Thornfield Hall was a large gentleman's house in the country, near a town called Millcote. There,
after my sixteen-hour journey, I was welcomed by Mrs. Fairfax. She was a little old lady, dressed in
black, who seemed glad to have someone else to talk to, apart from the servants. Although the
house was dark and frightening, with its big rooms full of heavy furniture, I was excited at being in a
new place, and looked forward to my new life there, working for kind Mrs. Fairfax.
But I was surprised to discover on my first full day at Thornfield that Mrs. Fairfax was not in fact
the owner, as I had assumed, but the housekeeper, and that my new master was a Mr. Rochester,
who was often away from home. My pupil was a girl called Adele, seven or eight years old, who was
born in France and could hardly speak English. Luckily I had learnt French very well at Lowood, and
had no difficulty in communicating with young Adele, a pretty, cheerful child. It appeared that Mr.
Rochester, who had known Adele and her mother very well, had brought Adele back to England to
live with him after her mother had died. I taught her for several hours every day in the library,
although it was not easy to make her concentrate on anything for long, as she was clearly not used to
the discipline of lessons.
One day I took the opportunity of asking Mrs. Fairfax a few questions about Mr. Rochester, as I
was curious about him, and the little housekeeper seemed happy to talk.
'Is he liked by most people?' was my first question. 'Oh yes, his family have always been
respected here. They've owned the land round here for years,' she replied.
'But do you like him? What is his character like?'
'I have always liked him, and I think he's a fair master to his servants. He's a little peculiar,
perhaps. He's travelled a lot, you know. I expect he's clever, but I can't tell, really.'
'What do you mean, peculiar?' I asked, interested.
'It's not easy to describe. You're never sure whether he's serious or joking. You don't really
understand him, at least / don't. But that doesn't matter, he's a very good master.'
I could get no further information from Mrs. Fairfax about Mr. Rochester, but instead she offered
to show me round the whole house. We went through many large, impressive rooms, finally reaching
the top floor, where there was a narrow corridor with several small black doors, all shut. I stopped to
look at them, and thought for a moment they looked like prison doors, hiding evil secrets. No sooner
had I turned away to go downstairs than I heard a strange, ghostly laugh.
'Mrs. Fairfax!' I called out, as the housekeeper was already on her way downstairs. 'Did you hear
that laugh? Who is it?'
'It may be Grace Poole,' she answered calmly. 'She is paid to help the housemaid in her work,
and always sews in one of those rooms.' I heard the laugh again. It did not sound human to me.
'Grace!' called Mrs. Fairfax. I did not expect anyone to answer, but in fact a door opened and a
middle-aged woman appeared. She looked too plain and sensible to be a ghost.
'Too much noise, Grace,' said Mrs. Fairfax. 'Remember your instructions!' Grace nodded and
went back into the room.
Several times in the next few months I went up to the top floor again, where I could look out of
the high windows in the roof to see the surrounding countryside and be alone with my thoughts. I was
very happy teaching pretty little Adele in the daytime, and talking to kind old Mrs. Fairfax in the
evening, but I felt that something was missing from my life. I had dreams of a greater and better life,
and above all, I wanted to do more. People are not always satisfied with a quiet life, and women as
well as men need action.
While on the top floor I often heard Grace Poole's strange laugh, and sometimes I saw her too.
She used to go silently in and out of the room with a plate of food or a glass of beer.
One day in January I had a free afternoon, as Adele was ill, so I decided to walk to Hay, a village
two miles away, to post a letter for the housekeeper. It was a bright, frosty day, and I was enjoying
the fresh air and the exercise. Stopping on the lonely road, I watched the sun go down in the trees
behind Thornfield, and then in the silence I heard a horse approaching. Suddenly there was a crash
as the horse slipped and fell on the ice, bringing down its rider. I ran to see if I could help the
traveller, who was swearing furiously as he pulled himself free of his horse.
'Are you hurt, sir? Can I do anything?' I asked.
'Just stand back,' he growled, as he lifted himself painfully to his feet. Obviously his leg hurt him,
and he sat down quickly.
'If you need help, sir, I can fetch someone either from Thornfield Hall or from Hay,' I offered.