"You shall tell me this part of the story another time," I said;
"but now I have a particular reason for wishing to hear all about
the fire. Was it suspected that this lunatic, Mrs. Rochester, had
any hand in it?"
"You've hit it, ma'am: it's quite certain that it was her, and
nobody but her, that set it going. She had a woman to take care of
her called Mrs. Poole--an able woman in her line, and very
trustworthy, but for one fault--a fault common to a deal of them
nurses and matrons--she KEPT A PRIVATE BOTTLE OF GIN BY HER, and now
and then took a drop over-much. It is excusable, for she had a hard
life of it: but still it was dangerous; for when Mrs. Poole was
fast asleep after the gin and water, the mad lady, who was as
cunning as a witch, would take the keys out of her pocket, let
herself out of her chamber, and go roaming about the house, doing
any wild mischief that came into her head. They say she had nearly
burnt her husband in his bed once: but I don't know about that.
However, on this night, she set fire first to the hangings of the
room next her own, and then she got down to a lower storey, and made
her way to the chamber that had been the governess's--(she was like
as if she knew somehow how matters had gone on, and had a spite at
her)--and she kindled the bed there; but there was nobody sleeping
in it, fortunately. The governess had run away two months before;
and for all Mr. Rochester sought her as if she had been the most
precious thing he had in the world, he never could hear a word of
her; and he grew savage--quite savage on his disappointment: he
never was a wild man, but he got dangerous after he lost her. He
would be alone, too. He sent Mrs. Fairfax, the housekeeper, away to
her friends at a distance; but he did it handsomely, for he settled
an annuity on her for life: and she deserved it--she was a very
good woman. Miss Adele, a ward he had, was put to school. He broke
off acquaintance with all the gentry, and shut himself up like a
hermit at the Hall."
"What! did he not leave England?"
"Leave England? Bless you, no! He would not cross the door-stones
of the house, except at night, when he walked just like a ghost
about the grounds and in the orchard as if he had lost his senses--
which it is my opinion he had; for a more spirited, bolder, keener
gentleman than he was before that midge of a governess crossed him,
you never saw, ma'am. He was not a man given to wine, or cards, or
racing, as some are, and he was not so very handsome; but he had a
courage and a will of his own, if ever man had. I knew him from a
boy, you see: and for my part, I have often wished that Miss Eyre
had been sunk in the sea before she came to Thornfield Hall."