3 The rider in the moonlight

Chapter 3 The rider in the moonlight So many children died, it caused a great scandal, and Mr. Brocklehurst was held responsible. Soon after, everything changed. The school moved to a better building; the food improved, our clothes were warmer, and we had new teachers, who were kind and inspiring. I stayed there for six years as a pupil, and two as a teacher myself. I was happy enough, until restlessness overcame me. I wanted change- new faces, new circumstances. I decided to advertise for a position as a governess. My advertisement was answered. A Mrs. Fairfax of Thornfield Hall, seventy miles away, wanted my services for a little girl named Adèle.

There I went, half thrilled by my adventure, half anxious at what lay ahead. Thornfield Hall rose three floors high, topped with battlements where rooks flew in and out. In the distance, a ring of hills gave it a quiet, lonely air. Inside, the hall and gallery were more like a church than a house- vast, dark and eerie.

"Hello, my dear," Mrs. Fairfax greeted me when I arrived. "Let me show you your room." She treats me as a visitor, not a servant, I thought, gratefully. My room, down a long corridor, breathed luxury to me. After unpacking, I asked to meet my pupil, Adèle Fairfax. "Oh, she's not my daughter," said Mrs. Fairfax, with a smile. "She's French. She's Mr. Rochester's ward." "Who is Mr. Rochester?" "Why, he owns Thornfield." "I thought it belonged to you." "Oh no!" She laughed. "I'm the housekeeper. We live quietly here," she added. "Just Adèle, Grace Poole- the upstairs servant- and other servants, of course. Mr. Rochester travels abroad. He seldom comes home." A little girl entered the room, about seven years old, with curls to her waist.

"Bonjour Adèle," I said. She replied in a gabble of French, which I, well-taught at school, understood easily. She offered to sing and dance for me and our bond grew from there. I quickly became fond of her and enjoyed my work but I was puzzled by Mr. Rochester's absence. I asked Mrs. Fairfax about him- it seemed so strange to own a home like Thornfield and not be in it. "He's clever," she began, "but peculiar." "In what way?" I asked. "You can't make out if he's joking or serious, or even pleased. I don't really understand him."

We were upstairs as we spoke, walking along the corridor to my room. At the end was an attic staircase leading to the third floor. From above came a sound- the last I expected to hear- a laugh. It stopped, and began again, a low, mirthless laugh that echoed into every corner. "What is that?" I exclaimed. "Grace Poole," said Mrs. Fairfax quickly. "She sometimes sews in the attics. Grace!" she called. I expected no answer. The noise was too ghostly for human lips, but a door opened and a woman came down the attic stairs, a squat figure, utterly unlike the phantom of my imagination. "Too much noise, Grace," Mrs. Fairfax said. Grace, nodding silently, plodded back upstairs. October, November, December passed. In January, Adèle had a cold, and I gave her a break from lessons, wishing I'd had such

treats in my childhood. It was a fine, cold day, and I went on an afternoon walk. I meandered in the lanes, watching the early moon rise pale above the branches, listening to rippling streams flowing through the dales. As the sky darkened, I saw a dog gliding ghost-like past the hazel trees, then a horse, and on its back, a rider.