21 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 is summoned to Gateshead, much to Mr Rochester's disgust.

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.

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This is S.

D.

Hudson Magic.

Jane Eyre Chapter 21 Presentiments are strange things and so are stories.

Presentiments are strange things and so are sympathies and so are signs.

And the three combined make one mystery to which humanity has not yet found the key.

I never laughed at presentiments in my life because I have had strange ones of my own.

When I was a little girl,

Only six years old,

One night I heard Bessie Levin say to Martha that she had been dreaming about a little child and that to dream of children was a sure sign of trouble,

Either to oneself or one's kin.

The saying might have worn out of my memory had not a circumstance immediately followed which served indelibly to fix it there.

The next day Bessie was sent for home to the deathbed of her little sister.

Of late I'd often recalled this saying and this incident.

For during the past week scarcely a night had gone over my couch that had not brought with it a dream of an infant.

I sometimes hushed it in my arms,

Sometimes dandled it on my knee,

Sometimes watched playing with daisies on a lawn or a game dabbling its hands in running water.

This night it was a wailing child,

The next a laughing one,

And now it nestled close to me and then ran from me.

But whatever the mood,

The apparition invinced,

Whatever aspect it wore,

It failed not for seven successive nights to meet me in the moment I entered the land of slumber.

I grew nervous as bedtime approached and the hour of the vision grew near.

It was from companionship with this baby phantom I had been roused on that moonlit night when I heard a cry.

It was on the afternoon of the day following I was summoned downstairs by a message that someone wanted me in Mrs Fairfax's room.

On repairing thither I found a man waiting for me,

Having the appearance of a gentleman's servant.

He was dressed in deep mourning and the hat he held in his hand was surrounded with a creep band.

I dare say you hardly remember me,

Miss,

He said,

Rising as I entered.

My name is Leaven,

I lived coachman with Mrs Reed when you were at Gateshead.

Oh,

Robert,

How do you do?

I exclaimed,

I remember you very well,

You used to give me a ride sometimes on Miss Georgiana's bay pony.

And how is Bessie?

You are married?

Yes,

Miss,

My wife's very hearty,

Thank you,

She bought me another little one about two months since.

We've got three now and both mother and child are thriving.

And are the family well at the house,

Robert?

I'm sorry I can't give you better news than,

Miss,

They're very badly at present in great trouble.

I hope no one is dead,

I said,

Glancing at his black dress.

Mr John died yesterday,

He was a week at his chambers in London.

Mr John?

Yes.

And how does his mother bear it?

Why,

You see,

Miss Eyre,

It's not a common mishap,

His life's been very wild.

These last three years he gave himself up to strange ways and his death was shocking.

I had heard from Bessie he was not doing well.

Doing well would do no worse,

He ruined his health and his estate amongst the worst men and the worst women.

He got into debt and into jail,

His mother helped him out twice,

But as soon as he was free he returned to his old companions and habits.

His head was not strong,

The naivety lived amongst fooled him beyond anything I ever heard.

He came down to Gateshead about three weeks ago and wanted Mrs to give it all up to him.

Mrs refused,

Her means having long been much reduced by his extravagance,

And the next news was he was dead.

Now he died,

God knows,

They say he killed himself.

I was silent,

The tidings were frightful.

Robert resumed.

Mrs had been out of health herself for some time,

She'd got very stout,

But was not strong with it,

And the loss of money and fear of poverty were quite breaking her down.

The information about John's death and the manner of it came too sudden and it brought on a stroke.

She was three days without speaking,

But last Tuesday she seemed a bit better.

She appeared as if she wanted to say something and kept making signs to Bessie,

Mumbling.

It was only yesterday morning that Bessie understood she was pronouncing your name.

Ring Jane,

She said.

Fetch Jane Eyre,

I want to speak to her.

Bessie's not sure whether she's in her right mind or means anything by it,

But she told Miss Reed and Miss Georgiana and advised them to send for you.

The young ladies put it off at first,

But their mother grew so restless that at last they consented.

I left Gate,

Said yesterday,

And if you can get ready,

Miss,

I'd like to take you back with me early tomorrow morning.

Yes,

Robert,

I shall be ready.

It seems to me that I ought to go.

I think so too.

Miss Bessie said she's sure you wouldn't refuse,

But I suppose you'll have to ask leave before you can get off,

Won't you?

Yes,

And I will do it now,

I said.

Then,

Having directed him to the Servants Hall and recommending him to the care of John's wife,

I went in search of Mr.

Rochester.

He was not in any of the lower rooms,

He was not in the yard,

The stables or the grounds.

I asked Mrs.

Fairfax if she had seen him and she believed he was playing billiards with Miss Ingram.

To the billiard room I hastened.

The click of balls and hum of voices resounded thence.

Mr.

Rochester,

Miss Ingram,

The two Mrs.

Eshton and their admirers were all busied in the game.

It required some courage to disturb so interesting a party,

But this errand was not one I could defer,

So I approached the master where he stood at Miss Ingram's side.

She turned as I drew near and looked at me haughtily,

Her eyes demanding,

What can the creeping creature want now?

And when I said in a low voice,

Mr.

Rochester,

She made a movement as if tempted to order me away.

I remember her appearance at that moment.

It was very graceful and very striking.

She wore a mourning robe of sky-blue crepe,

A gauzy azure calf twisted in her hair.

She had been all animation with the game,

And irritated pride did not lower the expression of her haughty liniments.

Does that person want you?

She inquired of Mr.

Rochester,

And Mr.

Rochester turned to see who the person was.

He made a curious grimace,

Threw down his cue,

And followed me out of the room.

Well,

Jane,

He said as he rested his back against the school door,

Which he had shut.

If you please,

Sir,

I want to leave of absence for a week or two.

