Read Online Jane Slayre by Sherri Browning Erwin - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sherri Browning Erwin
Tags: Fiction, General, Humorous, Fiction - General, Romance, Fantasy, Horror, Paranormal, Fathers and daughters, England, Orphans, Vampires, Science Fiction And Fantasy, Occult & Supernatural, Married People, Young Women, Country homes, Governesses, Satire And Humor, Fantasy Paranormal, Charity-schools, Mentally ill women
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said, and to these succeeded a protracted reading of chapters in the Bible, which lasted an hour. By the time that exercise was terminated, day had fully dawned. The indefatigable bell now sounded for the fourth time. The classes were marshaled and marched into another room to breakfast. How glad I was to behold a prospect of getting something to eat! I felt weak and somewhat nauseated from going almost entirely without food the previous day.
The refectory was a great, low-ceiling, gloomy room. On two
49
long tables smoked basins of something hot, which sent forth a far from inviting odor.
"Disgusting! The porridge is burnt again!" some of the taller girls whispered amongst themselves, but loud enough that I overheard.
"Silence!" One of the upper teachers, a small, smartly dressed woman, claimed the head position at of one of the tables. A more buxom lady, also perhaps an upper teacher, presided at the other.
I looked in vain for the woman who had first greeted me yesterday. Miss Miller occupied the foot of the table where I sat, and a strange, elderly lady, the French teacher as I afterwards found, took the corresponding seat at the other board. A long grace was said and a hymn sung. A servant brought in some tea for the teachers, and the meal began.
Ravenous and now faint, I devoured a spoonful or two of my portion before I discerned the vile flavor, reminiscent of when Abbot had lost a thumb in the soup. I saw girls taste the food and try to swallow it, but in most cases the effort was soon relinquished. Some girls must have been forewarned, for a few didn't take bowls at all. The breakfast period ended, and no one had breakfasted. I saw one teacher take a basin of the porridge and taste it. She looked at the others.
"Abominable stuff! How shameful!" the stout one whispered.
A quarter of an hour passed before lessons again began. Miss Miller went to the middle of the room.
"Silence! To your seats!" she called out.
In five minutes the confused throng was resolved into order. The upper teachers resumed their posts, but still, all seemed to wait. Ranged on benches down the sides of the room, the eighty girls sat motionless and erect.
I looked at them, and also at intervals examined the teachers. To my relief, none of them looked to be vampyres or demons, but I'd learned not to judge from appearances. One teacher was fair and stout. Another, dark with a sharp, pinched face. The French teacher had grizzled white hair, but a friendly face. And Miss Miller,
50
poor thing! She looked purple, weather-beaten, and overworked. As my eye wandered from face to face, the whole assembly suddenly rose simultaneously, as if moved by a common spring.
What was the matter? I had heard no order given. Before I knew what had happened, the classes were again seated. All eyes were now turned to one point. Mine followed in the general direction and encountered the person who had received me last night. She stood at the bottom of the long room, on the hearth. Cold as it was, there was a fire at each end of the room. She surveyed the two rows of girls silently and gravely. Miss Miller approached and seemed to ask her a question, and, having received her answer, went back to her place.
"Monitors of the first class, fetch the globes!" Miss Miller said.
While the monitors were following orders, the lady consulted moved slowly across the room. Seen in broad daylight, she looked tall, fair, and shapely. On each of her temples her dark brown hair was clustered in round curls according to the fashion. Her dress, also in the mode of the day, was of purple cloth, relieved by a sort of Spanish trimming of black velvet. A gold watch shone at her girdle. Here was everything I imagined a truly great lady of fine breeding to be. She was Miss Temple--Maria Temple, as I afterwards saw the name written in a prayer book entrusted to me to carry to church--the superintendent of Lowood.
Miss Temple took her seat before a pair of globes placed on one of
The refectory was a great, low-ceiling, gloomy room. On two
49
long tables smoked basins of something hot, which sent forth a far from inviting odor.
"Disgusting! The porridge is burnt again!" some of the taller girls whispered amongst themselves, but loud enough that I overheard.
"Silence!" One of the upper teachers, a small, smartly dressed woman, claimed the head position at of one of the tables. A more buxom lady, also perhaps an upper teacher, presided at the other.
I looked in vain for the woman who had first greeted me yesterday. Miss Miller occupied the foot of the table where I sat, and a strange, elderly lady, the French teacher as I afterwards found, took the corresponding seat at the other board. A long grace was said and a hymn sung. A servant brought in some tea for the teachers, and the meal began.
Ravenous and now faint, I devoured a spoonful or two of my portion before I discerned the vile flavor, reminiscent of when Abbot had lost a thumb in the soup. I saw girls taste the food and try to swallow it, but in most cases the effort was soon relinquished. Some girls must have been forewarned, for a few didn't take bowls at all. The breakfast period ended, and no one had breakfasted. I saw one teacher take a basin of the porridge and taste it. She looked at the others.
"Abominable stuff! How shameful!" the stout one whispered.
A quarter of an hour passed before lessons again began. Miss Miller went to the middle of the room.
"Silence! To your seats!" she called out.
In five minutes the confused throng was resolved into order. The upper teachers resumed their posts, but still, all seemed to wait. Ranged on benches down the sides of the room, the eighty girls sat motionless and erect.
I looked at them, and also at intervals examined the teachers. To my relief, none of them looked to be vampyres or demons, but I'd learned not to judge from appearances. One teacher was fair and stout. Another, dark with a sharp, pinched face. The French teacher had grizzled white hair, but a friendly face. And Miss Miller,
50
poor thing! She looked purple, weather-beaten, and overworked. As my eye wandered from face to face, the whole assembly suddenly rose simultaneously, as if moved by a common spring.
What was the matter? I had heard no order given. Before I knew what had happened, the classes were again seated. All eyes were now turned to one point. Mine followed in the general direction and encountered the person who had received me last night. She stood at the bottom of the long room, on the hearth. Cold as it was, there was a fire at each end of the room. She surveyed the two rows of girls silently and gravely. Miss Miller approached and seemed to ask her a question, and, having received her answer, went back to her place.
"Monitors of the first class, fetch the globes!" Miss Miller said.
While the monitors were following orders, the lady consulted moved slowly across the room. Seen in broad daylight, she looked tall, fair, and shapely. On each of her temples her dark brown hair was clustered in round curls according to the fashion. Her dress, also in the mode of the day, was of purple cloth, relieved by a sort of Spanish trimming of black velvet. A gold watch shone at her girdle. Here was everything I imagined a truly great lady of fine breeding to be. She was Miss Temple--Maria Temple, as I afterwards saw the name written in a prayer book entrusted to me to carry to church--the superintendent of Lowood.
Miss Temple took her seat before a pair of globes placed on one of
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