Chapter 13: Grace Speaks

One day at Thornfield was very much like any other for me. I spent every day in that tower with that unfortunate girl. I watched her change through the years. When I first came to Thornfield she was a delicate and scared little thing. Confinement, lack of sunlight and childbearing had changed her completely. Her figure grew bloated. Her eyes were more or less permanently bloodshot. Her face was always pale, but with very flushed cheeks. Her once lovely dark hair was often matted as she rarely let me brush it. Often she was quiet, but sometimes she would have violent fits that she would never remember the next day. Sometimes I preferred these fits to the way she would sit and stare at the fire for hours laughing her strange laugh. She sounded almost like a demon sometimes.

The master would leave Thornfield for months at a time, returning only for brief periods. When he returned she was always at her most agitated and violent. One day he returned from a trip abroad with a little French girl with him. According to the other servants, he said Adele was his ward. Although she was likely to be his bastard child, she looked nothing like him. Still, seeing this child made me wonder how he might have treated his son had he lived.

Mrs. Fairfax eventually employed a governess for the girl. She was a mousy, quiet, and scared young lady, but she worried me. During her free time she would often come up through the attic to the roof of Thornfield to stare out at the countryside, sometimes for hours at a time. She struck me as a girl who was too romantic to know the ways of the world. Sometimes she would even pace the hallways back and forth when she came down. I'm sure she heard Bertha's laugh when she came through the attic. If I ran into her in the halls on my way to the servants' supper, she would question me. The neighborhood surrounding Thornfield was awash with rumors of a mysterious lunatic in the attic. Miss Eyre knew nothing of these rumors, so her curiosity was greater than most. I was afraid that her inquisitiveness and restless nature would put her in harm's way.

The next time Mr. Rochester returned to Thornfield, he stayed far longer than he had stayed in years. The servants understood why. He was in love with Miss Eyre. The servants were perplexed by this, but I understood his reasons. It was true she was rather plain with no figure to speak of, but she was so different from his once-beautiful wife. The servants thought nothing would come of it. She had been educated at Lowood school, whose rules and religious drills were little better than those of a convent. Miss Eyre was far too devout and modest to ever fall prey to Mr. Rochester's affections, especially as he was not particularly young or handsome himself. I, however, had my worries. I could see that Miss Eyre harbored something in her soul that might lead her down a dark path. Already one unfortunate woman had traveled that road. I could only imagine what would be in store for such a naïve young woman in these circumstances. Still, as the days went by, the servants did observe that Miss Eyre did not seem to notice Mr. Rochester's affections and continued her governessing duties with the same modesty and decorum she had always displayed.

One day Bertha was extremely quiet despite the presence of the master in the house, so I let her spend the day in my sewing room where she could look out the window. Mrs. Fairfax had given me a fair bit of mending that day, so I hadn't been minding Bertha very much and let her stare as she pleased. Even absorbed in my work, I could sense her suddenly becoming distressed. I heard her utter a small cry.

I looked out the window to see what she had seen. Adele, the young French girl was playing by herself with the master's dog. Mr. Rochester and the governess were standing beneath an old horse chestnut tree and appeared to be deeply engaged in conversation. Even from this high up, I could see that he was telling her something important and personal. I could also see that she was deeply enthralled by him. Would Miss Eyre continue to be so modest and sensible, or was she falling prey to Mr. Rochester's affections? Looking at my charge, I know how she felt about the situation. I ushered her back to her inner chamber before she could see any more. I came out and took one last glance out the window. If one didn't know better, one would think that the master and the governess were lovers.

"No good will come of this," I muttered. "Mr. Rochester should know better and that poor governess knows nothing."

Bertha had been willing enough to go back to her room. As soon as she did, she sat down in front of the fire. Soon she began to laugh her demonic laugh. I could hardly stand it. I took my pint of porter and drank it as fast as I could. I fell asleep to the sound of her laughing.

I never felt her take my key from my apron pocket.