18 Cont. Jane Eyre - Read And Abridged By Stephanie Poppins

Jane Eyre is a first-person narrative from the perspective of the title character. Its setting is somewhere in the north of England, late in the reign of George III (1760–1820).

Jane's childhood is at Gateshead Hall, where she is emotionally and physically abused by her aunt and cousins. Her education is at Lowood School, where she gains friends and role models but suffers privations and oppression.

In this episode, a gypsy comes to call...

Read and abridged by English author and vocal artist Stephanie Poppins.

Transcript

Hello.

Welcome to Sleep Stories with Steph,

Your go-to romantic podcast that guarantees you a calm and entertaining transition into a great night's sleep.

Come with me as we immerse ourselves in a romantic journey to a time long since forgotten.

But before we begin,

Let's take a moment to focus on where we are now.

Take a deep breath in through your nose and let it out with a long sigh.

That's it.

Now close your eyes and feel yourself sink deeper into the support beneath you.

It is time to relax and fully let go.

There is nothing you need to be doing now and nowhere you need to go.

Happy listening.

This is S.

D.

Hudson Magic Jane Eyre Chapter 18 Continued I was pondering over things when an incident,

And a somewhat unexpected one,

Broke the thread of my musings.

Mr.

Mason,

Shivering as someone chanced to open the door,

Asked for more coal to be put on the fire,

Which burnt out its flame,

Though its mass of cinder still shone hot and red.

The footman who brought the coal in going out stopped near Mr.

Eshton's chair and said something to him in a low voice,

Of which I heard only the words,

Old woman.

Quite troublesome.

Tell her she should be put in the stocks if she does not take herself off,

Said the magistrate.

No,

Stop,

Interrupted Colonel Dent.

Don't send her away,

Eshton.

We might turn the thing to account.

Better consult the ladies.

And speaking aloud,

He continued,

Ladies,

You talked of going to Hay Common to visit the gypsy camp.

Sam here says one of the old mother bunches is in the servant's hall at the moment and insists on bringing brought before the quality to tell them their fortunes.

Would you like to see her?

Surely,

Colonel,

Cried Lady Ingram,

You would not encourage such a low imposter.

Dismiss her by all means at once.

But I cannot persuade her to go away,

My lady,

Said the footman,

Nor can any of the servants.

Mrs Fairbanks is with her just now,

Entreating her to be gone,

But she has taken a chair in the chimney corner and says nothing shall stir her from it till she gets leave to come in here.

What does she want?

Asked Mrs Eshton.

To tell the gentry their fortunes,

She says,

Mum,

And she swears she must and will do it.

What is she like?

Inquired the Mrs Eshton in a breath.

A shockingly ugly old creature,

Miss,

Almost as black as a croc.

Why,

She's a real sorceress,

Cried Frederick Lynn.

Let us have her in,

Of course.

To be sure,

Rejoined his brother,

It would be a thousand pities to throw away such a chance of fun.

Oh,

Ejaculated Miss Ingram,

And the man went.

Excitement instantly seized the whole party.

A running fire of rallery and jest was proceeding when Sam returned.

She won't come now,

Said he.

She said it's not her mission to appear before the vulgar herd.

I must show her into a room by herself,

And those who wish to consult her must go one by one.

And again Sam vanished,

And mystery animation and expectation rose to full flow once more.

She's ready now,

Said the footman as he reappeared.

She wishes to know who will be her first visitor.

I think I'd better look in upon her before any of the ladies go,

Said Colonel Dent.

Tell her a gentleman is coming.

Sam went away and returned.

She says,

Sir,

She'll have no gentlemen.

They need not trouble themselves to come near her.

Nor,

He added,

With difficulty suppressing a titter,

Any ladies either except the young and single.

By Joe,

She has taste,

Exclaimed Henry Lynn.

Miss Ingram rose solemnly.

I go first,

In a tone which might have befitted the leader of a forlorn hope,

Mounting a breach in the van of his men.

Oh,

My dearest,

Was her mama's cry,

But she swept past her in stately silence and passed through the door which Colonel Dent held open.

Then she entered the library.

A comparative silence ensued.

