Weeks passed and I regained my health, but no mention was made of sending me to school.
Mrs. Reed favored her own children more than ever, and she ordered them not to speak to me.
One day John tried to hit me, but I struck first, punching him in the nose as hard as I could. He went blubbering to his mama while I ran upstairs.
I heard him telling a tale of how "that nasty Jane Eyre" had flown at him like a mad cat, but he was interrupted rather harshly.
"Don't talk to me about her, John," said Mrs. Reed. "I told you not to go near her. I don't want either you or your sisters to associate with her."
Leaning over the banister, I cried out, "They're not fit to associate with me!"
Mrs. Reed was a rather stout woman, but on hearing this bold declaration, she ran nimbly upstairs.
She swept me into the nursery and forbade me to rise from my bed or to utter one more syllable that day.
"What would my uncle say if he were alive?" I demanded.
"What?" Mrs. Reed suddenly seemed fearful.
"My uncle Reed is in heaven, and so are Papa and Mama," I went on boldly. "They can see all you do and think. They know how you wish me dead."
Mrs. Reed shook me most soundly. She left me without saying another word, but Bessie lectured me for an hour on what a wicked child I was.
Christmas and the New Year were celebrated at Gateshead Hall with the usual festive cheer.
Presents were exchanged; dinners and evening parties were given. Of course I was excluded from every happy moment.
Some evenings when there was company, Bessie would bring me a special treat.
She sat on my bed while I ate, and when I finished, she tucked the covers around me.
Bessie was often quick to anger, but when she was gentle, she was my favorite person.
It was now the morning of January fifteenth.
Eliza was heading outdoors while Georgiana sat in front of the mirror, adorning her hair with artificial flowers she'd found in the attic.
I was making my bed because Bessie frequently employed me as a sort of nursery maid to tidy the room.
Having finished my work, I stood in front of the window. I saw a carriage roll up the drive, but of more interest to me was a hungry robin perched in a tree.
I crumbled some roll left from my breakfast and was just about to toss it out the window when Bessie came running into the nursery.
"What are you doing, Miss Jane?" she cried breathlessly. "You're wanted in the sitting room."
Bessie quickly scrubbed my hands and face, ran a brush through my hair, and removed my pinafore.
"Who could want me?" I wondered as I stood outside the sitting room. Mrs. Reed hadn't summoned me for months.
I entered the room. Mrs. Reed occupied her usual seat by the fireside.
Standing next to her was a tall, severe man dressed entirely in black.
I curtsied and Mrs. Reed said, "This is the little girl that I wrote to you about."
The man scrutinized me for some minutes before addressing me. "Your name, little girl?"
"Jane Eyre, sir."
"Well, Jane Eyre, are you a good child?"
Mrs. Reed answered for me. "Perhaps the less said on that subject the better, Mr. Brocklehurst."
"I'm sorry indeed to hear that." Bending from the waist, he installed himself in the armchair opposite Mrs. Reed. "Come here."
I crossed the rug and he placed me right in front of him. What a large face he had now that it was almost level with mine!
"There is no sight so sad as a naughty child," he began, "especially a naughty little girl. Do you know where the wicked go after they die?"
"They go to hell" was my ready and expected answer.
"What must you do to avoid hell?"
I thought for a moment, and when I gave my answer, I knew it was the wrong one. "I must not die."
Mr. Brocklehurst shook his head sadly. "I fear that you won't go to heaven."
I looked down at his two large feet planted on the rug and sighed, wishing myself far away.
"Do you say your prayers morning and evening?" he asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Do you read your Bible?"
"Sometimes."
"Are you fond of it? I hope you like the Psalms."
"Psalms are not interesting," I said.
"That proves you have a wicked heart," concluded Mr. Brocklehurst.
Mrs. Reed told me to sit down, and then she carried on the conversation.
"Mr. Brocklehurst, I believe I told you in my letter that Jane does not have quite the disposition that I would wish.
If you admit her to Lowood school, I'd be glad if you requested that the teachers keep an eye on her because she is deceitful.
I mention this in front of you, Jane, so that you don't try to deceive Mr. Brocklehurst."
She was already wiping hope from my new existence. I felt tears springing to my eyes.
"Deceit is indeed a sad fault in a child," Mr. Brocklehurst said. "It's the same as a falsehood, and all liars go to hell. I will speak to the teachers."
"I want her to be brought up humbly," continued Mrs. Reed.
Mr. Brocklehurst nodded. "My own daughter recently commented on how quiet and plain all the girls at Lowood look with their hair combed behind their ears and their long pinafores."
Then they settled that I would be transported to Lowood as soon as possible and that I would also spend all my vacations there.
As he left, Mr. Brocklehurst handed me a thin book.
"Read it with prayer," he advised, "especially that part containing an account of the awfully sudden death of Martha G., a naughty child addicted to falsehood and deceit."
He left, and Mrs. Reed ordered me back to the nursery. I walked to the door, but then I turned back to Mrs. Reed. I had to speak.
"I'm not deceitful. If I were, I'd say I love you, but I declare I don't love you. As for this book, you should give it to Georgiana because she tells lies. don'tshe
People think you are a good woman, but you are bad, and I will tell that to everyone at Lowood."
Mrs. Reed looked frightened. "What's wrong with you, dear?"
"I am not your dear. Send me to school soon, Mrs. Reed, for I hate living here!" dear
