Death of a Schoolgirl: The Jane Eyre Chronicles (24 page)

I knelt by her side and hugged her tightly. She smelled of warmth, sleep, and the faintly sour odor of childish sweat. “Shh, darling child. Don’t wake the others. Not yet!” I said in her native language.

“You did come! You did!” She burrowed her head against me. “I thought it was a dream!”

I brushed aside her tousled locks so that I could look her in the eyes. “Listen to me. This is important. Very important.”

“La,” she said. “You are here. That is what is important. I must tell my friends. Girls—”

“Shh! Not yet. We must talk first. You must answer me as honestly as you can.”

Who had threatened her? I needed to know before I confronted Maude Thurston with the note. Did the threat to Adèle play a part in Selina’s death? Were both girls targeted by a killer? If I could discover this before we took our leave of Alderton House, I could pass the information on to Mr. Douglas. I would have secured justice for Adèle and done the other girls a service.

“Mr. Rochester and I received your letter. You had written
au secours
on it. Why did you ask for help? What prompted your request?”

“I wanted him to come for me! I am so unhappy here! Mrs. Webster was kind, but Mrs. Thurston does not like me! She makes me write Bible verses because I twirl and dance and sing like my mama did.”

“I see. And the other teachers? Are they kind to you?” I needed to get at the threatening note, but the roundabout way often worked best with Adèle. Besides, I couldn’t risk her being frightened. That might cause her to expose me and, therefore, to endanger all her friends. I would start with a general summary of the atmosphere.

“They are all awful! Miss Miller is a rainy cloud. All the time, sad and dreary, but she is not mean,” Adèle said. “Signora Delgatto stamps her foot when I don’t pay attention. She smacked my fingers with a ruler. But one time only. Fräulein Hertzog is gone; she was not here for long, but I miss her because she could speak French as fast as I do.”

“When did Fräulein Hertzog leave?” I wondered if it was possible that, for some reason unknown, she had written the threat to Adèle.

“A month ago. And Miss Jones smiles all the time, even when she is angry. That makes her very dangerous, I believe.”

“How about the servants?”

“Cook is ever so nice. She knows I miss croissants, and she sometimes buys them for me when she goes to market. She says that even though I am a Frenchie, I am a luv. Emma does not talk much to any of us.”

I imagined not. From what I had seen, the maid of all work toiled unceasingly. In fact, I wondered if the girl got more than four hours of sleep a night. Although such servants were common in private households, only a cheapskate like Mrs. Thurston would expect one small girl to clean, polish, mend, and serve an entire school population.

“And Caje? Is that not the name of the young man who works here? How does he act toward you?”

“He does not like to talk.”

“And the other students?”

“I like most of the Juniors. With the Seniors, well, Selina, she told everyone what to do. She decided if the Seniors would be mean. Or nice. They were all scared of her. I do not care. Not much.”

“How are they mean?” I asked, wondering what a ten-year-old girl considered cruel.

“They tease and they pinch and they tell tales.”

“All of them? All of the time?”

She considered this. “No.
Comme ci comme ça.
It might be
different now. Sometimes Rufina is bossy. Sometimes Nettie is a big crybaby. Rose pushes me out of the way. She wants everyone to look at her, all the time.”

“How did Selina act toward you?”

“Bah, she was the worst. Always calling me names. Always teasing me and pulling my hair.” She stopped a minute and thought. I did not interrupt. “Now they might be nicer. Truly they might.”

“Was she unkind to only you?”

“No. To all of us. To everyone. All of us girls. And to Emma. And to Caje. She teased and she hit us and she stole—” Adèle’s voice became louder as she warmed to her subject.

“Shhh,” I warned my little friend. Rufina sat up on one elbow, rubbed her eyes, looked around without really focusing, and lay back down, pulling her covers over her head.

“But Mrs. Thurston liked Selina best. So she could do anything she wanted. Anything!” With that, Adèle realized, “But she is gone, is she not? She is dead!”

I took her hands in mine. “Yes. She is dead. Let us pray that her soul rests in peace.”

“But it doesn’t! I know it won’t! She will come back to haunt us! She will sneak around and grab us when we sleep! That’s what she will do! I know it!”

Adèle started to sob.

“Did anyone threaten you?” I finally asked. “Anyone at all?”

“Yes, yes, all the time.”

“In writing?”

She tore her hands away from mine and jumped out of bed. At her dresser, she opened a drawer, rummaged around, and withdrew two pieces of paper, both of similar weight and type as the threatening note in my pocket. One message said, “You and your French people should perish from the earth! Death to all of them!
Toi aussi!
”

The other bore this message: “You should be sent to the guillotine!
Ta tête
will roll in a puddle of blood!”

I gasped out loud. “Did you show these to anyone?”

“Only to Mrs. Thurston. She said I was trying to make trouble. But I wasn’t!”

I would not stand for this. Someone would pay, and pay dearly. But who? While Miss Miller had said no one here spoke French well, these scraps of phrases were elementary, neither extensive nor complicated. Anyone, even the children, could have written them.

Fräulein Hertzog might even have penned them before she left.

“You must…” I stopped and thought better of what I planned to say. I started again. “You and I are going to play a game, Adèle. When you have something important to say, speak to me only in French at all times.
Français seulement, d’accord?
Also, do not go anywhere alone. Stay with the other girls in a group. Like a flock of birds. Always. Can you do that?”

