The Hope of Mr. Rochester

“Tramp! Tramp! Tramp!”  The clattering of my horse’s hooves fills my ears.  “Tramp! Tramp! Tramp!”  The louder the din, the more dark thoughts are chased from my mind.  If only such thoughtless bliss could last, for every turn of this lane brings me closer to my destination.  Every twist and bend in the road shows me more familiar landmarks.  Finally only one hill remains.  When I gain the summit, I will see my home.  Home!  As if the cursed house deserved that title.  Dark thoughts will again threaten to cloud my mind when my eyes fall upon the battlements of Thornfield Hall. 

Suddenly, my horse slipped on the sheet of ice covering the road, and we both went down.  Swearing rather violently, for the deuce of a horse had caused me to sprain my ankle, I vigorously endeavored to right myself and the horse.  “Are you injured, sir?”  I glanced up to see a young woman who I had passed on the road.  “Can I do anything?” she persisted.  “You must just stand to one side,” I answered her.  I was sure that she could be of no help to me.  Indeed, I was able to re-establish my horse, though when I stooped to feel my leg and foot I had to sit on a nearby stile.  They were causing me considerable pain.  The woman again drew near and offered to fetch help from Thornfield Hall or from Hay.  I declined the offer, sure that she would now leave me and go about her business. 

She watched me for a moment, then announced “I cannot think of leaving you, sir, at so late an hour in this solitary lane till I see you are fit to mount your horse.”  Surprised, I studied her countenance for the first time.  Her face showed her to be perhaps in her twenties, young but rather plain.  While her countenance was not beautiful, it was also not vain or proud.  There was a freshness about her, a purity in her expression that I had not encountered before.  “I should think you ought to be at home yourself,” I answered, “if you have a home in this neighbourhood.  Where do you come from?”  She answered, “From just below,” and once again offered to run to Hay for me as she was heading there to deliver a letter.  Could this be, I thought.  Aloud I said, “You live just below – do you mean at that house with the battlements?”  I pointed to Thornfield Hall.  “Yes, sir,” she replied.  How is this possible, I wondered?  I decided to examine her.  “Whose house is it?”  “It is Mr. Rochester’s.”  “Do you know Mr. Rochester?”  “No, I have never seen him.”  “He is not resident then?”  “No.”  “Can you tell me where he is?”  “I cannot.”  Puzzled, I observed, “You are not a servant at the hall, of course.  You are – “  I stopped, running my eyes over her simple though neat attire, hoping for a clue.  Thankfully, she was willing to help me.  “I am the governess,” she explained.  “Ah, the governess!” I exclaimed. 

Well, I surmised, since this is an intelligent woman whom I am paying a considerable sum I believe I should put her to good use.  Accordingly I said, “I cannot commission you to fetch help, but you may help me yourself, if you will be so kind.”  She answered in the affirmative.  “Try to get hold of my horse’s bridle and lead him to me.  You are not afraid?”  As I watched her endeavors to catch the beast, I could see that she was afraid of being trampled.  The scene was rather diverting actually – the small young governess trying to tame my spirited mountain of a horse.  At last I laughed, saying, “I see the mountain will never be brought to Mahomet, so all you can do is to aid Mahomet to go to the mountain.  I must beg of you to come here.”  She came.  “Excuse me,” I continued, “necessity compels me to make you useful.”  Leaning on her shoulder, I managed to limp to my horse who responded at once to my touch.  After springing into the saddle, I directed her to hand me my whip, which she did.  “Thank you.  Now make haste with the letter to Hay, and return as fast as you can.”  I spurred my horse on, and we were away. 

The dreaded Thornfield Hall was still before me, but my horrific past no longer threatened to invade my mind.  This young woman’s presence had brought me hope.  Her character seemed both intelligent and innocent.  She had struck my heart with delight, and I was sure that she would continue to do so.