Minutes passed very slowly.

Fifteen were counted before the library door again opened.

Miss Ingram returned to us through the arch.

Would she laugh?

Would she take it as a joke?

All eyes met her,

With a glance of eager curiosity,

And she met all eyes with one of rebuff and coldness.

She looked neither flurried nor merry and walked stiffly to her seat,

Taking it in silence.

Well,

Blanche,

Said Lord Ingram.

What did she say,

Sister?

Asked Mary.

Now,

Now,

Good people,

Returned Miss Ingram.

Don't press upon me.

My whim is gratified,

And now I think Mr.

Eshton will do well to put the hack in the stocks tomorrow morning,

As he threatened.

Then she took a book,

Leant back in her chair,

And declined further conversation.

I watched her for nearly half an hour.

During all that time,

She never turned a page,

And her face grew momentarily darker.

She had obviously not heard anything to her advantage,

And it seemed to me from her prolonged fit of gloom,

That she herself,

Notwithstanding her professed indifference,

Attached undue importance to whatever revelations had been made.

Meanwhile,

Mary Ingram,

Amy,

And Louisa Eshton declared they dare not go alone,

And yet they all wished to go.

A negotiation was opened through the medium of the ambassador,

Sam,

And after much pacing to and fro,

A mission was at last with great difficulty extorted from the rigorous sybil for the three to wait upon her in a body.

Their visit was not so still as Miss Ingram's had been.

We heard hysterical giggling and little shrieks proceeding from the library.

I'm sure she is something not right,

They cried when they returned,

Running across the hall as if they were half scared out of their wits,

And they sank breathless into the various seats the gentlemen hastened to bring them.

Pressed for further explanation,

They declared the lady had told them of things they had said and done when they were mere children,

Described books and ornaments they had in their boudoirs at home,

Keepsakes that different relations had presented to them.

They affirmed she had even divined their thoughts and had whispered in the ear of each the name of the person she liked best in the world and informed them of what they most wished for.

Then the elder gentlemen laughed and the younger urged their services on the agitated fair ones.

In the midst of the tumult,

And while my eyes and ears were fully engaged in the scene before me,

I heard a hem close at my elbow.

I turned and saw Sam.

If you please,

Miss,

The gypsy declares there is one other young single lady in the room who has not been to her yet,

And she swears she will not go until she has seen all.

I thought it must be you,

There's no one else for it.

What shall I tell her?

Oh,

I will go by all means,

I answered,

And I was glad of the unexpected opportunity to gratify my much-excited curiosity.

I slipped out of the room,

Unobserved by any eye,

For the company were gathered in one mass about the trembling trio just returned,

And I closed the door quietly behind me.

If you like,

Miss,

Said Sam,

I'll wait in the hall for you,

And if she frightens you,

Just call and I'll come in.

No,

Sam,

Return to the kitchen,

I'm not in the least afraid,

Said I.

Nor was I,

But I was a good deal interested and excited.

Chapter 19 The library looked tranquil enough as I entered it,

And the sybil,

If sybil she were,

Was seated snugly enough in an easy chair at the chimney corner.

She had on a red cloak and a black bonnet,

Or rather a broad-brimmed gypsy hat tied down with a striped handkerchief under her chin.

An extinguished candle stood upon the table.

She was bending over the fire and seemed reading in a little black book,

Like a prayer book by the light of the blaze.

She muttered the words to herself as most old women do while she read,

And did not desist immediately on my entrance.

It appeared she wished to finish a paragraph.

I stood on the rug and warmed my hands,

Which were rather cold with sitting at a distance from the drawing-room fire.

I felt now as composed as ever I had been in my life,

There was nothing indeed in the gypsy's appearance to trouble one's calm.

She shut her book and slowly looked up.

Her hat brim partially shaded her face,

Yet I could see as she raised it,

It was a strange one.

It looked all brown and black.

Elf locks bristled out from beneath a white band which passed under her chin and came half over her cheeks,

Or rather jaws.

Her eye confronted me at once with a bold and direct gaze.

Well,

And you want your fortune told,

She said,

In a voice as decided as her glance,

As harsh as her features.

