Death of a Schoolgirl: The Jane Eyre Chronicles (17 page)

Lucy, of course, had seen both messages. She rose, left the room, came back with Rags, and, while holding him on her lap, silently stroked his hair with her fingers.

“Can either of you recognize the handwriting on this threat?” Mr. Douglas asked Miss Miller and me as he fingered the heavy piece of paper.

“No,” I shook my head. “It could be Adèle’s, if she took care to disguise her natural script. But I cannot say for sure.”

“Neither can I,” said Nan Miller. “Nor does it look familiar, though that is not surprising. Whoever wrote this took care to be unknown. What are these words that cross Adela’s letter to you and Mr. Rochester? The same word written three times? Can you read it, Mrs. Rochester?”

“
Au secours
,” I said. “French for ‘help.’ Of course, it could be
that this threat has nothing to do with Selina Biltmore’s death.”

No one said anything. None of us believed the events to be discrete.

Mr. Douglas stood, legs akimbo, and stared down into the burning coals in the fireplace. “The only piece of information that Waverly does not possess, but that we have, is the threatening note written to Adèle Varens. We do not know if the threat was credible. We do not know the circumstances behind it. Or if it is connected in any way to Selina Biltmore’s death. Therefore, I suggest we wait to share it. Right now, it casts a poor light on Miss Varens, as she found the dead girl and she might have felt threatened by someone.”

I shook my head. “Adèle would never harm anyone. I swear to you, she wouldn’t.”

“Mrs. Rochester,” said Miss Miller, “I beseech you. Come back with me to the school. Mrs. Thurston already believes you to be our missing German teacher. I shall explain to her that you have agreed to take on the position only for as long as Fräulein Schoeppenkoetter is delayed. To avoid confusion, I can call you by your maiden name, since she would never consent to having a married woman in the position.”

“But Adèle knows that she and Edward have wed,” Lucy said. “I told the girl myself, and I know she received a letter from the two of them.”

“True, but Adela has been forbidden to talk about her guardian,” Miss Miller said.

“What?” Lucy said. “Can you tender an explanation?”

“Dowager Lady Ingram told Lady Kingsley about Mr. Rochester’s first wife. As a consequence, Lady Kingsley told Mrs. Thurston, who was so shocked about his conduct that she forbade Adela to speak of her guardian.”

“How dare she!” Lucy’s face contorted with anger. I am sure my visage was equally distressed.

Miss Miller deflected our dismay by shrugging and adding,
“Perhaps these attempts were misguided, but Maude Thurston was only trying to protect the girl from scandal.”

I struggled not to show my disapproval as I turned to Lucy and her brother. “Mrs. Thurston also took it upon herself to mandate that Adèle be called ‘Adela,’ which she thinks is more properly English than the girl’s given name.”

“Perhaps her methods were injudicious. But her intent was for Adela to escape from her tawdry past,” Miss Miller said with a hint of defensiveness.

“That is taking her responsibilities rather too far,” said Mr. Douglas. “I do not suppose that working there as a teacher will give you much joy, Mrs. Rochester, but I do think your presence could be an incredible asset to the school, and more importantly to the girls. No one expects you to uncover the identity of Selina’s killer on your own; only to help keep the girls safe and perhaps gather some information.”

“Bruce, you are still asking Jane to put herself in harm’s way. To thwart a killer!” said Lucy. “That’s too much to expect. I think she should take Adèle and go home.”

He smiled at her. “Doing so would safeguard Adèle, but what about the other girls? Let’s say the killer wasn’t only interested in Selina. Perhaps Adèle is not the only girl who received a threatening note. What if the killer is a fiend who preys on children? There’s no adult to watch over the Seniors. Mrs. Thurston cannot insure their welfare, can she? And who would she find at this juncture who would risk her life for the students? I can only think of one person, and she is here in this room with us.”

That had been my thought exactly. To hear him voice my concern so succinctly gave me additional confidence that I could make a difference. He turned to me and continued, “Mrs. Rochester, you do not know me well, nor I you. However, I can tell you in all candor that once or twice in a lifetime, fate presents a person with an opportunity to do tremendous good. To make a difference. But this opportunity
always comes in tandem with personal risk. Sacrifice. Occasionally, embarrassment. I draw on my own experience when I say that if you turn away, you will always wonder. You will lie awake at night and feel remorse. You will always question your right to walk among decent people and hold your head high.”

“You truly believe I can be of assistance?” I said.

“Provided that you keep a cool head. You will need to notice any and all discrepancies. From your vantage point as a teacher, you might thwart a murder and find clues to the murderer’s identity. Without your presence in the Senior girls’ dormitory, the killer might feel at liberty to strike again.”

They all turned to me, waiting for my response. “I shall pack immediately.”

“One more moment, please,” said Mr. Douglas. “While I admire your courage, I refuse to send you willy-nilly into the path of danger. I suggest we meet together regularly so I can guide your investigation and keep apprised of your personal safety.”

“How do you propose to do that?” asked Miss Miller.

“To meet regularly, and to speak freely, the meetings must be outside of the school,” reasoned Lucy.

We all recognized the wisdom of that.

For a long time, nobody spoke. Only the ticking of the clock on the mantel reminded us that we must enact our plan quickly.

“I have it,” said Miss Miller. “We lack a teacher who has any artistic skill with pencil and chalk. As I recall, you own a particular talent for sketching. I propose to tell Mrs. Thurston that you can teach drawing as well as German. That way, you will have an excuse to take your charges to Hyde Park, where Mr. Douglas and Mrs. Brayton can meet with you. The art class would run from two to three in the afternoon.”

