Mr Brocklehurst’s POV
Eventually, after my longer than firstly anticipated stay with The Archdeacon. I arrived back to the walls of Lowood School. I could feel sudden humidity as I left the carriage; I had not quite taken notice of the weather around me on my journey so looked back at the long perspective of the dreary road behind me. The cold sleet and dampness hung upon every object like a cloak and my condensed breath created added winter attire to the surroundings. I stepped across the cobbled soaked ground towards the chipped, dirt ridden entrance with constant critical thoughts full of disappointment at small tasks that could have been completed in my absence. The girl’s heads could be slightly seen looking my direction through the misted framed windows; hopefully indicating no rush to make the place look immaculate before I enter as the school should always be running at my expected standards even when I am not present. However, before I entered, I took time to engage conversation with other working members of the school other than the teachers and took a detour to proper self-analyse the surroundings of the building since my first glance had not been an admirable one. The outside look of Lowood should continuously be one of great appeal that I can easily apotheosize to the public.
All chatter among the room quickly withered away with each step I took towards the conventional looking Miss Temple. I examined each girl as I walked past, each with a piece of material and a needle on their lap looking purposely down when I jaunted past, as if to be showing an out of the ordinary, subtle dedication to what they were doing. A look of revere stayed put on Miss Temples face as I approached. I began by explaining some of the issues that I had come across, ones of which happened to dismiss the rules I had given, that including the tuckers incident the laundress had told me about. When I first found out, I was more than displeased with the fact that two girls have worn two clean tuckers in one week. I had clearly obliged only one per week to be worn. However, I was quickly informed that they needed new ones since they were leaving the school premises to see others from elsewhere; I subtly approved of this matter. It matters more about the schools outer appearance to the public and civilised society, rather than the disclosed look on the inside. This altogether gives a good look of pride to me, the highly charitable school and it keeps the funding coming in from other authorities. I began the next issue with Miss Temple, one I found to be more distraught than the last. ‘I find, in settling accounts with the housekeeper that a lunch, consisting of bread and cheese, has twice been served out to the girls.’ I was hoping to find a somewhat suitable explanation to be put in place for this but I was simply given a deplorable one. Breakfast being ill prepared? With no other reasoning other than this, it is highly foolish indeed. I questioned things such as ‘Who introduced this innovation? And by what authority?’ But still no reasonable enough response to dismiss the issue. Apparently, they did not want the children to be ‘fasting till dinner time’. Lowood is a charitable School for under privileged, working-class girls such as the ones before me, they should definitely not be accustomed to habits of luxury and indulgence. In fact, they should be rendered hardy, patient and self-denying. Pampering the body with extra fulfilment of appetite and such, therefore giving a sense of higher class is obviating to the aim of the institution. They should be rather delighted they attain anything to eat, not to be finicky over such trivial things such as overcooked porridge. Yes, their vile little bodies may be attained with a meal more comfortable to their tastes, but it does not neutralise everything out