Mrs Reed kept the orphan ten years: whether it was happy or not with her, I cannot say, never having been told: but at the end of that time she transferred it to a place you know – being no other than Lowood School, where you so long resided yourself. It seems her career there was very honourable: from a pupil, she became a teacher, like yourself – really it strikes me there are parallel points in her history and yours. She left it to be a governess: there, again, your fates were analogous; she undertook the education of the ward of a certain Mr Rochester.’
‘Mr Rivers!’ I interrupted.
‘I can guess your feelings,’ he said, ‘but restrain them for a while: I have nearly finished; hear me to the end. Of Mr Rochester’s character I know nothing, but the one fact that he professed to offer honourable marriage to this young girl, and that at the very altar she discovered he had a wife yet alive, though a lunatic. What his subsequent conduct and proposals were is a matter of pure conjecture; but when an event transpired which rendered inquiry after the governess necessary, it was discovered she was gone – no one could tell when, where, or how. She had left Thornfield Hall in the night; every research after her course had been vain: the country had been scoured far and wide; no vestige of information could be gathered respecting her. Yet that she should be found is become a matter of serious urgency: advertisements have been put in all the papers; I myself have received a letter from one Mr Briggs, a solicitor, communicating the details I have just imparted. Is it not an odd tale?’
‘Just tell me this,’ said I, ‘and since you know so much, you surely can tell it me – what of Mr Rochester? How and where is he? What is he doing? Is he well?’
‘I am ignorant of all concerning Mr Rochester: the letter never mentions him but to narrate the fraudulent and illegal attempt I have adverted to. You should rather ask the name of the governess – the nature of the event which requires her appearance.’
‘Did no one go to Thornfield Hall, then? Did no one see Mr Rochester?’
‘I suppose not.’
‘But they wrote to him?’
‘Of course.’
‘And what did he say? Who has his letters?’
‘Mr Briggs intimates that the answer to his application was not from Mr Rochester, but from a lady: it is signed “Alice Fairfax.”’
I felt cold and dismayed: my worst fears then were probably true: he had in all probability left England and rushed in reckless desperation to some former haunt on the Continent. And what opiate for his severe sufferings – what object for his strong passions – had he sought there? I dared not answer the question.
Oh, my poor master – once almost my husband – whom I had often called ‘my dear Edward!’
‘He must have been a bad man,’ observed Mr Rivers.
‘You don’t know him – don’t pronounce an opinion upon him,’ I said with warmth.
‘Very well,’ he answered quietly: ‘and indeed my head is otherwise occupied than with him: I have my tale to finish. Since you won’t ask the governess’s name, I must tell it of my own accord. Stay! I have it here – it is always more satisfactory to see important points written down, fairly committed to black and white.’
And the pocket-book was again deliberately produced, opened, sought through; from one of its compartments was extracted a shabby slip of paper, hastily torn off: I recognised in its texture and its stains of ultra-marine, and lake, and vermilion, the ravished margin of the portrait-cover. He got up, held it close to my eyes: and I read, traced in Indian ink, in my own handwriting, the words ‘JANE EYRE’ – the work doubtless of some moment of abstraction.
‘Briggs wrote to me of a Jane Eyre,’ he said; ‘the advertisements demanded a Jane Eyre: I knew a Jane Elliott. I confess I had my suspicions, but it was only yesterday afternoon they were at once resolved into certainty. You own the name and renounce the alias?’
‘Yes – yes; but where is Mr Briggs? He perhaps knows more of Mr Rochester than you do.’
‘Briggs is in London. I should doubt his knowing anything at all about Mr Rochester; it is not in Mr Rochester he is interested. Meantime, you forget essential points in pursuing trifles: you do not inquire why Mr Briggs sought after you