This ingenious plan met all our needs.

“But what do I do about references? Mrs. Thurston is rigid on the subject.”

Lucy rose and went over to a writing desk. After pulling a sheet of thick ivory paper from a drawer and dipping her pen, she started writing. None of us spoke as she worked. After she blotted her message with sand, she read it aloud:

“We need to get back,” said Miss Miller. “I slipped out while the girls were taking their singing lessons with Signora Delgatto. Those will be over soon. Since she offers both individual and group lessons, the students are usually busy for several hours.”

Lucy rang for Polly, and I rushed to my room to supervise her packing. While she bundled up my undergarments, a sleeping gown, and my black silk, I wrote a hurried note.

“Polly? Please make sure this goes to the post,” I said, handing her my letter. A pang of sadness ripped through me. How I missed my son and husband! And what could I do about the missing Rochester gems? But this was not the time for self-pity. This was a time for action.

With the abigail’s help, I changed back into my gray dress. The hem drooped in the back from the weight of the water it had collected. Although Polly had cleaned it, the gown was not totally dry. I sighed knowing it would be wet again in minutes. The damp fabric clung to my skin, but that could not be helped. Reluctantly, I folded my new pashmina. It was far too fine for me to wear in my charade as a poor teacher. I stared down at my portmanteau and questioned it as well. Would a simple governess own such a fine trunk? “Polly? Could you find me a muslin bag? I need something less elaborate to hold my clothes.”

She nodded, left, and returned quickly with a worn pillowcase.

“That will do nicely,” I said.

Polly’s nimble fingers held open my boots as I wiggled my toes into place. The scuff marks reminded me of the skirmish at the coaching inn. My ribs ached from my struggle with the thief, and one touch to my eye assured me the episode had not been a dream. I had barely escaped unharmed. How could I protect a small clutch of young girls? Girls who had no experience with rough-and-tumble living? Young women who might be harboring a killer in their midst? I sank down onto my bed, pretended to adjust my stockings, and took a few moments to collect my thoughts. Was it possible that one of the students was a killer? Or had a teacher ended Selina Biltmore’s young life?

Edward, my darling husband, had never seemed so far away. I imagined he would worry about my safety if he knew of my plans. He would point out my elfin size and modest demeanor as inadequate resources for besting a murderer. He might even scold me for exposing myself to possible injury.

But he wasn’t here. And he often remarked that my outward appearance was at odds with my formidable spirit. This could work to my advantage. The killer might underestimate me, and therefore, I might discover the identity of Selina Biltmore’s murderer before he—or she!—recognized my true purpose.

Not only was our beloved Adèle in danger; a murderer roamed the halls of the school. A frisson of fear crawled up my spine. Might another girl fall victim? I hoped not.

Polly handed me the pillowcase packed with my things. I thanked the girl as she started to tidy up the clothing we had rejected.

Miss Miller’s voice drifted up from the parlor. Adèle and the other girls were in her care, but Miss Miller seemed as pliable as a willow branch—not at all the sort of personage who might thwart a killer!

Why, she had been frightened of Mrs. Thurston while considering the consequences of her visit this afternoon! Was it possible that she worried more about her responsibility to Mrs. Thurston than about the safety of her charges? I knew Miss Miller to be a dependable and kind person, a generally fair teacher, though one who had been overworked and weather-beaten even in those days, and seemed even more so now, since our first meeting more than ten years ago. But she had never been authoritative, and I could not imagine her having the presence of mind to protect the students at Alderton House. If confronted by a superior or by a personage with more status, I was positive that Miss Miller would give way.

She needed my help, and as I reviewed what I knew about Alderton House, I wondered: How could the two of us watch over all the girls? Were there other teachers who also could be called upon to safeguard the students?

I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the dressing table mirror, as Polly continued her efforts. My plain and youthful visage belied the harsh conditions I had endured as a child.
My simple hairstyle—parted in the middle, pulled back, and braided—contrasted with the complexity of my thoughts, the tangled strands of my emotions. My posture was unbowed, and so was my spirit, but to the outside world I looked as meek and mild as a spring lamb.

My face was still swollen, my eye was black, and my lip was split. I touched these tender nodules and marveled at the damage that had been done to my person. Yet when confronted by a thief armed with a knife, I had fought back! I had not given way!

What an unlikely savior I would prove to be for these girls!

Yes, I was small and unassuming, but I was also determined.

I would have to do.

Lucy rapped sharply on my door and stepped inside. “Have you finished, Polly? I wish to speak to Mrs. Rochester in private, please.”

Polly gave a half curtsy as she left and closed the door behind her.

“You do not know my brother,” said Lucy, “so I must tell you this one thing to ease your mind: He is a powerful ally. Bruce is cunning and brave, and when it comes to the safety of those in his care, he can be positively ruthless. Be advised, you can count on him.”

I nodded. “I see that in his manner.”

“I sense your determination. However, I beg you—do not put yourself or Adèle at risk. Your bravery is evident in your bruises and scrapes. You fought so hard for a handful of jewels! I can only guess how you would defend a child. But if you sense danger, do not try to soldier on alone. Instead, call for help. I am suggesting a prearranged signal. We know there is a horse chestnut tree near the Senior dormitory. You could tie a handkerchief to the branch nearest the window, couldn’t you?”