“Yes, sir, but that is long ago,” she said, “and when her circumstances were very different: I could not be easy to neglect her wishes now.” Her compassion: it was so Jane, and I began to believe her, for it was exactly how she would think, with a degree of loyalty that, as proven just that morning during my ride with Miss Ingram, was lacking in so many of her “superiors” in society.
If this summons were real—and I wanted to believe it was, not least because I could not believe Jane would lie—then her absence would be painful, but not unbearable. “How long will you stay?” I asked her.
“As short a time as possible, sir.”
“Promise me only to stay a week,” I demanded. More than that I could not stand.
But she would not make that promise for fear she might have to break it. However, she did promise that she would indeed return as soon as she could.
I had schemed to rid myself of my guests so that I could be alone with Jane, but instead, it was she who was leaving, and they who were hanging on. I could not think what to say—after all my manipulations, to be defeated by a sick woman a hundred miles away. My dear Jane, opening her generous heart to someone who had treated her badly. Would that I could match her. “Well,” I said, “you must have some money; you can’t travel without money.”
I tried to give her fifty pounds for her expenses, but upright Jane refused to take more than she was owed; she refused to be in my debt, while I would have given her the world merely to ensure her return. Honest Jane—how could I have imagined she would try to deceive me? But—was I not deceiving her?
I hardly had time to think of that before she surprised me with a further statement: “Mr. Rochester, I may as well mention another matter of business to you while I have the opportunity. You have as good as informed me, sir, that you are going shortly to be married?”
My God. “Yes, what then?”
“In that case, sir, Adèle ought to go to school: I am sure you will perceive the necessity of it.”
“To get her out of my bride’s way; who might otherwise walk over her rather too emphatically. There’s sense to the suggestion,” I said, nodding, wanting to force her out with it, wanting her to know I could see my so-called bride as clearly as she. “Not a doubt of it: Adèle, as you say, must go to school; and you, of course, must march straight to—the devil?”
“I hope not, sir: but I must seek another situation somewhere.”
“In course! And old Madam Reed, or the Misses, her daughters, will be solicited by you to seek a place, I suppose?”
“No, sir; I am not on such terms with my relatives as would justify me in asking favors of them—but I shall advertise.”
“Not on such terms,” I thought, but they make you travel a hundred miles to see the old hag. “You shall walk up the pyramids of Egypt!” I snapped at her. “At your peril you advertise! I wish I had only offered you a sovereign! Give me back nine pounds, Jane; I’ve a use for it.”
She was leaving me after all: perhaps not immediately, but she was already making plans. It wasn’t Bertha who was driving her away, but Blanche, and at my own stupid hand! I was desperate, and furious at myself. I swore I’d solve this, but for now, I most urgently needed assurance of her return. For that, I managed to get her to promise not to seek a new position on her own, saying that I would find one that would suit her, for I had no intention of ever letting her go. In return, she made me promise to allow Adèle and herself both to be safe out of the house before my bride entered it, and I pledged my word on that.
As the conversation drew to a close, I could not bear to say good-bye, and told her so, hoping to draw her into a confession of fondness that I might cling to during her absence. “How do people perform that ceremony of parting, Jane? Teach me; I’m not quite up to it.” Not up to it: I had spent my life losing those I cared about.
“They say, Farewell; or any other form they prefer.”
“Then say it.”
“Farewell, Mr. Rochester, for the present.” There it was again, that calm coldness. How easy farewells seemed for her!
“What must I say?” My back was against the door; I could have taken her in my arms and prevented her from escaping.
“The same, if you like, sir.”
“Farewell, Miss Eyre, for the present: is that all?”
“Yes.”
“It seems stingy, to my notions, and dry, and unfriendly. I should like something else: a little addition to the rite. If one shook hands, for instance; but no,—that would not content me either.” Could I goad her into embracing me? But she stood in front of me determined and steady. “So you’ll do no more than say farewell, Jane?”