Death of a Schoolgirl: The Jane Eyre Chronicles (38 page)

On the last page, he had dropped down to the center, scribbled a few last lines, and signed his name.

I hesitated. This letter was different. It laid a solid foundation. I held it over the flame. An edge curled with heat—and then footsteps echoed in the hall.

I tucked that last letter deep into my pocket. I could burn it later.

“I packed up Selina Biltmore’s belongings,” I said as I set the portmanteau on the floor of Mrs. Thurston’s office. I went there immediately after checking out the footsteps on the stairs. It turned out to be a Junior girl, Patience, who’d come to fetch the history lesson she’d left in her dresser.

Without glancing up from her desk, the superintendent said, “Good. Tell Caje to fetch it and take it in by the coffin. They’re coming to take her down to Brighton for the funeral later. Odd. I’d have thought there would be visitors to pay their respects, but none came.” Raising a teacup to her lips, she slurped a mouthful, then paused, dog-eared the page she was reading, and finally acknowledged my presence. “That reminds me. After classes today, your services will no longer be required and you will need to find other lodgings.”

My heart plummeted—and she watched for my reaction. As much as I wanted all this to be over, I was sure that Waverly hadn’t found the killer. Nan Miller might be guilty of sins of omission, but she hadn’t murdered Selina Biltmore. Solving this crime from outside of the school community
would be much, much more complicated, if not impossible. Especially now that I’d begun to hatch a plan to expose the killer.

The stack of loose papers that I’d found in Selina’s dresser was filled with nasty observations she had made concerning her schoolmates. As I’d looked them over, a plot began to form. After all, it was Adèle’s letter that brought me here—why shouldn’t another set of communications send me packing? As I folded Selina’s expensive undergarments, I wondered, what if she had written a diary? She clearly knew how to pick at other people’s sore spots. Did I really need to find such a journal? Couldn’t I prevaricate? Wouldn’t it be enough to let the school population think that a diary existed and that I had it in my possession?

“Fräulein Schoeppenkoetter sent a courier with a message. Her coach arrives at the Bull and Mouth at eight this evening.” The old woman spoke in a gentle voice. “Have you anywhere to go?”

“Yes,” I said without moving.

She went back to her reading but watched me out of the corner of her eye.

Looking up, she added, “Of course, Mrs. Brayton would give you a reference.”

“Yes.”

“Is there anything else, Miss Eyre?”

“No.”

I took my leave of Mrs. Thurston, and as I closed her door behind me, I heard her sigh. Miss Miller had been right: The superintendent was not all bad.

Hurrying down the hallway, my mind raced along with my steps. My time would be cut short! I had to see Lucy and Mr. Douglas right away. They could carry out the important second step of my plan—securing the blessing of Mr. Waverly. I needed a viable excuse for visiting them. But what? What could I say?

I would have to climb out the Senior dormitory window. And do it quickly while my girls were at breakfast and then at their first class. There was no help for it. If anyone knew of my exit, this entire scheme would wither on the vine. I’d also have to avoid the Robin Redbreast as he made his rounds.

I had never climbed a tree. Looking out over the branch of the horse chestnut tree, the task daunted me. But I was undeterred. I could do it. At least gravity would “assist” me, since my immediate task was to climb down and not up. After sliding up the window sash, I leaned my torso half in and half out.

Do not look down,
I warned myself. But of course, I did, and my! The ground was at least thirty feet away! How small and thin the grass looked!

You can do this, Jane. Take it one step at a time.

Stretching forward as far as I could go, I grabbed for the closest branch. My fingers grasped a small protrusion, only enough to use as a grip. I pulled myself out onto the limb and rested there on my stomach, sprawled across the largish branch and hanging onto a smaller one slightly over my head. With effort, I turned so that my boots rested against the trunk. That left me staring into the dormitory with my feet wedged uncomfortably in the crux of the tree. Below me was a tangle of branches. My foot searched blindly for the limb I knew was beneath me, but my skirt inhibited my movement. Where was it?

I could see another branch below me that might serve as a step downward. Turning myself toward the trunk, I reached my right hand to grab a thin offshoot before stepping down with one foot, and then the other.

My heart raced from both exertion and fear. Where to next? If I could transverse my path to the other side of the tree, I would be less visible. Unfortunately, in my thin white mourning dress, my form was easily distinguished from the gray tree trunk.

Feeling my way along with one foot, I touched another branch to my right. Testing it, there seemed to be no problem
of it bearing up under me. To reposition myself, I would be forced to grab a limb above my head and swing myself over.

Which I did. For a tantalizing beat of my heart, my feet dangled in the air without support, and my palms cried out to let go, but I held on. Huffing and puffing, I rested on this new perch. Below me two branches formed a V.

Feeling rather pleased with my abilities, I quickly dropped down into the new landing spot. From there it was another easy step, a branch to my right that dipped closer still to the ground.

But that new spot could only be gained by a leap forward. Could I do it?

I had to. I closed my eyes and pushed off.

Only to be yanked back midflight.

My skirt had caught in the branches above me and hauled me backward!

My left hand slipped and lost its purchase on the new branch. To my horror, I hung there, swaying back and forth, my skirt over my head. Unable to see. Fully aware that my undergarments were exposed.

