Death of a Schoolgirl: The Jane Eyre Chronicles (12 page)

Following Miss Miller upward along a broad staircase of polished mahogany, I glimpsed a first floor neatly sectioned into quarters. These were the classrooms. Through the closed doors, I heard the high piping voices of little girls chanting their lessons.

“At the back is a music room, complete with a cabinet piano. Each classroom has globes and reference books,” she said with an abundance of pride in her voice.

We ascended another set of stairs. “Here we have our library. There is even a ten-volume set of
Encyclopaedia Britannica
. At night we gather here, so that the girls can practice their needle arts and read aloud. We have fifteen students—well, I suppose now fourteen students—in all. The dormitories
for the five Infants, the five Juniors, and the five—four—Seniors are on this floor. The forms are divided into Infants, ages six to eight; Juniors, ages nine to twelve; and Seniors, ages thirteen and up.”

At the top of the landing, we stepped inside a long room. A bed and small dresser sat apart, near the door, in an area cordoned off by a dressing screen. “The teacher usually sleeps here. Each dormitory has an adult in attendance. But because our new German teacher has not arrived, this bed is currently empty.”

We stepped around the dressing screen and gazed upon five beds in two facing rows.

“Adèle!” I said. She lay on one side with her face turned away from us. Her copious hair with its abundant curls was easily recognizable as it spilled over the pillow. I hurried to her, expecting her to rise up and greet me sleepily.

How she had grown in the last two years! I could tell she was much taller. The clock of childhood sweeps along at a faster pace than that of adulthood. Although our parting seemed recent to me, for Adèle the separation had already lasted a large portion of her life.

I stepped around the bed and knelt beside her.

“Adèle?” I tucked a stray lock of her hair behind her ear so it did not dangle over her face. Poor child. Did she think we had forgotten her?

She made no response.

“Adèle!”

She didn’t move.

“What is wrong with her?” I demanded of Miss Miller. “Why will Adèle not rouse? Is she ill? What did the doctor say when he examined her? Is that why you wanted to keep me away? What aren’t you telling me?” The last dregs of my control ebbed away. I was tired, I was angry, and I was frightened. Very, very frightened.

Miss Miller’s bland face told me nothing.

“Answer me!”

“You must understand. She was hysterical. She sobbed. She pulled at her hair. She was making herself sick. The tisane had no effect. I put two drops of laudanum in a chocolate and offered it to her.”

Chocolate? That would prove irresistible to my young friend. Sweets were among Adèle’s greatest passions.

“See? She sleeps quietly.” Miss Miller smiled. “She is at peace. The doctor suggested it, Jane. You were not here. Believe me, you cannot imagine how distressed she was. She worked herself into such a state that she started retching. We could not help her any other way.”

I knew Adèle to be emotional, dramatic to excess, but the description of her behavior seemed beyond anything I’d ever seen from the girl. Yet if a surgeon had suggested dosing Adèle, perhaps that had been the wisest course. I had seen her when she was wayward, and I knew that because she had been spoiled and indulged when younger, she could prove to be quite vexing. Given the shock that must have occurred when a schoolmate died, I could well imagine the French girl’s overreaction. I stroked her cheek and kissed her forehead, noting the regular rise and fall of her chest. I took one of her hands, opened the fingers, and planted kisses on the palm. I murmured endearments to her in her native language. She sighed, smacked her lips, gripped my fingers in sleepy response, and snuggled deeper into the bed. Her partial response to my ministrations encouraged me. Yes, she was in a drugged state, but she was still with us, not entirely insensible. I watched her steady breathing and noted her healthy color and that she seemed thinner. Although I couldn’t rouse her, she was not in danger.

Slowly, I rose to my feet. I bent over and kissed Adèle’s cheek once more. In response, Adèle mumbled.

The sound of her voice did my heart good.

“You really do love her.” Miss Miller’s voice held wonder and appreciation.

“Of course I do. How could I not care for Adèle? She is a darling. Besides which she matters to Edward, and what matters to him is of paramount importance to me. But even if that were not true, I would still care for her.”

I fingered the threatening slip of paper tucked deep in my pocket and considered my options. Was it wisest to remove Adèle at once, or would she prosper better at Alderton House? True, the surroundings here were opulent, and it was clear none of the girls lacked those basic comforts that are both necessary and pleasing to daily life. Clearly, the place was well-appointed for scholarship, and perhaps this dispassionate environment
provided her with exactly the sort of cool clime she needed to quell those early disadvantages that rendered her overly emotional. I knew that Miss Miller had a good heart. She had treated me and my classmates with kindness. Yes, she was calloused, but the thick skin covered a tender core.

On the other hand, Adèle was unhappy at the least, and wanting from a lack of thoughtful adult interference at the most. Perhaps I should take Adèle with me, and once she awakened, I could interview the child and better evaluate what our best course of action might be.

“Is there someone who could carry her down the stairs? And run ’round the corner to hail my driver?”

“If you are planning to take her with you, I beg you to reconsider,” said Miss Miller calmly. “Despite this morning’s histrionics, Adela has adjusted to school life very well. When she came two years ago, she was unruly, but she has settled into a routine. She likes her schoolmates. Of course, she can leave if you wish, but I think you are making a mistake. Tomorrow she will want to discuss with her friends what happened. Who can understand it better than one of her peers?”

“And you are sure that she is not ill? That the girl who died did not harbor an infection? If so, I should remove Adèle immediately!”

“As I told you, there were no outward signs of anything amiss with Selina, the girl who died. We called the surgeon as quickly as we realized the girl was…cold. He saw no indications of illness,” said Miss Miller.

I thought over her suggestion: She was right. Even if my presence was a comfort, if Adèle woke up here, she could mourn with the support of other girls. It would go a long way toward making her understand the value of friendship. And duty. Both were qualities that Edward wanted instilled in her.

