Death of a Schoolgirl: The Jane Eyre Chronicles (34 page)

But I never dreamed that an attractive young woman who had a loving family might also face an uncertain future.

“After spending the past two nights in the dormitory setting, I am more and more confident that all of our students were dosed with laudanum. That is the only way that everyone would have slept through Selina’s struggle.” I explained about seeing the effects of the drug on Adèle and more recently on Parthena. “Unfortunately, it is common enough that almost anyone would have access to it.”

Rufina ran over to show me her work. I praised it and sent her back to her schoolmates so that I could share another discovery. “There is yet another girl who has marks on her back. Rose has also been struck with a cane.”

“Who would mar such beauty as your little Rose?” Bruce Douglas immediately looked toward the girl as she sat with her schoolmates on the grass. “That is simply unconscionable.”

Lucy’s jaw dropped and she turned on her brother. “So it’s permissible to hit unattractive girls, but God forbid one might mar a beauty?”

I agreed with Lucy, and I was disappointed by her brother’s comments. It is painful enough to be overlooked because one lacks regularity of features, but more painful yet to be
reminded that one is thought to be of lesser value because she has not been blessed with beauty. On the other hand, Selina’s death was a powerful reminder that even the most lustrous of us must finally meet decay.

Mr. Douglas grasped his chest as if he’d been stabbed in the heart and coughed loudly. “Sister Lucy, you wound me to the core. I am only human, and as a man, a lower form of such!” He continued in a quieter voice, “I talked to my source at the medical examiner’s office. Selina Biltmore’s back was also scarred.”

“Miss Miller claims the punishment could not have taken place. Miss Jones agrees. Adèle knows naught of it.” I pulled a face.

“But it must have,” argued Lucy. “Otherwise why would such marks be found on more than one of the girls?”

“There are three questions: Who administered the thrashings? Why didn’t anyone hear anything? Would such beatings have been a reason for murder?” I asked.

“Another avenue to explore,” Mr. Douglas said with a sigh.

I recounted for Lucy and her brother my meeting with Mr. Waverly, his interview with Adèle, and his hidden mastery of French. Mr. Douglas couldn’t keep a grin from his face, for which he apologized. “I am sorry, Mrs. Rochester, but I do admire Waverly. He never ceases to surprise me.”

“Speaking of surprises.” I handed Mr. Douglas the sketch I’d made. “It is a rather good likeness.”

“This could be a powerful asset in finding the thief.” He carefully folded his pocket handkerchief around the sketch. “Perhaps one of my informants will recognize him.”

“I sincerely hope so.” For the most part, I pushed that unhappy problem from my mind. The return to teaching and the intrigues of Alderton House aided me immensely in this, but not entirely. I dreaded talking with Edward about the loss of his family heirlooms. Now a slight glimmer of hope lifted my spirits.

When Lucy hugged me good-bye, she slipped me a packet. “Letters from Ferndean,” she whispered. I shook Mr. Douglas’s hand and headed toward Alderton House with my charges.

I walked with the Juniors while Rufina, Adèle, Nettie, and Rose chased one another toward an Oriental plane tree that might have been one of the originals planted in the park nearly two hundred years ago. Under the last vestiges of its lacy leaf cover, the Seniors circled ’round and ’round until they felt dizzy. All was laughter and shouting until Nettie slipped and fell. She landed hard, twisting her foot under her. I raced to her side.

“I’m not hurt, miss. Not much,” said the lisping girl as I offered her my hand to pull her up. But once on her feet, the color drained from her face and she turned an ashen white. “Ow!” She flinched. “It pains me something fierce.”

Rufina rushed to her classmate’s side. “Nettie, put your arm over my shoulder. Adela? Get on her other side.”

Rose offered Nettie a quick kiss on the cheek, but no physical assistance.

For a while, Adèle, Rufina, and Nettie struggled across the
grassy lawn of Hyde Park, but soon Rufina shook off the French girl’s assistance. “I know you are trying to help, but I think Nettie can hop along better with just one of us, and I am fine, honest I am. She does not weigh much. Not really.”

Rufina and Nettie managed without my interference. The two girls were roughly the same height, but Rufina’s endurance astonished me. Rufina was sturdy, but the strength she showed amazed me, as did her leadership, because under Rufina’s command the situation was quickly in hand.

