The next thing I remembered was waking up feeling as if I'd had a terrible nightmare.
I became aware that someone was lifting me into a sitting position, and that this person was holding me more tenderly than I'd ever been held before.
Soon I realized I was in my own bed; it was night. Bessie stood at the foot of the bed while a gentleman sat in a chair near my pillow and leaned over me.
Turning from Bessie, I studied the face of the gentleman. It was Mr. Lloyd, an apothecary sometimes called by Mrs. Reed when the servants were ailing.
For herself and the children she employed a physician.
"Well, who am I?" he asked.
"Mr. Lloyd," I said, offering him my hand.
He took it and smiled. "We shall get along very well, Miss Jane Eyre."
As he helped me lie down, he told Bessie that I was not to be disturbed during the night.
He gave some more directions and said that he would return tomorrow, and then he departed.
As he closed the door, my heart sank. I'd felt so cared for while he sat in the chair near my pillow.
"Would you like something to eat or drink?" Bessie asked kindly.
"No, thank you, Bessie."
"Then I think I shall go to bed, but you may call me if you want anything in the night."
She was so wonderfully polite that I dared to ask a question.
"What's the matter with me? Am I sick?"
"You grew sick, I suppose, with crying in the red room. But you'll be better soon."
Bessie went into the nearby housemaid's room, and I heard her talking.
"Sarah, come sleep with me in the nursery," she said to the housemaid.
"I don't dare be alone with that poor child tonight. She might die. It's so strange that she had a fit in the red room. Mrs. Reed was too hard on her."
Sarah came back with her, and they both went to bed. They whispered for half an hour before they fell asleep. I caught scraps of their conversation.
"Something passed her, all dressed in white, and then vanished . . . ," Bessie murmured.
At last they both slept, but I lay awake the whole night, still haunted by the ghost and Mrs. Reed's cruelty.
By noon the next day, I sat wrapped in a shawl by the nursery hearth.
I felt physically weak and broken down, but my worst ailment was a wretched sadness.
No sooner had I wiped one tear from my cheek than another followed.
Yet I should have been happy. None of the Reeds were there; they had all gone out in the carriage with their mama.
Miss Abbot was sewing in another room. And Bessie addressed me kindly as she moved back and forth, putting away toys.
Later Bessie went down to the kitchen and brought back a tart on a brightly painted plate that I'd always admired, yet had never been allowed to touch.
But I was too miserable to eat the tart or enjoy the plate. She brought me a book and sang to me as she began making a bonnet for Georgiana's doll, but nothing helped.
The next day Mr. Lloyd returned.
"Well, nurse, how is she?" he asked.
"Very well," replied Bessie.
"Then she ought to look more cheerful. Why have you been crying, Miss Jane? Have you any pain?"
"No, sir," I said.
"I daresay she's crying because she couldn't go out in the carriage," said Bessie.
"I never cried for such a thing in my life!" I said indignantly. "I cry because I'm miserable."
"Oh, miss!" Bessie said with a note of disapproval in her voice.
Just then the bell rang for the servants' lunch.
"That's for you, nurse," said Mr. Lloyd. "I'll stay with Miss Jane until you return."
He waited for her to leave and then he said, "What made you ill yesterday?"
"I was knocked down, but that didn't make me ill. I was shut up until after dark in a room where there's a ghost."
"You're afraid of ghosts?"
"Of Mr. Reed's ghost. He died in that room. It was cruel to shut me up alone without a candle."
Mr. Lloyd could not understand why I was still miserable in the daylight. Finally I blurted out, "I have no father or mother, brothers or sisters."
"You have a kind aunt and cousins."
"John knocked me down, and my aunt shut me up in the red room."
Mr. Lloyd took out his snuff box. "Aren't you thankful you have such a beautiful place to live?"
"It's not my house, sir. If I had anywhere else to go, I'd be glad to leave."
"Do you have any relatives besides Mrs. Reed?"
I shook my head. "My aunt once said I might have some poor Eyre relations."
"If we could find them, would you like to go to them?"
I thought for a minute. "No, I shouldn't like to belong to poor people."
"Would you like to go to school?" asked Mr. Lloyd.
I scarcely knew what school was. John hated his school, but Bessie had worked in a house where the young ladies had prospered at school.
She had boasted of the pictures they painted and the music they played. School implied an entrance into a new life.
"I should indeed like to go to school," I finally announced.
Soon I heard the carriage rolling up the gravel drive. Mr. Lloyd went to talk to Mrs. Reed, and because of what later happened, I assume he recommended I be sent to school.
One night soon afterward, Bessie and Miss Abbot sat sewing in the nursery while they thought I slept.
Miss Abbot talked about my family, and I learned for the first time that my father had been a poor clergyman.
My mother's friends and family had considered him beneath her, but she married him anyway.
Her father had cut her off without any money, and later my parents had died within a month of each other.
When Miss Abbot finished, Bessie sighed. "Miss Jane should be pitied."
"Yes, if she were a nice, pretty child, one might be compassionate, but one really cannot care for such a little toad."
"A beauty like Miss Georgiana would be more moving in the same condition," agreed Bessie.
"Oh, I dote on Miss Georgiana!" cried Miss Abbot. She paused for a moment and then said with equal fervor, "Shall we get some dinner?"
And they went downstairs, leaving me with much to think about as I fell asleep.