I don't care about it,

Mother,

You may please yourself,

But I ought to warn you,

I have no faith,

Said I.

It's like your impudence to say so,

I expected it of you,

I heard it in your step as you crossed the threshold.

Did you?

You've a quick ear.

I have,

And a quick eye,

And a quick brain.

You need them in your trade,

Said I.

I do,

Especially when I've customers like you to deal with.

Why don't you tremble?

I'm not cold.

Why don't you turn pale?

I am not sick.

Why don't you consult my art?

I'm not silly.

The old crow niched a laugh under her bonnet and bandage.

She then drew out a short black pipe,

And lighting it began to smoke.

Having indulged a while in this sedative,

She raised her bent body,

Took the pipe from her lips,

And while gaining steadily at the fire,

Said very deliberately,

You are cold,

You are sick,

And you are silly.

Prove it,

I rejoined.

I will,

In a few words.

You are cold because you're alone,

No contact strikes the fire from you that is in you.

You are sick because the best of feelings,

The highest and the sweetest given to man,

Keeps far away from you.

You are silly because,

Suffer as you may,

You will not be You are silly because,

Suffer as you may,

You will not beckon it to approach,

Nor will you stir one step to meet it when it awaits you.

She again put her short black pipe to her lips and renewed her smoking with vigour.

You might say all that to almost anyone who you knew lived as a solitary dependent in a great house,

I said.

I might say it to almost anyone,

But it would be true of almost anyone?

In my circumstances?

Yes,

Just so,

In your circumstances,

But find me another precisely placed as you are.

It would be easy to find you thousands.

You could scarcely find me one.

If you knew it,

You are peculiarly situated,

Very near happiness.

Yes,

Within reach of it.

The materials are all prepared,

There only wants and movement to combine them.

Chance lay them somewhat apart.

Let them be once approached and bliss results.

I don't understand enigmas,

Said I.

I never could guess a riddle in my life.

If you wish me to speak more plainly,

Show me your palm.

And I must cross it with silver,

I suppose.

To be sure.

I gave her a shilling.

She put it into an old stocking foot,

Which she took out of her pocket,

And having tied it round and returned it,

She told me to hold out my hand.

I did.

I did.

She approached her face to the palm and pulled over it without touching it.

It is too fine,

Said she.

I can make nothing of such a hand as that,

Almost without lines.

Besides,

What is in a palm,

Destiny is not written there.

I believe you,

Said I.

No,

She continued.

It is in the face,

On the forehead,

About the eyes,

In the eyes themselves,

In the lines of the mouth.

Kneel and lift up your head.

Ah,

Now you are coming to reality,

I said as I obeyed her.

I shall begin to put some faith in you presently.

I knelt within half a yard of her.

She stirred the fire so that a ripple of light broke from the disturbed coal.

The glare,

However,

As she sat,

Only threw her face into deeper shadow,

Whilst mine it illuminated.

I wonder with what feelings you came to me tonight,

She said,

When she had examined me a while.

I wonder what thoughts are busy in your heart during all the hours you sit in yonder room with the fine people flitting before you like shapes in a magic lantern,

Just as if sympathetic communion passing between you and them,

As if they were really mere shadows of human forms and not the actual substance.

I feel tired,

Often sleepy sometimes,

But seldom sad.

Then you have some secret hope to bore you up and please you with whispers of the future.

Not I.

The utmost I hope is to save money enough out of my earnings to set up a school someday in a little house rented by myself.

A mean nutriment for the spirit to exist on,

And sitting in that window seat,

You see,

I know your habits.

You have learned them from the servants.

Ah,

You think yourself sharp.

Well,

Perhaps I have.

To speak truth,

I have an acquaintance with one of them,

Mrs.

Poole.

I started to my feet when I heard the name.

You have,

Have you?

Thought I.

Don't be alarmed,

Continued the strange being.

She's as safe hand as Mrs.

Poole,

Close and quiet.

Anyone may repose confidence in her.

But as I was saying,

Sitting in that window seat,

Do you think of nothing but your future school?

Have you no present interest in any of the company who occupy the sofas and chairs before you?