Yesterday I doubted that any of the girls could have smothered Selina. I didn’t believe they had reason—and I doubted they had the strength. And I wondered that they would pull together as a team.

Now I knew differently, and the scars from the canings suggested a new reason for animosity.

A rather more disturbing thought: What if the girls had worked in tandem? What if two or more of them had pressed the pillow to Selina’s face? What if Selina had been the one responsible for canings—and they decided to put a stop to the torture? Especially since no adult was there to supervise them?

What exactly were my students capable of?

I didn’t have the luxury of pondering this overmuch. We arrived back at Alderton House just as Mr. Waverly was leaving. “Ah, Miss Eyre.” He emphasized my last name to send me a message: I know your secret.

“Mr. Waverly.” I nodded. “Run along, girls. I shall be there shortly. Rufina? Tend to Nettie, please.”

“How goes the investigation?” I waited until the front door had shut behind the girls.

He wasted no time on niceties. “Were you aware that another girl died at a school where Miss Miller was in charge?”

“They called it typhus, but the real killer was starvation,” I said, remembering our deprivations at Lowood.

“Indeed? Well, I have also learned that she slips out at night.”

This confounded me. Yes, I’d noted that she’d been missing for large portions of the day yesterday, but…could the long and narrow set of footprints have been Miss Miller’s, not Miss Jones’s?

“What do you intend to do?” I struggled to keep my voice calm.

“You shall see soon,” he said cryptically, removing his pipe and blowing out a stream of smoke. “I have one other person in the school yet to interview. That young footman. Confound him. He manages to scurry out each time I arrive. Someone must be assisting him in giving me the slip. But I shall catch up to him!” With that, he turned on his heel and left.

Purposefully holding myself erect, I made it inside the doorway before collapsing against the frame. What did his questions about Nan Miller mean?

After climbing to the first floor, I saw the Junior girls racing down the stairs from their dormitory after depositing their bonnets and exchanging their boots for mourning shoes. “Ladies,” I warned them sternly, “this is still a house of mourning.”

In the main classroom, Rufina situated Nettie with her foot propped up on a leather ottoman. Rose took her injured friend’s bonnet and cloak and went to borrow a rag from Cook. When she returned with the length of cotton fabric, I wrapped Nettie’s ankle as tightly as was comfortable.

With our injured party taken care of, I asked Adèle to collect the girls’ essays comparing bird beaks. While she picked up the papers, I wrote German vocabulary words on the blackboard and instructed the girls to use these words in simple sentences. Instead of correcting the girls’ assignments, however, I opened my letters and read:

I smiled and tucked that letter back in my pocket. A lump formed in my throat as I read about Ned and Edward. How thoughtful of Mrs. Fairfax to work with John to create a contraption to help Edward write! My heart filled with warmth toward the old lady. How lucky we were to have Alice Fairfax in our lives! Oh, how I missed my family back at Ferndean!

On the second sheet I found a wobbly script, occasionally overlapping itself, but on the whole easy enough to decipher.

I wiped the tears from my eyes with my linen handkerchief. Why was I here when he was there? What possible use could I be to these girls? For a long while, I turned the letter over and over in my fingers. It was a spider’s silk thread that bound me to my real life—and I worried that at any moment that thread might snap and I would find myself all alone.

At dinner, Miss Miller was missing. Mrs. Thurston rapped on her water glass with the blade of her knife and looked out over the girls. “You comported yourselves well this morning. Please keep up the good work. There will be important visitors coming in and out, no doubt. I expect you to carry on as usual. Also, Miss Miller has been confined to her quarters. Teachers? Please see to her students. Remember, I tolerate no gossip. None! Have I made myself clear? Very well. Carry on.” She raced through a prayer and punctuated the word “amen” with a hearty slam of her fist so that all the serving utensils jumped and clattered. Milk slopped over in one of the pitchers and spilled onto the tablecloth, lending a pungent fragrance to the setting.

As she sank back into her seat, I caught a whiff of gin. A quick glance her way told the tale. She had been drinking!

I gripped the edges of my chair seat to steady myself.
Carry on.
Yes, that was exactly what I must do.

Miss Jones’s expression was largely unreadable; the laudanum seemed to have dulled her responses. The students
exchanged quizzical looks, as they did not immediately grasp the import of Mrs. Thurston’s comments. But Rufina understood and blurted, “Miss Miller must be in trouble! It’s that man who keeps questioning her, isn’t it? What is he? A constable?”