I seem to be giving the impression that I am being brave; I think I need to put you right and introduce you to my very own Mrs Rochester living somewhere near my bowels I think. She is pulling her hair and pounding the walls; rage,raging at the dying of the light; driven crazy by anger and fear. But meet also my very own Grace Poole, calmly efficient and able to only let the tiniest noise of Bertha's raging reach my cowardly ears. Even in the middle of the night while I lie awake listening for the movements, waiting for the footsteps and the lighted torch, Grace keeps her quiet and lets me sleep.
I know no other way, I have to cope and I have to be cheerful, the alternative is to end up like Mrs R and look what happened to her!