Slowly my fingers on the right hand lost all feeling. Added to this came the slow
rrrrrrrr-rrrrr-rrrr
of ripping fabric. The waistband of my skirt pressed hard against my ribs, cutting off my air. I couldn’t see. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t hold on much longer. I wiggled and wiggled, rocking myself left and right, hoping the fabric would finally give way.

Rrrrrr-rrrr.
How much longer would the cheap fabric take to rip? And when it finished, would I be free? How would I explain lying on the ground in my chemise? I redoubled my efforts to grip the tree, but my fingers burned. I reached up with my other hand, but the fabric occluded my vision.

I was growing light-headed. And my fingers cramped with pain.

A voice called up to me: “Just let go!”

I did.

I fell.

And Edward caught me.

I tumbled into his arms. He wrapped them around me, and I responded by planting kisses all over his face. “Darling husband! How I have missed you!”

John, Edward’s manservant, hooted with laughter. “That was a near thing, miss! I positioned master just right!”

“Jane, I did not know you to be so athletic!” Edward twined his fingers in my hair and kissed me. “That is a promise kiss. More will have to wait. Williams holds the carriage for us, and Lucy is most impatient to see you.”

“But my skirt!” I pointed to the shredded fabric caught in the tree. He followed the direction of my finger with his eyes. Was it my imagination or did the one eye seem clearer?

“Confound that silly frock. I suppose we can’t depart and leave your skirt flapping like a pirate’s flag, can we? Dash it all.” Setting me on my feet gently, he caressed my face and wrapped his cloak around me. “John, will you tear that down? My poor dear wounded sparrow. I can tell your eye is still swollen.”

He ran a gentle fingertip around the bruise. “Does it hurt much? When I catch the thief who hit you, he will wish he was never born.”

John tugged at my disheveled frock until the fabric tore free. I shivered in my chemise and Edward’s wrap. With fabric in hand, we headed toward the street where Williams sat in the driver’s seat. “Hurry!”

Once the carriage door closed and John had joined the driver in the dickey box, I showed my husband all the affection he’d been lacking. In turn, he stroked me and petted me until warmth ran up and down my body. “When did you get here? How did you know I needed you right this minute?”

“John and I set out several days after you left, but that blasted carriage kept sticking in the mud on the way to Millcote. Then I realized: John could lead my mount, and we could ride faster on horseback. What a fool I was not to think of it sooner! I arrived this morning at Lucy’s house. Lucy told me what you are doing at the school and why.”

“Are you angry?” We had not been married long. Although I knew Edward, and understood him, I had long ago realized that we might occasionally disagree. This could be one of those times.

“Of course not. I know why you went along with such a dangerous ploy. I would have expected nothing less of you than to step forward to help these girls. I promised our hostess she could come with me to see you, but again—”

“You couldn’t wait.”

“No, I couldn’t. I missed you too much. When Williams pulled up with the carriage, he spied you out on a limb, as it were.”

“Just in time.” I ran my hands over the rough fabric of his suit and tucked my hands in his pockets. I pressed my face to his throat and breathed in the scent of him, tobacco, whiskey, and masculinity. I kissed him and wrapped his arms around me. “Thank you for understanding me so well. How is our son?”

“He is splendid. Big and fat and jolly. I do believe he is trying to coo like a turtledove. Mrs. Fairfax is delighted to have him all to herself for these few days.”

“And how are you?”

“Besides missing you with every fiber of my being, I am well. In fact, my sight has improved tremendously. Mrs. Fairfax has been quite the ogre, forcing me to submit to warm compresses almost hourly. I have spent most of the time since you left reclining. Although I can’t see as well as I did before the fire, I am surprised at what I can discern. Even without John’s help, I could see the shape of you dangling from that tree like a woman’s eardrop.”

He lifted my chin and kissed me softly on the lips. “I shall always be here for you, my darling. Always. You need never fear. You are never alone. Never again.”

The privacy we enjoyed inside the carriage ended too soon. At Lucy’s house, we greeted our hostess and Mr. Douglas, then adjourned to the parlor. I set out my plan. “Lucy, can you keep these on your person? I shall need them soon, but it is best that I do not carry them.”

I handed her the threatening notes, including the one that had started everything in motion.

“Mr. Douglas, can you convince Mr. Waverly to help us?” This was vital to my scheme.

“I am sure I can,” Mr. Douglas said. “The Bow Street Runner has little to lose and everything to gain.”

“Lucy? Can you dispatch Higgins or Williams to waylay Fräulein Schoeppenkoetter? I am not sure how you can identify her, but I know she arrives at the Bull and Mouth at eight o’clock this evening.”

“One of my men can go there and hold up a placard with her name on it. It is done all the time,” she said.

Next I explained my plan, going step-by-step. I concluded with this warning: “My scheme cannot be postponed. We cannot detain Fräulein Schoeppenkoetter for long. They have
not yet charged Miss Miller with a crime. Mr. Waverly is gathering all his information and the magistrate will issue the summons. Once that happens, we shall be too late to help Nan Miller—and the real killer will go free.”

“I understand what you are doing, but I do not like it, Jane,” Edward said. “Before, you were simply an observer, and you posed no threat to the killer. This bold plan sets you up as a target! Let Mr. Waverly bring charges. That is his job. You have done yours—and this is far too dangerous!”