Is there not one face you study?

One figure whose movements you follow with at least curiosity?

I like to observe all the faces and all the figures.

But do you never single one from the rest?

Or maybe it's two?

I do frequently.

When the gestures or looks of a pair seem telling a tale,

It amuses me to watch them.

What tale do you like best to hear?

Oh,

I have not much choice.

They generally run on the same theme,

Courtship and promise to an end in the same way.

Courtship and promise to an end in the same catastrophe,

Marriage.

And do you not like that monotonous thing?

Positively,

I don't care about it.

It is nothing to me.

Nothing to you?

When a lady young,

Full of life and health,

Charming with beauty and endowed with a gift of rank and fortune,

Sits and smiles in the eyes of a gentleman you.

.

.

I what?

You know,

And perhaps think well of.

I don't know the gentlemen here.

I have scarcely interchanged a syllable with one of them.

And as to thinking well of them,

I consider some respectable and stately,

And others dashing,

Handsome,

And lively,

But certainly there are liberty to be the recipients for whose smiles they please,

Without my feeling disposed to consider the transaction of any moment to me.

You don't know the gentlemen here.

You have not exchanged a syllable with one of them.

Would you say that of the master of the house?

He is not at home.

A profound remark,

A most ingenious quibble.

He went to Millcote this morning and will be back here tonight or tomorrow.

Does that circumstance exclude him from the list of your acquaintance?

Blocked him,

As it were,

Out of existence?

No,

I insisted,

But I can scarcely see what Mr.

Rochester has to do with the thing you have introduced.

I was talking of ladies smiling in the eyes of gentlemen,

And of late so many smiles have been shed into Mr.

Rochester's eyes that they overflow like two cups filled above the brim.

Have you never remarked that?

Mr.

Rochester has a right to enjoy the society of his guests.

No question about his right,

But have you never observed that of all the tales told here about matrimony,

Mr.

Rochester has been favoured with the most lively and the most continuous?

The eagerness of a listener quickens the tongue of a narrator.

I said this rather to myself and to the gypsy,

Whose strange talk,

Voice,

Manner,

Had by this time wrapped me in a kind of dream.

One unexpected sentence came from her lips after another,

Till I got involved in a web of mystification,

And wondered what unseen spirit had been sitting for weeks by my heart,

Watching its workings,

And taking record of every pulse.

Eagerness of a listener,

Repeated she.

Yes,

Mr.

Rochester has sat by the hour,

His ear inclined to the fascinating lips that took such delight in their task of communicating.

And Mr.

Rochester was so willing to receive and look so grateful for the pastime given him.

You have noticed this?

Grateful?

I cannot remember detecting gratitude in his face.

Detecting?

You have analysed then,

And what did you detect,

If not gratitude?

I said nothing.

You have seen love,

Have you not?

And looking forward,

You have seen him married,

And beheld his bride happy?

Not exactly.

Your witch's skill is rather at fault sometimes.

What the devil have you seen,

Then?

Never mind.

I came here to inquire,

Not to confess.

Is it known that Mr.

Rochester is to be married?

Yes,

And to the beautiful Miss Ingram?

Shortly.

Appearances would warrant that conclusion,

And no doubt they will be a superlatively happy pair.

He must love such a handsome,

Noble,

Witty,

Accomplished lady,

And probably she loves him,

If not his person,

At least his purse.

I know she considers the Rochester estate eligible to the last degree,

Though,

God pardon me,

I told her something on that point about an hour ago,

Which made her look wondrous grave.

The cornice of her mouth fell half an inch.

I would advise her black avice suitor to look out.

But,

Mother,

I did not come to hear Mr.

Rochester's fortune.

I came to hear my own.

And you have told me nothing of it.

Your fortune is yet doubtful.

When I examined your face,

One trait contradicted another.

Chance has me to do a measure of happiness.

That I know.

I knew it before I came here this evening.

She has laid it carefully on one side for you.

I saw her do it.

It depends on yourself to stretch out your hand and take it up.

But whether it will do so is the problem I study.

Reviews

Very intriguing! As always, late night gratitude to you🙏🏽🥰🙏🏽