Read My Mr. Rochester for Free Online Page B

and cloak and wait here.”
    I draped my cloak over my trunk along with my hat and scarf. While removing my gloves a strange, unnatural sound startled me. It had to be the limousine’s engine. I ran to the window and pulled back the curtain to see the vehicle drive away, red lamps glowing.
    The woman returned with a tray and left it on a small table set for two people near the fireplace. The smell of stew and fresh bread made my stomach growl. I dearly hoped I was intended to be one of the two, but she left the room without speaking to me.
    The door reopened, and in came a woman of maybe thirty with thick dark hair pulled back in a French braid. An old-fashioned light brown frock was draped over her arm as well as a white pinafore-like apron. She set aside the clothes and greeted me.
    “Hello, Jane. What a pretty dress.” Her smile was a little sad, as if she felt pity for me. “I’m Miss Temple, headmistress of Lowood. You’ve arrived too late to eat with the other girls, so you’d better share with me.”
    We sat down together, and I put my napkin over my lap. As she cut a piece of bread for me, I set her mind at ease. “I’m very glad to have come to Lowood. I never thought I’d be allowed to go to school.”
    “Why do you want to go to school, Jane?” Miss Temple ladled out a lamb stew with potatoes and carrots and leeks and a wonderful spice I didn’t recognize. There was butter and honey for the bread and a big glass of milk.
    There was no point in telling her how unhappy I was at Gateshead, about the Red Room, John Reed’s bullying, that I couldn’t bear to live there another day. Bishop Brocklehurst must have already told the people at Lowood I was an ungrateful child, so why would she believe me? My complaints would only reinforce such an indictment.
    “I want to be a teacher,” I said. “I want to be an independent woman.”
    Miss Temple’s eyes twinkled a little. “That’s an achievable goal. If you study hard and pass your exams, you could become a licensed governess.”
    “Oh.” I stared at my bowl. That’s not what I meant. Not a governess. The opposite of independence. Georgiana and Eliza had been horrid to our governess. Mrs. Reed never would defend the poor woman.
    “Or you might stay on here,” Miss Temple added. “Many of Lowood’s teachers are former pupils. For instance, Miss Miller who greeted you came to Lowood when she was eleven years old.”
    “That’s exactly what I would like, Miss Temple.”
    Her smile, still tinged with sadness, faded. “How old are you, Jane?”
    “Fourteen,” I answered—with a start. I had forgotten it was my birthday.
    I glanced at the lovely slouch hat and scarf on my trunk. Bessie must have made them as a birthday present. If so, she’d likely purchased the yarn from her own savings.
    My heart ached. I would miss Bessie. I regretted not being kinder to her, and it was a novel sensation. I always felt so abused and downtrodden, so often falsely accused of wickedness—it never occurred to me I might have actual faults. I vowed to be a better person from then on.
    I was ravenous, and everything tasted like heaven, but I didn’t get to finish my meal for at that point we were interrupted by another person.
    “Bishop Brocklehurst. I thought you’d left, sir.” Miss Temple rose hurriedly to her feet, and I followed her lead.
    “I had.”
    At the sight of my nemesis my spirits sank. His expression was as sour as I remembered. I knew his opinion of me, and I didn’t want him to share it with Miss Temple.
    “I saw the cart boy on the road. He told me he’d just delivered this girl.” He turned his eye on me.
    Against my will, I shivered.
    “I spoke with your benefactor not three hours ago, Jane Eyre. I was afraid of this.” He rubbed my velvet collar between his fingers. “Mrs. Reed no doubt meant a kindness, outfitting you thusly. It’s no kindness to encourage a girl to put herself above her station. Is that not so, Miss