were summoned. But I did catch Mrs. Fairfax to ask if all had gone well in my absence, eager for assurance that Bertha had remained safe in her chambers.
“All was tranquil, Mr. Rochester,” she responded.
“Nothing unexpected occurred?”
“No, sir, except for a man who came looking for you, shortly after you left.”
I drew a quick breath. “Did he leave a name?”
“I asked his name, but all he said was that he was a relative, on the Rochester side. And he did not say what he wanted—only to speak with you.”
“It was only you who spoke to him?”
“Yes. A handsome man, I must say.”
“Did he say…that he would return?”
“Oh yes, indeed. And as he claimed a relation, I told him he would be welcome anytime.”
I paused, unsure how to instruct her without showing my alarm, and finally I turned away.
***
The first dinner at a hosting house is always a magnificent affair, and Thornfield’s was no different. The polished lustres gleamed, the plates sparkled in the candlelight, village men hired for the duration as footmen stood proud and straight in their finery, and the food was excellent. Mrs. Fairfax had, in all ways, done a superb job. The party lasted well into the night, and I wondered if we were keeping Jane from her slumber. I would be sure to have her in attendance tomorrow.
The next day an excursion was planned to an ancient stone circle, famous in the neighborhood. Before we left, when Mrs. Fairfax was making sure everything was in readiness, I stopped her for a moment, asking after Adèle and Miss Eyre.
“Oh, sir,” she said, “you should have seen Adèle last evening! She was dressed to the nines, hoping to be invited downstairs.”
“Well then,” I said, “have Miss Eyre bring her to the drawing room this evening after dinner.”
“Mr. Rochester, sir, I don’t know about that. Miss Eyre is not so used to…to…such company. I can’t imagine she would like appearing before so gay a party—all those strangers.”
“Nonsense!” I replied. Though Mrs. Fairfax spoke the truth, I would hear nothing of it. “If she objects,” I added, “tell her I will come and fetch her myself in return for her rebellion!” Janemustattend the gatherings; there could be no discussion. She held the most essential role in my play.
And come she did, but hidden in a corner, nearly behind some window draperies, while Adèle allowed herself to be petted by the ladies. Jane was working on some handwork, and I could tell that she chose not to look at me unless she felt sure I was occupied elsewhere. So, for my part, I stood beside the mantelpiece, watching the scene before me: Lord Ingram flirting with Amy Eshton; the other men gathered in a corner talking politics or rent-rolls no doubt; Adèle vying for attention from whoever would give it; Louisa Eshton sitting with one of the Lynn brothers, who was trying to speak French to Adèle; Mrs. Dent acting the grandmother she someday would be; and Lady Ingram, haughty and proud, sitting on the settee and nodding in conversation with her daughter Blanche, who seemed to be just waiting for me to approach. Of all of them, it was only Jane Eyre, sitting patiently in a corner, whom I did not watch; yet it was she on whom every fiber of my attention was focused.
And yet, to my shame, I knew the evening was painful for her, especially when Miss Ingram and her mother began an overloud and odious dissertation on children and, more to the point, their governesses, indirectly pointing their blunt conversational daggers at Jane herself. Ted Ingram, of course, could not refrain from adding his bit, making the conversation even more distasteful. While my first instinct was to protect Jane, I suppressed it: Jane had a sturdy sense of self and did not need my protection. Instead, I chose to let my distinguished guests parade in front of her their grotesque opinions and smallness of mind, showing at each turn how unworthy they were compared to the steadfast little governess in their midst.
It was Miss Ingram herself who changed the subject, for she, so unlike Jane, reveled in attention. Shooing Louisa Eshton away and seating herself at the piano, she called for me to sing with her, and I fell into her game—a game she believed she was winning, even as I mocked her with overwrought obedience and excessive praise. She, so used to being spoiled, thought it genuine emotion, I am sure. How I wanted to sit with Jane one day and laugh at Miss Ingram, the same way Miss Ingram had mocked the vicar and his wife so mercilessly, though on second thought, I could not imagine Jane laughing at anyone’s frailties. But Jane could see, I was sure, the artifice beneath nearly everything Miss Ingram said or did: the way that woman treated Adèle, the absence of any originality of mind and the shallowness of conversation, no matter how showy she was in presenting herself. It would be immediately clear to Jane that she was far better suited as a companion to me than Miss Ingram would ever be.
I moved away from the piano when I had finished in a sign that I had had enough, and as the talk turned to something entirely different, I noticed Jane attempting to make a quiet exit. I followed and caught her just as she was about to mount the staircase.
“Miss Eyre,” I said gently, “how do you do?”
“I am very well, sir,” she responded.
“Why did you not come and speak to me in the room?”
She replied, as I could have known she would, that she did not wish to disturb me when I seemed otherwise engaged. I longed to hear her say she had missed me, but she did not; I pointed out that she looked pale, yet she would not confess to jealousy, too polite to give any reaction at all to the odious scenes played out before her that evening. As ever, she kept her own counsel. I tried to urge her to return with me to the drawing room, but I saw that the thought of it nearly drew tears to her eyes. Aha—there was feeling in there for me after all. I did not wish her to suffer, only to allow that I belonged with her, not with Blanche Ingram. But this evening I had pushed her too far already, I saw, and regretted it.
