20 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, Jane lies in bed, gazing at the moonlight coming in her window, when she hears a heart-stopping cry for help.

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 SD Hudson Magic.

Jane Eyre Chapter 20 I had forgotten to draw my curtain,

Which I usually did.

Which I usually did and also to let down my window blind.

The consequence was that when the moon which was full and bright came in her course to that space in the sky opposite my casement and looked in at me through the unveiled panes,

Her glorious gaze roused me.

Awaking in the dead of night,

I opened my eyes on her disc,

Silver white and crystal clear.

It was beautiful,

But too solemn.

I half rose and stretched my arm to draw the curtain.

Good God,

What a cry!

The night,

Its silence,

Its rest was vent in twain by a savage,

Shrill sound that ran from end to end of Thornfield Hall.

My pulse stopped,

My heart stood still,

My stretched arm was paralysed.

The cry died and was not renewed.

Indeed,

Whatever being uttered that faithful shriek could not soon repeat it.

The thing delivering such utterance must rest if it could repeat the effort.

It came out of the third storey,

For it passed overhead.

Help,

Help,

Help!

Three times rapidly.

Well,

No one come,

It cried,

And then,

While the staggering and stamping went on wildly,

I distinguished through plank and plaster.

Rochester,

Rochester,

For God's sake,

Come!

Rochester,

Rochester,

For God's sake,

Come!

A chamber door opened.

Someone ran along the gallery and another step stamped on the flooring above.

Something fell,

And there was silence.

I had put on some clothes,

So horror shook all my limbs.

I issued from my apartment,

The sleepers were all aroused.

Ejaculations,

Terrified murmurs sounded in every room,

Door after door unclosed.

One looked out and another looked out,

The gallery filled.

Gentlemen and ladies alike quitted their beds.

Oh,

What is it?

They said.

Who's hurt?

What has happened?

Vagelite,

Is it fire?

Are they robbers?

Where shall we run?

But for the moonlight,

They would have been in complete darkness.

They ran to and fro,

They crowded together.

Some sobbed,

Some stumbled.

Confusion was inextricable.

Where the devil is Rochester?

Cried Colonel Dent.

I cannot find him in his bed.

Here,

Here,

Shouted in return,

Be composed,

All of you,

I'm coming.

The door at the end of the gallery opened,

And Mr.

Rochester advanced with a candle.

He had just descended from the upper storey.

What awful event has taken place?

Cried Miss Ingram.

Speak,

Let us know the worst at once.

Don't pull me down or strangle me,

He replied.

It's a mere rehearsal of much ado about nothing.

Now,

Ladies,

Keep off,

Or I shall wax dangerous.

And dangerous,

He looked.

His black eyes darted sparks.

Then,

Calming himself by an effort,

He added.

A servant has had the nightmare,

That's all.

She's an excitable,

Nervous person,

And constructed her dream into an apparition of some sort.

Gentlemen,

Have the goodness to set the ladies the example.

Miss Ingram,

I'm sure you will not fail in convincing superiority to idle terrors.

Amy and Louisa return to your nest like a pair of darts as you are.

Madame,

To the dowagers,

You will take cold to a dead certainty if you stay in this chill gallery any longer.

And so,

By dint of alternate coaxing and commanding,

He contrived to get them all once more enclosed in their separate dormitories.

On the contrary,

However,

I began to dress myself carefully.

The sounds I heard after the scream and the words that were uttered,

Probably heard only by me,

Assured me this was no servant's dream.

When dressed,

I sat a long time by the window,

Looking out over the silent grounds and silved fields,

And waiting for I knew not what.

Stillness returned,

Each murmur and movement ceased gradually,

And in about an hour Thornfield Hall was again as hushed as a desert.

I left the window,

And moved with little noise across the carpet.

As I stooped to take off my shoes,

A cautious hand tapped low at the door.

Am I wanted?

I asked.

Are you up?

Asked the voice.

Yes,

Sir.

And dressed?

Yes.

Come out,

Then,

Quietly.

I obeyed,

And I went to the door.

I obeyed,

Mr Rochester stood in the gallery holding a light.

I want you,

He said.

Come this way,

Take your time,

And make no noise.

My slippers were thin,

I could walk the matted floor as softly as a cat.

He glided up the gallery and up the stairs,

And stopped in the dark,

Low corridor of the fateful third story.

I stood at his side.

Have you a sponge in your room?

He asked,

In a whisper.

Yes,

Sir.

Have you any volatile salts?

Yes.

Then go back and fetch both.

I returned,

Sought the sponge on the washstand,

The salts in my drawer,

And once more retraced my steps.

He was waiting,

Holding a key in his hand,

And approached one of the small back doors.

You don't turn sick at the sight of blood.

I think I shall not,

I've never been tried yet.

I felt a thrill when I answered him,

But no coldness and no faintness.

