When I finished, Miss Temple regarded me a few minutes in silence, and then said, “I know Mr. Lloyd, and I will write to him. If his reply agrees with your story, I will know you are not a liar, and I will clear your name, and tell the whole school you are innocent. But I believe you already.”
She kissed me, and then addressed Helen Burns, “How are you tonight, Helen? Have you coughed much?”
“Not quite so much, I think, ma’am.”
“And the pain in your chest?”
“It is a little better.”
Miss Temple checked Helen’s pulse and sighed. But then she smiled cheerfully and said, “But you two are my guests tonight, I must treat you as such.”
She called her servant and ordered tea, bread and butter. But the servant came back only with plates and teacups for three but only one toast. She explained the cook would not provide more bread and butter. She was too afraid that Mr. Brocklehurst would find out.
As soon as we were left alone, Miss Temple invited Helen and me to approach the table and gave each of us a cup of tea with one delicious but thin morsel of toast.[16] Then she got up, opened a cupboard, and took out a whole fruitcake with nuts on top, wrapped in wax paper.
“I wanted to give each of you some of this to take with you,” she said, “but as there is so little toast, you will have cake now.”
What an earthly heaven I was in that night!
The china teacups looked so pretty in the firelight, with their patterns of tiny flowers. The steam from the teapot, the aroma of hot toast, and the sight of the thick slices of cake on the plates filled me with joy. As we feasted, and I listened to Helen talking to Miss Temple about French books and faraway places, I couldn’t think of a time when I had been happier. Not only was I eating well for the first time in weeks, but I was with beautiful, kind, wise Miss Temple, and I felt safe and warm.
Just a week later, Miss Temple stood before the school to make an announcement. She had made inquiries, she told us, and she had discovered, from a reliable source, that the allegations made against Miss Jane Eyre were false. Everyone applauded, and all the teachers hugged me. My name was cleared.
From that day onward, I resolved to work harder than ever. Soon I was put up to the next class, and, as I had been promised, started to learn French and drawing. I would not now have exchanged Lowood with all its hardships for Gateshead with its daily luxuries.
Chapter 9
But the hardships of Lowood lessened. Spring came. The snows of winter melted. The nights and mornings were not so freezing cold any longer. First flowers started to appear amongst leaves. On Thursday afternoons we now took walks, and I realized that in spring the countryside around Lowood was beautiful. There was a clear stream nearby, and the school stood in the middle of a pretty wooded valley surrounded by high hills, purple with heather.
May followed April and brought days of blue skies and sunshine with it. All this beauty I enjoyed often and fully, free, unwatched, and almost alone. For this liberty and pleasure there was, however, an unpleasant cause.
Even though Lowood had a beautiful setting, it was not a healthy one. The nearby forest was full of for that crept into the school and breathed typhus through its crowded schoolroom and dormitory. Ere May arrived, our school was transformed into a hospital.
If we had all been strong and well-fed,[17] it wouldn’t have mattered so much. But, semi-starvation and neglected colds made forty-five girls ill at one time. Classes were broken up, rules relaxed. The teachers spent every moment looking after the ill or packing things of those who were fortunate enough to have friends and relatives and could leave Lowood at once. Many went home to die, some died at school and were buried quietly and quickly.
While the disease had become an inhabitant of Lowood, and death its frequent visitor, gardens glowed with flowers: lilies, roses and tulips were in bloom. Some of these lovely flowers ended up as a humble decoration for the coffins.
But I, and the rest who continued well, enjoyed the beauties of the scene and season. We walked in the wood from morning till night, we did what we liked, went where we liked: we lived better too.
Mr. Brocklehurst and his family never came near Lowood now driven away by the fear of infection. The servants and teachers were kinder to us. They gave us slices of pie, apples and parcels of bread and cheese to take out on our explorations.
I usually found a large, flat stone in the middle of the stream, where I had a picnic every day with my chosen friend Mary Ann. She was witty and original, and had a manner which set me at my ease. Some years older than I, she knew more of the world, and could tell me many things I liked to hear. She could tell stories well, I could analyse; she liked to inform, I liked to question, and we spent hours talking.
And where, meantime, was Helen Burns? Why did I not spend these sweet days of liberty with her? Had I forgotten her?
No doubt she was far better than Mary Ann, as the latter could only tell funny stories. But Helen was gravely ill. She was kept separately and Miss Temple took care of her personally. She had been taken to a room upstairs, and I saw her once in the garden with Miss Temple but was not allowed to speak with her. She did not have typhus, but an even more serious disease – consumption. How serious the disease was I learnt only later.
One evening, in the beginning of June, I had stayed out very late with Mary Ann in the wood. We had wandered so far that lost our way and it was only thanks to a man and woman, whose cottage we accidentally found that we found our way back. When we returned, we saw the doctor’s pony at the gate. Mary Ann went inside, and I stayed behind a few minutes to plant in my garden a handful of roots I had dug up in the forest. It was such a pleasant evening that I felt sorry for the sick who were lying in their beds now.
I was still there when the doctor came out, accompanied by a servant. He climbed onto his pony and left, and I ran over to the servant to ask about Helen.
“Is it Helen Burns Mr. Bates has been to see?”
“Yes,” was the reply.
“What does he say about her?”
“She is doing very poorly. He says she’ll not be here long.”
I knew instantly what this meant. It did not mean that Helen was going to her own home. She was going to be taken to the region of spirits. She was about to die. I felt a desire – a necessity to see her, I asked in what room she lay.
“She’s in Miss Temple’s room,” said the nurse.
“May I go up and speak to her?”
“Oh, no, child! And now it’s time for you to come inside.” The nurse closed the front door.
I went in by the side entrance which led to the schoolroom and was just in time to hear Miss Miller call the pupils to go to bed.
I could not fall asleep. I was thinking about Helen all the time. At last, after lying in bed for a while I made up my mind and got up quietly. Everybody was fast asleep and I crept away to Miss Temple’s room unnoticed. “I must embrace her before she dies,” I thought. “I must exchange with her one last word.”
A light shone through the keyhole of Miss Temple’s room. I opened the door gently without knocking, and went in. Miss Temple was not there – she was usually up all night, taking care of the sick. The servant I had spoken to earlier was asleep in one of the armchairs. My eye sought Helen, and feared to find death.
I felt slight relief as I saw Helen, heavily breathing and pale but alive and awake. She was calm as usual, and recognized me at once.
“Can it be you, Jane?” she asked, in her own gentle voice.
“Perhaps she won’t die,” I suddenly hoped. “They must be mistaken.”
“Why are you here, Jane? It is past eleven o’clock.”