Death of a Schoolgirl: The Jane Eyre Chronicles (15 page)

“Of natural causes,” Miss Miller interjected quickly. “We sent our footman to get the doctor immediately. But sadly, it proved to be too late for the student.”

“Please accept my sympathies.” Bruce Douglas inclined his head.

“Of course,” said Miss Miller. She had dried her eyes and now, in the presence of a gentleman, sat a bit straighter and patted her damp hair self-consciously.

“As you’ll recall, I recommended the Alderton House to Edward Rochester, for his ward, Adèle Varens,” Lucy said to her brother. “That means I feel directly responsible for Adèle’s well-being and safety. You remember Adèle, don’t you, Bruce? I brought her home for the Christmas holidays.”

“How could I forget that little French darling?”

“The very one! I think she stole your heart, Brother. I know she owns mine.”

I swallowed hard and clung to this sentiment: I wasn’t alone. Lucy also cared about Adèle. This camaraderie proved comforting. A willing ally bolsters one’s courage; a formidable ally makes one bold.

Again, I debated the wisdom of bringing Adèle home with me. What did the Bow Street officer’s visit to Alderton House signify? What exactly
was
a Bow Street Runner? Why had he asked so many questions? What if there was something seriously amiss at the school? Something much more sinister than a child dying of illness?

If I took Adèle home, her education would stop. At least for a while. I didn’t see how I could care for Ned, assist Edward, and act as Adèle’s tutor. She had never been a cooperative student. She required a good deal of time and energy or she wouldn’t learn. More importantly, she needed guidance to become more refined and less prone to senseless dramatics. There were no appropriate schools near Ferndean. We could hire a governess, but our small family already occupied all the inhabitable rooms in the old hunting lodge. There was no place for a governess to enjoy even a modicum of privacy. I, more than anyone, knew how important it would be for a teacher to have a place of respite.

“How did Adèle cope with the tragedy this morning?” asked Mr. Douglas.

“Not well,” said Miss Miller. “Very poorly, in fact. She became hysterical, and the doctor advised us to give her laudanum when she proved unable to calm down. Right now she is sleeping. I believe she’ll stay asleep until tomorrow morning.”

“What is the dead girl’s name?” asked Mr. Douglas. “Marcus Piper was tight-lipped about her identity.”

“Selina Biltmore. She has—had—been with us for three months.”

“Bruce, a man from Bow Street came to the school earlier
this afternoon. He questioned Miss Miller at length. As you can imagine, it was very unsettling,” Lucy said.

“Did he indeed? What was his name?” Mr. Douglas asked.

“Phineas Waverly,” Miss Miller said, withdrawing his calling card from her pocket.

Mr. Douglas gave a low whistle through his teeth as he examined the writing on the card. “Miss Miller, I am afraid you have misconstrued his position.”

“Indeed?” A bit of her confidence was returning, and Miss Miller’s voice took on an air of imperiousness.

“Yes, Miss Miller. I happen to know Phineas Waverly rather well. He is not merely a man from Bow Street.”

“But the address is there on the card!” she protested.

“He is from Bow Street, that is correct. But he is the senior Bow Street Runner, the most skilled investigator of the lot!”

“Who or what is Bow Street?” I finally asked.

“Bow Street is the home of a group of officers charged with policing the city. They do not approve of being called ‘Runners,’ but the populace has adopted that term. They answer to the magistrate.”

“So they patrol the streets? Like the parish watchmen?”

“No, the Bow Street officers can go wherever they wish. They typically investigate crimes, serve writs, and make arrests—so it makes little sense for one to be assigned to the death of a schoolgirl. The top priority for the Runners has always been protecting our sovereign. I mean, someone must keep watch over His Majesty King George IV, especially now that the trial has gone on so long.”

I nodded, remembering the conversation between Edward and Mr. Carter. “So why would one of those Bow Street men have questioned Miss Miller? Or visited the school at all?”

“I couldn’t say, although when there are questions about whether a death was of natural causes, the assistant magistrate does order a plainclothes Bow Street Runner to investigate,”
offered Mr. Douglas. “If the Runner finds enough information to warrant action, the assistant magistrate will pass that along to the magistrate, who will ask the coroner to hold an inquest. But an inquest is very expensive, so the magistrate is loath to order one unless he determines there is good reason.”