Give me your hand,

He said.

It will not do to risk a fainting fit.

I put my fingers into his.

Warm and steady,

Was his remark.

Then he turned the key,

And opened the door.

I saw a room I remembered to have seen before,

The day Mrs Fairfax showed me over the house.

It was hung with tapestry,

But the tapestry was now looped up in one part,

And there was a door apparent which had been there concealed.

This door was open.

A light shone out of the room within.

I heard thence a snarling,

Snatching sound,

Almost like a dog quarrelling.

Mr Rochester putting down his candle said to me,

Wait a minute,

And he went forward to the inner apartment.

A shout of laughter greeted his entrance,

Noisy at first,

And then terminating in Grace Paul's own goblin,

Ha!

It was her then.

Here Jane,

He said,

And I walked round to the other side of a large bed,

Each with its drawn curtains,

Concealed a considerable portion of the chamber.

An easy chair was near the bed head.

A man sat in it,

Dressed with the exception of his coat,

Was still.

His head leant back,

His eyes closed.

Mr Rochester held the candle over him,

Recognised in his pale and seemingly lifeless face,

The stranger Mason.

I saw too that his linen on one side and one arm was almost soaked in blood.

Hold the candle,

Said Mr Rochester,

And I took it.

Then he fetched a basin of water from the washstand.

He took the sponge,

Dipped it in,

And moistened the corpse-like face.

He asked for my smelling bottle and applied it to the nostrils.

Mr Mason shortly unclosed his eyes and groaned.

Is there immediate danger?

He said.

No,

Said Mr Rochester,

A mere scratch.

Don't be so overcome,

Man,

Bear up.

I'll fetch a surgeon for you now myself.

You'll be able to be removed by morning.

I hope that Jane—he continued.

Sir,

I shall have to leave you in this room with this gentleman for an hour,

Or perhaps two.

You will sponge the blood as I do when it returns.

If he feels faint,

You will put the glass of water on that stand to his lips,

And your sauce to his nose.

You will not speak to him on any pretext.

And Richard?

It would be at the peril of your life if you speak to her.

Agitate yourself,

And I'll not answer for the consequences.

Again the poor man groaned and looked as if he dared not move.

Fear,

Either of death or something else,

Appeared almost to paralyse him.

Remember,

No conversation,

Said Mr Rochester,

And left the room.

I experienced a strange feeling as the key grated in the lock,

And the sound of his retreating steps ceased to be heard.

Here then I was,

In the third story,

Fastened into one of its mystic cells.

Night around me,

A pale and bloody spectacle under my eyes and hands,

A murderess hardly separated from me by a single door.

The rest I could bear,

But I shuddered at the thought of Grace Poole bursting out on me.

I must keep to my post,

However,

And watch this ghastly countenance,

These blue still lips forbidden to unclose,

These eyes now shut,

Now opening and wandering round the room.

I must see the light of the unsnuffed candle wane on my employment,

The shadows darken on the walls of the room,

The shadows darken on the wrought antique tapestry round me,

And grow black under the hangings of the vast old bed.

Amidst all this,

I had to listen as well as to watch,

To listen for the movements of the wild beast or the fiend in yonder side den.

But since Mr Rochester's visit,

It seemed spellbound.

All the night I heard but three sounds at three long intervals,

A step creak,

A momentary renewal of the snarling,

A canine noise,

And a deep human groan.

My own thoughts worried me.

What crime was this that lived incarnate in this sequestered mansion and could neither be expelled nor subdued by the owner?

What mystery that broke out now in fire and now in blood at the deadest hours of night?

What creature was it that masked in an ordinary woman's face and shape,

Uttered the voice now of a mocking demon and a none of a carrion-seeking bird of prey?

And this man I bent over,

This commonplace quiet stranger,

How had he become involved in the web of horror?

And why had the fury flown at him?

What made him seek this quarter of the house at such an untimely season when he should have been asleep in bed?

I had heard Mr Rochester assign him an apartment below.

So what brought him here?

And why now was he so tame under the violence or treachery done him?

Why did Mr Rochester enforce this concealment?

His guest had been outraged,

His own life on a former occasion being hideously plotted against,

And both attempts he smothered in secrecy and sank in oblivion.

Lastly,

I saw Mr Mason was submissive to Mr Rochester,

That the impetuous will of the latter held complete sway over the inertness of the former.

The few words which had passed between them assured me of this.

Oh,

I could not forget his look and his paleness when he whispered,

Jane,

I've got a blow,

I've got a blow,

Jane.

I could not forget how his arm had trembled when he rested on my shoulder and it was no light matter which could thus bow the resolute spirit and thrill that vigorous frame of Fairfax Rochester gave.

When will he come?

When will he come?

I cried inwardly as the night lingered and lingered,

As my bleeding patient drooped,

Moaned and sickened,

And neither day nor aid arrived.