What to do?

Where to go?

To see a sick lady who sent for me.

What sick lady?

Where does she live?

At Gateshead.

Gateshead?

That is a hundred miles off.

Who may she be that sends for people to see her at that distance?

Her name is Reed,

Sir.

This is Reed.

Reed of Gateshead.

There was a Reed of Gateshead.

A magistrate.

It is his widow,

Sir.

And what have you to do with her?

How do you know her?

Mr.

Reed was my uncle,

My mother's brother.

The deuce he was!

You never told me that before.

You always said you had no relations.

None that would own me,

Sir.

Mr.

Reed is dead,

And his wife cast me off.

Why?

Because I was poor and burdensome,

And she disliked me.

But Reed left children,

Did he not?

You must have cousins.

John Reed is dead.

He's my cousin.

He ruined himself,

And half ruined his family.

He is supposed to have committed suicide.

The news so shocked his mother.

It is said to have brought on an apoplectic attack.

And what good can you do her now?

Nonsense,

Jane.

Never think of running a hundred miles to see an old lady who will,

Perhaps,

Be dead before you reach her.

Besides,

You say she cast you off.

Yes,

Sir,

But that is long ago,

And when her circumstances were very different.

I could not be easy to neglect her wishes now.

How long will you stay?

A shorter time is possible,

Sir.

Promise me only to stay a week.

I had better not pass my word.

I might be a blunderer.

I had better not pass my word.

I might be obliged to break it.

At all events,

You will come back.

You will not be induced under any pretext to take up a permanent residence with her.

Oh no,

I shall certainly return,

If all be well.

And who goes with you?

You don't travel a hundred miles alone.

No,

Sir,

She sent her coachman.

A person to be trusted?

He has lived ten years in the family.

Mr.

Rochester meditated.

When do you wish to go?

Early tomorrow morning,

Sir.

Well,

You must have some money.

You can't travel without money,

And I dare say you have not much.

As it is,

I have given you no salary yet.

No salary yet?

How much have you in the world,

Jane?

He smiled unexpectedly,

And I drew out my purse,

The meagre thing that it was.

Five shillings,

Sir.

He took the purse,

Poured the hoard into his palm,

And chuckled over it,

As if its scantiness pleased him.

Then he produced his pocket-book.

Here,

Said he,

Offering me a note.

It was fifty pounds,

And he owed me but fifteen.

I told him I had no change.

I don't want change,

You know that.

Take your wages.

I declined,

Accepting more than was my due.

And he scowled at first.

Then,

As if recollecting something,

He said,

Right,

Right.

Better not give you all now.

You would perhaps stay away three months if you had fifty pounds.

There are ten.

Is that not plenty?

Yes,

Sir,

But now you owe me five.

Come back for it,

Then.

I am your banker for forty pounds.

Mr.

Rochester,

I may as well mention another matter of business to you while I have the opportunity.

Matter of business?

I am curious to hear it.

You have as good as informed me,

Sir,

You are going shortly to be married.

Yes.

What then?

In that case,

Sir,

Adele ought to go to school.

I am sure you will perceive the necessity of it.

To get her out of the bride's way,

You mean?

There is sense in the suggestion,

He said.

Not a doubt of it.

Adele must go to school,

As you say.

And you,

Of course,

Must march straight to.

.

.

The devil?

I hope not,

Sir,

But I must seek another situation somewhere.

In course,

He exclaimed with a twang of voice and a distortion of features equally fantastic and ludicrous.

He looked at me some minutes.

And old Madam Reed,

Or the missus,

Her daughters,

Will be solicited by you to seek a place,

I suppose?

No,

Sir,

I am not on any such terms with my relatives as would justify me in asking favours of them.

But I shall advertise.

You shall walk up the pyramids of Egypt,

He growled.

At your peril,

You advertise.

Wish I had only offered you a suffering instead of ten pounds.

Wish I had only offered you a suffering instead of ten pounds.

Give me back nine pounds,

Jane,

I've a use for it.

And so have I,

Sir,

I returned,

Putting my hands and my purse behind me.

I could not spare the money on any account.

Refusing mere pecuniary request,

Give me five pounds,

Jane,

Said he.

Not five shillings,

Sir,

Not five pence.

Let me look at the cash.

No,

Sir,

You are not to be trusted.

Jane!

Sir?

Promise me one thing.

I'll promise you anything,

Sir,

That I think I'm likely to perform.

Not to advertise,

And to trust this quest of a situation to me.

I will find you one in time.

I shall be glad to do so,

Jane.

If,

In your turn,

You will promise that I and Adele shall both be safe out of the house before your bride enters it.

Very well,

Very well,

I'll pledge my word on it.

And you'll go tomorrow,

Then?

Yes,

Sir.

I will go tomorrow.

Then you and I must bid goodbye for a little while.

I suppose so,

Sir.

And how do people perform that ceremony of parting,

Jane?

Teach me,

I'm not quite up to it.

They say farewell,

Or any other form they prefer.

Then say it.

Farewell,

Mr.

Rochester,

For the present.

What must I say?

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 dission.

If one shook hands,

For instance.

No,

That would not content me either.

So you'll do no more than say farewell,

Jane.

It is enough,

Sir,

As much as goodwill may be conveyed in one hearty word as in many.

Very likely.

But it is blank and cool,

He said.

Farewell.

How long was he going to stand with his back against that door?

I wanted to commence my packing,

I thought to myself.

Then the dinner bell rang,

And suddenly away he bolted without another syllable.

And I saw him.

And I saw him no more during the day,

And was off before he had arisen in the morning.

Reviews

Ooh I don’t trust the aunt… and Jane is so composed with Mr Rochester… what a strange man! Thank you thank you🙏🏽❤️