A/N Here begins the infamous house party--I'm not going to take up a lot of time describing these people--you already know who they are.
FISH AND COMPANY
Mr. Rochester was gone for a fortnight, when Mrs. Fairfax received a letter from him. The household was galvanized with excitement. Not only was he returning soon—he was bringing the house party guests with him. Mrs. Fairfax was consumed with a myriad of things that needed to be accomplished before the Gentry darkened our doors. There was an immense amount of cleaning; sorting of linens and washing of same; rearranging of furniture; and in the kitchens, a continual clamor as supplies were brought in and the food preparation began. There were new servants, of course, to help with all that needed doing. All our peace was at an end—all the bustling of the preparations made Adele quite giddy and I had a great deal of trouble getting her attention.
We finally gave in to the general excitement pervading the Hall and found employment in the many necessary tasks. Adele did a great deal of fetching and carrying, and she and Sophie showed a decided flair for flower arranging. I found myself busy in the kitchen, helping to make some of the pastries that would be wanted for Dinner desserts and Teatime treats. There were also the place cards to make out for the meals—Breakfast and Luncheon were to be informal—but Dinner required formality and that meant assigned seating. There were the names: Ingram, Eshton, Lynn, Dent—I wondered what these people would be like—would they be amiable or haughty?--would the young men be gallant and handsome and the young ladies sweet and maidenly?--who could tell?--the answers would be known soon enough.
All too soon the day came when they arrived in a clatter of carriages and horses. Bonnets and feathers, veils and shawls, an excited twitter reminiscent of the birds' morning calls—those were the ladies. The gentlemen were more subdued in their dress—surely the opposite of Nature where the males had the brighter, showier plumage and the females were kept quietly guarding the nest.
Adele and I had just come in from a morning spent in the Garden—she had captured a handsome specimen of a frog which she wished to show Mrs. Fairfax. We were about to ask for a container for Mr. Frog when John called out that the cavalcade had been sighted. Everything was forgotten in the rush to the windows; and indeed, the first signs of their arrival were apparent. I pulled Adele back from the window she had been half hanging out of in her excitement—I reminded her that we were behind in our studies. She pouted, but obeyed when I reminded her that Mr. Rochester would be displeased at any sign of bad behavior on her part. She expressed a desire to see the ladies and show off some of her accomplishments. I told her that we could not go downstairs unless we were invited to do so. There was another pout, but she could see that she had nothing to gain by misbehaving—and everything to lose if she persisted. With a great sigh, she finally settled down to her sums.
Meanwhile, downstairs we could hear the bustle and commotion as they came into the Hall and chattered over refreshing cups of tea and draughts of ale while the luggage was brought in and properly distributed. I heard Mr. Rochester's voice now and then in the midst of the exclamations and conversation. It seemed to be a different place when he was at home—somehow the life went out of the place when he was absent.
Mrs. Fairfax had a message for me the next morning: Adele and I were to be present in the Drawing Room after Dinner that evening. I had no wish to be there, but when I expressed my preference to be absent, I was informed that Mr. Rochester had specified that I was to be present. I dreaded the whole business—I had no wish to mingle with Society—I was too conscious of my own inadequacies to feel comfortable in a room full of London belles and young Dandies who would be accompanied by their haughty, overbearing Mothers and overly hearty Fathers. There was to be no escape—he had said that if I did not present myself—he would himself come and fetch me.
I dreaded the evening to come; but nonetheless put a good face on things, I wore my best dress—the grey silk that I had had made up for Miss Temple's wedding—Adele was radiant in the new frock that she had been given upon Mr. Rochester's return from the Continent. We went downstairs before the Ladies rose from the Dinner table and took our seats in the Drawing Room. I had a bit of fancy work to occupy me while Adele looked at a picture book.
All too soon, they were upon us—a bright, chattering flock of finery and feathered headdresses—Adele immediately rose to greet them and was absorbed into their midst, accepted as a sort of novelty to be appreciated for its entertainment value. I, however, was content to stay in my quiet corner and observe the goings-on, while my presence was being ignored by the company.
The gentlemen came in soon after, borne upon a wave of laughter and a hint of cigar smoke. I saw him come into the room although I was not looking for him. He was very much the good host that evening—genial and smiling at something one of the other men had said to him. One of the young ladies went to the pianoforte to play and some of them began to sing.
Soon one of the young ladies (it was Miss Ingram) went to Mr. Rochester and begged him for a song. He obliged with an old ballad of love and war which was well received by all. I had never heard him sing before and was amazed at my reaction. For a moment—it was as though he and I were the only people in that room—and the words he sang were for me alone to hear.
"Oh young Lochinvar is come out of the west,
Through all the wide Border his steed was the best;
And save his good broadsword he weapon had none;
He rode all unarm'd, and he rode all alone.
So faithful in love and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar..." (1)
So it went until Lochinvar rode off with his stolen bride, in the teeth of all opposition, into the land of "Happily Ever After". The spell was broken when one of the dowagers made a slighting remark about Governesses with a significant glance in my direction, and her companion tried to hush her with a reminder that I was present and undoubtedly had heard her comment. She tossed her turbaned and feathered head and said that she hoped it would do me good to hear the truth about myself. My enjoyment of the evening was at an end. In the general bustle as some of the group dispersed from the piano, I took advantage of the opportunity to withdraw.
It seemed that my retreat had not gone unnoticed, Mr. Rochester had come out of the Drawing Room and almost before I had set foot on the stairs, he summoned me to follow him to the Library. I went reluctantly—I knew I should not have gone from the room so early, but I had had all I could take for the evening in terms of my feelings—it was hard to be ignored in a corner—even harder to be insulted when I had done nothing to merit the ill treatment.
He had started to say something when he noticed my expression—he paused, seeming to study my face. "What's the matter with you?" he asked, "You don't look very well—have you been ill while I was gone?" I shook my head in the negative—I couldn't trust my voice at this point. "Come now, tell me what is wrong—you look as though you might be about to cry."
I shook my head again and moved away from him towards the bookshelves. He followed me, "Jane, I can tell that something is the matter—won't you tell me what it is? Do I have to drag it out of you, syllable by syllable?" His relentless pursuit of the matter was most upsetting—I was about to disgrace myself by blurting it all out—everything I had felt and suffered—all my sentiments laid bare—when I was saved. There was a tentative knock on the Library door—John was there, with a message for Mr. Rochester.
"Very well, I'll see to it in a minute," my master said, dismissing John to his duties. He turned back to me and said, "We''ll talk tomorrow. For now, you look tired—you should rest—have Sophie fetch Adele—it's definitely past her bed time. I want you to know that I heard what Lady Ingram said about Governesses and I think it was very unjust of her to say that; but there's not much one can do about that sort of rudeness except to ignore it."
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I stood there watching her as she left the room—something was wrong with her—she seemed to be tired and depressed. I began to wonder if I had done the right thing by bringing these people here. It had seemed like a good idea at the time; especially to use a flirtation with Blanche as a diversion—a sort of screen for my true feelings. I had hoped for a show of jealousy from Jane, but that was not what I was seeing. I had miscalculated somewhere.
Well, I had other concerns at the minute—Mrs. Poole had asked to speak to me. I would have to see to my incubus. This was certainly not the time for one of those outbreaks which, though infrequent, were always to be dreaded. I hoped we could keep a lid on Pandora's Box of troubles, at least for the time being.
(1) " Lochinvar" from "Marmion" by Sir Walter Scott.
He put his foot in it didn't he? Odd how we always hurt the one we love. More party next chapter--fortunes will be told!