I had again and again held the water to Mason's white lips,

Again and again offered him the stimulating salts,

But my efforts seemed ineffectual.

Either bodily or mental suffering or loss of blood,

Or all three combined,

Were fast prostrating his strength.

He moaned so and looked so weak,

Wild and lost,

I feared he was dying and I might not even speak to him.

The candle wasted at last went out,

And presently I heard Pilot bark far below,

Out of his distant kennel in the courtyard.

Hope revived,

And Mr.

Rochester entered,

With him the surgeon he'd been to fetch.

Now Carter be on the alert,

He said to this last,

I'll give you but half an hour for dressing the wound,

Fastening the bandages,

And getting the patient downstairs and all.

But is he fit to move?

But is he fit to move,

Sir?

No doubt of it,

It's nothing serious,

He's nervous and his spirits must be kept up.

Come,

Set to work.

Mr.

Rochester drew back the thick curtain,

Drew up the Holland blind and let in all the daylight he could.

I was surprised and cheered to see how far Dawn was advanced.

Now,

My good fellow,

How are you?

He asked.

She's done for me,

I fear,

Was the faint reply.

Not a whit,

Mr.

Rochester insisted.

This day,

Fortnight,

You'll hardly be a pin the worst of it.

You've lost a little blood,

That's all.

Carter assure him there's no danger.

I can do that conscientiously,

Said Carter,

Who had now undone the bandages.

Only I wish I could have got here sooner,

He would not have bled so much.

The flesh on his shoulder is torn as well as cut.

This wound was not done with a knife,

There have been teeth here.

She bit me,

He murmured,

She worried me like a tigress when Rochester got the knife from her.

You should not have yielded,

You should have grappled with her at once,

Said Mr.

Rochester.

But under such circumstances,

What could one do?

Returned Mason.

I saw Mr.

Rochester shudder.

A singularly marked expression of disgust,

Horror and hatred warped his countenance.

Come be silent,

Richard,

And never mind her gibberish,

Don't repeat it.

I wish I could forget it,

Was the answer.

You will when you're out of the country,

When you can get back to a Spanish town,

You may think of her as dead and buried.

It is impossible to forget this night,

Mason returned.

It's not impossible,

Insisted Mr.

Rochester,

Have some energy,

Man.

There now,

Carter's done with you,

Or nearly so.

I'll make you decent in a trice.

Jane,

He turned to me for the first time since his re-entrance.

Take this key and go into my bedroom.

Walk straight forward into my dressing room and open the top drawer of the wardrobe.

Take out a clean shirt and neck handkerchief and bring them here.

I went,

Sought the repository he mentioned,

Found the article's name and returned with them.

Now,

Said he,

Go to the other side of the bed while I order his toilet,

But don't leave the room.

You may be wanted again,

And at length.

Now,

I'm sure you can get on your feet,

He said.

Try,

Mason.

The patient rose.

Carter,

Take him under the shoulder.

Now,

Be of good cheer,

Richard,

Step out,

That's it.

I do feel a bit better,

Remarked Mr.

Mason.

I'm sure you do.

Take care of him,

Carter.

Take care of him,

Carter,

Said Mr.

Rochester to the latter,

And keep him at your house until he's quite well.

I shall ride over in a day or so to see how he gets on.

Richard,

How is it with you now?

The fresh air revives me,

Fairfax,

Said Mr.

Mason as they exited the house.

Leave the window open on his side,

Carter.

There's no wind.

Goodbye now,

Dick.

Fairfax?

Well,

What is it?

Let her be taken care of.

Let her be treated as tenderly as may be.

Let her.

.

.

Then he stopped and burst into tears.

I'll do my best,

Said Mr.

Rochester,

And have done with it and will do it.

Then he shut up the chaise door and the vehicle drove away.

Yet to God there was an end to all this,

Added Mr.

Rochester as he closed and barred the heavy yard gates.

And this done,

He moved with slow step and abstracted air towards a door in the wall bordering the orchard.

Supposing he had done with me,

I prepared to return to the house.

However,

I heard him call Jane,

And he opened the portal and stood at it,

Waiting for me.

Reviews

Dear Stephany, thank you for all of your readings, and writings.
I can't wait to here more of the story. And all of your stories, to be honest.
Jane of Eye is one of my favourites, but every day I look forward to each and one of them. Your nice voice helps me to emerge in them.
I wish you good luck with your own stories too.
The mixture with well and lesser known english litterature keeps it interesting.
I used to be a non fiction reader, but, now my eyes hurt sometimes I love to listen to these romantic stories with my eyes closed on my bed when I can use some distraction. I'm gratefull that I can, thank you 💞

Grisly— I’m sure it will all come to light soon!
Thanks for reading🙏🏽❤️🙏🏽