Besides which, I was a guest in Lucy Brayton’s home. While she had extended every courtesy to me, it would be impertinent and rude to return with an unexpected guest.

Miss Miller interrupted my thoughts. “I know it is a hard decision, but you don’t want to undo all the good that has come to Adela over the past two years. She has been making friends and learning to use English rather than her mother tongue. If you take her now, she will likely regress. I suggest you let her stay. At least until tomorrow. Let her grieve with her friends before you take her home.”

She paused. “Think on how you weathered the tragedies at Lowood.”

A reasonable request. Schoolgirls often turned to one another in a crisis. My schoolmates at Lowood and I had relied on one another that cruel May when infection turned the seminary into a hospital. Such friendships could last a lifetime; I still stayed in contact with Julia Severn and the witty and original Mary Ann Wilson. I wanted that for Adèle. She would enjoy the society of others, as she was by nature a chatterbox who loved nothing more than an admiring audience.

“Then I shall leave Adèle here. At least for now.”

“That is a wise decision.”

I left a last kiss on Adèle’s forehead and squeezed her hand, then moved with Miss Miller out of the dormitory. “When do you expect her to awaken?”

Miss Miller pulled the door closed behind us. “She will sleep for the remainder of the day and through the night.”

“I must hear everything that concerns Adèle: how her studies are going, who instructs her, who her friends are, what progress she has made. Most importantly, you must grant me assurance that she is safe.”

“I give you my word,” she said, hurrying me along down the stairs. “It is true that we’ve suffered a tragedy, but the storm will pass. The girls will help one another to cope. Adela was overwrought. But nothing more. Since you know her, you’re aware she tends to be dramatic.”

My hand again touched the note in my pocket. I thought about sharing it. But that would betray Adèle’s confidence—and
I might miss out on finding the truth. Perhaps another student wrote it to threaten her.

Schoolgirls suffered intense passions. They could fight one day and exchange kisses the next. I wanted to determine for myself whether Adèle’s letter to us sprang from those variances in emotion—or whether she truly was being mistreated. Judging from my experience, Adèle might be unhappy, but I hoped her complaints were merely exaggerated.

I decided to keep both notes to myself for the time being. As long as Adèle was safe, they could wait.

Miss Miller turned and whispered, “We must hurry. Mrs. Thurston has a temper that heats up very quickly. Today will provide you an example if she sees me tarrying. It would be best for you to come back tomorrow. Do you have lodging for the night?”

I handed over one of Lucy Brayton’s calling cards. It was damp but still impressive. Black embossed script letters spelled out my hostess’s name and address.

Miss Miller rubbed her thumb over the thick ivory card. “Mrs. Augustus Brayton. She has been here to visit Adela several times. You are her guest? She is a member of high society.” Miss Miller could not hide her surprise. Her eyes took in my dress, and I could tell that she still struggled to reconcile my plain appearance with the exalted station I now occupied.

“Yes, I am staying there. Mrs. Brayton and I planned to visit various shops,” I said, by way of explanation for my simple mode of dress. “I believe she has an extensive agenda for us.”

“Shops,” she repeated, a tone of wonder in her voice.

The shift in my social status had clearly taken her aback. Since she remembered me as a waif, a persecuted and unwanted child, I suspected it was a particularly poignant and bittersweet change. I bit my tongue rather than tell her that even before I married, I had become independently wealthy. Miss Miller needed no more cause to feel envious.

“If Adèle awakens early, please seek me out.”

“Tomorrow we can speak about Adela’s progress,” said Miss Miller, as we entered the entry hall.

“So good to see you again,” I said politely, but I could feel the shift that had been made. We were no longer colleagues. I had progressed to a lofty station in life, a situation that Nan Miller would never achieve. My friend studied a potted palm spilling over an entire corner. It was not an especially interesting palm. Palms generally are not. Their placement hides deficiencies in decorating. They fill space but do not contribute much besides catching dust and hiding the odd mouse. In this case, they provided Miss Miller with a way to avoid my penetrating gaze.

“Yes. Likewise, it was a pleasure to see you, Mrs. Rochester,” she replied, and I could tell the words “Mrs. Rochester” stuck a little in her craw.

Before I could depart, the
slap-slap-slap
of shoe leather announced a person coming down the hallway. A stout woman with a flat bulldog face stomped into our midst. Two piggy eyes peered out from a froth of ornate ruffles. She listed her squarish frame left then right as she walked, looking for all the world like a ship on choppy seas. While I make no claim to beauty myself, this was a person sadly lacking in any attractive traits. Her grizzled hair was escaping from its tight braid. Her nose was colored like a cherry and a vibrant pattern of veins ran up and over the bridge of it.

“There you are, Miss Miller! I have been looking for you. When you are finished playing ministering angel to our errant German teacher, come into my office.” The woman sniffled.

“Yes, Mrs. Thurston,” said Miss Miller with a slight bow. “May I introduce—”

“No, you may not.” Mrs. Thurston shook a sausage-shaped finger at me. “Showing up late and in such disarray speaks very poorly of your future with us, young lady. You have already wasted too much of our time. Especially on a terrible day like today!”

“May I introduce—” Miss Miller tried again.

I extended a hand wearing a still-damp pair of gloves.

“No, you may not,” snapped Mrs. Thurston again, ignoring my outstretched fingers. “Hold your tongue, Miss Miller. I don’t have the time to coddle a teacher. Neither do you. This selfish chit has already tried my patience. Furthermore, her appearance is a disgrace. Someone certainly gave her a beating, and I warrant she deserved it. Perhaps it taught her a valuable lesson. Here at Alderton House, we have rules. The staff is not allowed followers. No gentlemen callers. Scandal is to be avoided at all costs.”