"Well, I sometimes think we are too quiet; but we run a chance of

being busy enough now: for a little while at least," said Mrs.

Fairfax, still holding the note before her spectacles.

Ere I permitted myself to request an explanation, I tied the string

of Adele's pinafore, which happened to be loose: having helped her

also to another bun and refilled her mug with milk, I said,

nonchalantly "Mr. Rochester is not likely to return soon, I suppose?"

"Indeed he is--in three days, he says: that will be next Thursday;

and not alone either. I don't know how many of the fine people at

the Leas are coming with him: he sends directions for all the best

bedrooms to be prepared; and the library and drawing-rooms are to be

cleaned out; I am to get more kitchen hands from the George Inn, at

Millcote, and from wherever else I can; and the ladies will bring

their maids and the gentlemen their valets: so we shall have a full

house of it." And Mrs. Fairfax swallowed her breakfast and hastened

away to commence operations.

The three days were, as she had foretold, busy enough. I had

thought all the rooms at Thornfield beautifully clean and well

arranged; but it appears I was mistaken. Three women were got to

help; and such scrubbing, such brushing, such washing of paint and

beating of carpets, such taking down and putting up of pictures,

such polishing of mirrors and lustres, such lighting of fires in

bedrooms, such airing of sheets and feather-beds on hearths, I never

beheld, either before or since. Adele ran quite wild in the midst

of it: the preparations for company and the prospect of their

arrival, seemed to throw her into ecstasies. She would have Sophie

to look over all her "toilettes," as she called frocks; to furbish

up any that were "passees," and to air and arrange the new. For

herself, she did nothing but caper about in the front chambers, jump

on and off the bedsteads, and lie on the mattresses and piled-up

bolsters and pillows before the enormous fires roaring in the

chimneys. From school duties she was exonerated: Mrs. Fairfax had

pressed me into her service, and I was all day in the storeroom,

helping (or hindering) her and the cook; learning to make custards

and cheese-cakes and French pastry, to truss game and garnish

desert-dishes.

The party were expected to arrive on Thursday afternoon, in time for

dinner at six. During the intervening period I had no time to nurse

chimeras; and I believe I was as active and gay as anybody--Adele

excepted. Still, now and then, I received a damping check to my

cheerfulness; and was, in spite of myself, thrown back on the region

of doubts and portents, and dark conjectures. This was when I

chanced to see the third-storey staircase door (which of late had

always been kept locked) open slowly, and give passage to the form

of Grace Poole, in prim cap, white apron, and handkerchief; when I

watched her glide along the gallery, her quiet tread muffled in a

list slipper; when I saw her look into the bustling, topsy-turvy

bedrooms,--just say a word, perhaps, to the charwoman about the

proper way to polish a grate, or clean a marble mantelpiece, or take

stains from papered walls, and then pass on. She would thus descend

to the kitchen once a day, eat her dinner, smoke a moderate pipe on

the hearth, and go back, carrying her pot of porter with her, for

her private solace, in her own gloomy, upper haunt. Only one hour

in the twenty-four did she pass with her fellow-servants below; all

the rest of her time was spent in some low-ceiled, oaken chamber of

the second storey: there she sat and sewed--and probably laughed

drearily to herself,--as companionless as a prisoner in his dungeon.




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