Her face tilted to one side and she regarded me with intense curiosity. “Mademoiselle, that is a very odd game!”

“Yes, I know. I ask because it is essential. Can you trust me?”

I intended for us to leave after breakfast. Lucy would not be up until after ten. That would give me several hours to see what I might learn about Selina’s death—and perhaps to collect enough information to confront Mrs. Thurston. I intended to speak my mind at last. Although I planned to remove Adèle, I would not leave without letting the superintendent know I found her methods reprehensible—and I would insist she punish the author of the threatening notes to Adèle.

A bell rang, signaling time for all to rise.

“Go tidy up your bed,” I instructed her. “Remember? French only.”

“
Mais certainement
,” she said, and she threw her arms around me and gave me a kiss.

I turned my attention to gathering the teaching materials Miss Miller had brought me the night before, as I aimed to return them to her.

The girls slowly pulled themselves out of the cocoons they’d made of their covers. They stood around their beds, yawning and stretching. Reluctantly, they dunked their hands in the cold basins of water. Finally, when it could be avoided no longer, they splashed their faces with the water.

Nettie turned her back to me; the straps of her night rail
slipped down over her thin shoulders and exposed a portion of her spine.

To my horror, four dark red stripes marred her flesh. The scabs were long and thin, crisscrossing one another, with bruised skin on either side. They had healed, but they were angry.

She’d been struck with a cane.

My hand flew to my mouth, as I choked back my inclination to cry out loud.

Who had beaten Nettie? And why? How could such a timid creature have aroused such anger? Did Mrs. Thurston condone corporal punishment?

I should have to find out. This could not be ignored.

“Adèle?” I asked her in French to come over near me, then I queried her gently. Had anyone ever hit her? Did she know if the school allowed caning?

“
Mais non
,” she said, giving me a look of pure bewilderment.

I sent her back to finish making her bed.

Who had administered the caning? Of course, Mrs. Thurston was at the helm. But was she culpable? The question niggled.

I had never seen value in corporal punishment. However, many of my colleagues relied upon such strong inducements. They quoted the Biblical axiom that sparing the rod would spoil the child. Since teachers served in
loco parentis
, that is, in the place of parents, our mandate included delivering both punishment and praise.

But the marks on Nettie were beyond the scope of light corrections. Weeping canals that cut so deeply into the flesh could only be the result of an unrestrained application of force.

When I thought of the fury that must have accompanied such a whipping, my stomach turned. What manner of “crime” could be deserving of such punishment? Had Nettie
forgotten an assignment? Or neglected to pay heed during a lesson? Or chattered when she should have been silent?

Paltry misdemeanors, indeed.

As I reined in my emotions, the girls went about their morning rituals. Rufina grumbled at Rose. “You splashed water on my coverlet.”

“Did not.” Rose turned to face her accuser.

The bell rang again, causing the girls to put a bit of snap into their steps. They helped one another tie their pinafores. They stood for one another’s inspection. In quick order, they queued to go downstairs.

I fell in step behind the girls, my mind turning all this new information over and over. The urge to let Mrs. Thurston know she’d offended the wife of Mr. Edward Rochester, Esquire, was keen, but a new sense of purpose had snuffed out that fire and replaced it with a frosty resolve. What would such a revelation gain me? A few morsels of satisfaction?

It would not help these girls at all!

The desire to humiliate that awful harpy faded next to the need to expose the truth.

No, wait,
I scolded myself.
Think this through carefully.

My best option would be to circumvent Maude Thurston entirely. I could gather my proof and present my findings to Lady Kingsley. That would put me in a position to demand Maude Thurston’s dismissal!

But what if she was the killer? If it was Maude Thurston who killed Selina Biltmore, a dismissal might give her a credible reason to flee London. If she disappeared into the countryside, she might never be forced to pay for her crimes. I slowed my steps as I pondered this new insight. I could not expose these other wrongdoings until I also could prove the identity of the murderer.

Before I approached Lady Kingsley, I needed to find out who wrote the threats, who caned Nettie, and who murdered
Selina Biltmore. I owed this to the girls. My plan to leave with Adèle dissolved as an unaccustomed ferocity grew within me. I would protect these girls. I had to!

As if she knew what I was thinking, Adèle rewarded me with a quick hug as we paused at the first-floor landing. Nettie followed suit. Rose reached for my hand, squeezed it, and mumbled, “I’m awfully glad you’re here, miss.”

Rufina mumbled, “Me, too.”

Rose stared up at me, her eyes full of trust. “Will you stay, miss? You won’t leave like Fräulein did? She ran off in the middle of the night!”

“I shall stay as long as I am needed.”

I meant every word.

There was more wrongdoing afoot than the threat that had initiated my visit. Something evil had begun. Its hunger was not satisfied by one girl’s death. Someone had struck a child’s tender flesh. Taking full advantage of Mrs. Thurston’s blind eye, a malevolent force had wormed its way into the very marrow of this school.

Was this a manifestation of the superintendent’s own character? Or something more sinister and alien? I had to seek out its origins so I could weed it from this fertile soil.

Each step brought me closer to Mrs. Thurston and a decision.

Should I or should I not reveal my true identity?