Miss Miller turned completely white. She swayed a bit in her seat, and I ran to my old colleague’s side. “What is wrong?”

“Are you suggesting—are you saying the presence of Mr. Waverly indicates a problem?” Miss Miller barely managed to get the words out.

Lucy rummaged around in a sewing basket and pulled out an amber-colored bottle. Without ceremony, she poured a splash into Miss Miller’s teacup. “Try this,” she commanded.

Miss Miller sipped the drink, sputtered, and instantly her cheeks grew flushed. However, she did not meet my eye when she put down her cup. In fact, she avoided my glance and studied a pattern on the carpet. I stepped away from her and returned to my seat.

I wondered if Miss Miller knew more about Selina Biltmore’s death than she let on. This realization sent fear coursing through me.

“Why don’t you tell us everything that happened? Everything. From the beginning,” suggested Mr. Douglas in a gentle tone.

“I cannot,” said Miss Miller, biting her lip and pleating her skirt between her fingers.

Perhaps we stared at her too expectantly. Or perhaps all her fear and anguish had spilled out with the tears she had shed. I cannot say. But suddenly, Miss Miller shut us out. Although she sat with us, she no longer saw us, instead looking deep into the glowing coals of the fireplace.

“You are here now, and you need help. That much is obvious. You said you were questioned extensively. Bruce is an inquiry agent, a private investigator, and he has much
experience in such matters. He is offering you his assistance.” Lucy spoke in a firm tone.

“I can’t! Don’t you see? Mrs. Thurston would let me go! She wouldn’t give me references if she knew I had spoken with any of you. Especially you, sir. I told her I was on an errand fetching some things that the new German teacher needed upon arriving in London.”

“The new German teacher?” Lucy asked. “What on earth?”

I explained about that morning’s confusion.

“Can you really speak German? As well as French?” Lucy raised her eyebrows at me. “How impressive!”

“Yes. Although, of course, I read German far better than I speak it.” I did not mention I also knew a smattering of Hindostanee.

“Mrs. Thurston still thinks that Mrs. Rochester is our missing teacher. I planned to explain everything, but Mr. Waverly appeared at our door, and I did not get the chance. Mrs. Thurston will be most unhappy with me when she finds—if she finds—that I was less than truthful about my visit here. What shall I do?” Miss Miller glanced around wildly, as if there were answers to be found under the terrarium and antimacassars. “Oh! I was wrong to come here! It was reckless of me. I will gather my things and go anon.”

Before she could gather herself, I knelt beside her. “You came for a purpose, Miss Miller. I doubt you ran all the way in the rain merely to tell us you had been interviewed by Phineas Waverly. There is more, is there not?”

She averted her eyes. “Not really.”

I sensed she was holding herself in check, keeping the truth from us. At least part of it. What was she hiding? Could I trust her when she said Adèle was safe? Given the hysterical tone of Adèle’s letter, the threatening note that accompanied it, and, most especially, Selina Biltmore’s death, was I foolish to let the child spend another night under that roof?

We all waited to hear what else Miss Miller might say. Our
silence pressured her, and she finally said, “When I told Mr. Waverly that we have been short one adult teacher since Fräulein Hertzog left us, he was adamant that we find another chaperone immediately.”

“Why?” I asked.

Nan Miller looked around wildly. “I don’t know why!”

“On the contrary, Miss Miller. I think you know exactly why,” said Mr. Douglas. “Mr. Waverly fears for the safety of the students, does he not? Marcus Piper told me there are certain inconsistencies.”

“Inconsistencies?” I repeated. “Please explain yourself, Mr. Douglas.”

“In this case, there were…markings on the corpse that are inconsistent with a natural death,” said Mr. Douglas. “As a gentleman, I am reluctant to share such distressing details with ladies.”

“No, please, no.” Miss Miller buried her head in her hands and started to cry.

“Bruce, what are you suggesting?” Lucy asked.

“Mr. Piper is confident that the girl was murdered. She did not slip away easily, either,” Mr. Douglas said.

His words hit all of us hard. Lucy’s quick intake of breath told me she was stunned. I managed to make it back to my seat, but the shock of that statement caused my senses to reel.

Mr. Douglas continued, “The girl was found dead in her bed, wasn’t she, Miss Miller? Either someone gained entry to the school or a murderer roams the school community. It is highly unlikely a murderer came from without. Not impossible, but unlikely.”

He let us absorb the import of his words, then added, “That is precisely why you came here, isn’t it, Miss Miller? You believe a murderer roams the halls of Alderton House—and the idea frightens you.”

“How dare you?” Miss Miller’s head snapped up and her eyes sent him angry sparks of displeasure.

“Then why did you come here? Why did you seek out Mrs. Rochester? Why did you permit Mrs. Thurston to continue her misunderstanding about Mrs. Rochester’s identity? You have a plan in mind, don’t you?” Mr. Douglas asked.

Miss Miller hesitated, looking around the room wildly as if trying to find a solution, a resolution, or perhaps even an escape. “I am worried! How could I not be? There was no adult in the Senior dormitory last night when Selina died! None! The Senior girls have no one to watch over them until the new German teacher comes. Mr. Waverly was pointing this out—and suggesting the girls are at risk.”

Miss Miller turned toward me. “You are the only one I trust, Mrs. Rochester. Mrs. Thurston thought that you were the German teacher. But I have no idea when Fräulein Schoeppenkoetter will arrive. Could you not perhaps take Fräulein’s place—temporarily—and help me watch over the girls? We could do it together, you and I. Don’t you see?”

And suddenly, I did.

“What if Mrs. Thurston realizes I am Adèle’s former governess?” I asked.

“That could work to our advantage. She had instructed me to find someone to fill the position temporarily. Certainly she doesn’t want to serve as proctor for the Senior girls, because the stairs are too difficult for her to climb. I could tell her that you are between situations. That might work well, as she is aware that Adela’s governess left under embarrassing circumstances,” Miss Miller said.

“I’m not sure I understand why that is useful. Pray explain your reasoning to me,” I said.

“If Mrs. Thurston believes she could get away with paying a teacher less than custom demands, the situation would benefit her.” Miss Miller’s cheeks turned crimson. “Lady Kingsley demands a strict accounting of all our expenses. This is a small economy, but one that should prove helpful.”

“But Mrs. Rochester is no longer a governess. Her station has changed. She is married to a squire!” Lucy’s gentle tone kept her remark from sounding like a reprimand.

“That is true,” Miss Miller said. “But I am fairly certain that Mrs. Thurston does not know about the marriage. Poor health forced Mrs. Webster to retire rather suddenly. Paperwork piled up as a natural consequence. Maude Thurston has neither gone through nor distributed all the correspondence on her desk.”

So that was why Adèle didn’t congratulate us on Ned’s birth! The girl never received our letter! It most likely sat in that pile of unopened mail on Mrs. Thurston’s desk.

“You are asking Mrs. Rochester to put herself squarely in the path of danger,” Mr. Douglas said, frowning at Miss Miller.

“I should think that Jane might be better served to remove Adèle at once and be done with Alderton House,” said Lucy.

“I admit I did not consider the danger to Mrs. Rochester. Indeed, I was uncertain that there was a danger,” Miss Miller said. “But Mr. Waverly pressed the point—and he is a compelling figure. So he forced me to wonder how to protect the girls. Of course, I knew Mrs. Rochester would share my worries for them. Especially given our history at Lowood.”

She and I exchanged a wordless interlude. The memories of the dying girls came flooding back. No one spoke for them at the time. No one stepped forward to offer them protection or solace.

Miss Miller knew I could not refuse her. Not given our shared remembrances.

“Let me speak to my status: I care little about it. I am new to London, so I have no calls to make and no station to protect,” I said honestly. “Since my husband will not be joining me for several days, I see no harm in this masquerade. As for the girls, I imagine that more than a few were sent to Alderton House because their parents have happily relinquished their responsibility. They are orphans in all but the technical term of the law. Beyond that, I am here to protect Adèle and to see if this school is right for her. This might present a useful manner for making observations.”