Death of a Schoolgirl: The Jane Eyre Chronicles (43 page)

“You think it was a person well aware of my wife, her mode of dress, her travel plans, and where she carried the jewels.” Edward spoke very quietly. “Is that right, Mr. Douglas?”

“Yes, I am sorry to say that I think it was someone acquainted with Mrs. Rochester’s peculiar circumstances.”

“But wouldn’t an amateur have immediately taken the jewels to the first unscrupulous merchant he could?” I asked.

“Not necessarily. You suffered a black eye, and you said that you gave the thief one as well. Glebe’s report said as much. Mr. Waverly himself followed up after he met you. The constabulary in London knew to look for a man with a black eye who was trying to sell a diamond circlet with matching necklace and earrings.”

“But he could have sold the jewelry in another town. A town where no one knew our man had a black eye.” Edward
gently set his empty cup on its saucer. A muscle flickered along his jaw, a sign that tension was building inside him. Mrs. Fairfax offered to prepare more tea. I thought that a good idea and said so.

“No. London was the place to sell them. Why go to all the trouble of stealing them only to exchange them for a mere pittance of their value? London would be the place to find a jeweler who had good custom, one comfortable with high society, who could therefore offer top dollar for the lot. In London, one might remain anonymous. London would have been the best place—the only place—to offer such an opportunity. But my sources tell me that nothing of the kind has gone on offer.” Mr. Douglas did not look jubilant; indeed, he recognized the gravity of his implications, and the regret showed on his face. He was leading us down a path where we did not want to go.

“Which might mean that your sources are wrong. Or that the thief hasn’t had the chance to convert the gems,” I reasoned.

“And why wouldn’t the thief have had time to find a jeweler?” Edward wondered.

I thought he knew why but wanted to hear my opinion. “Because the thief needed time to heal before he traveled to London. Perhaps there has been a reason that kept him away. Some pressing matter, such as his employment or his family. Remember, I was attacked on the Great North Road, still a good distance from the city.”

Mr. Douglas smiled at me. “Mr. Rochester, your wife is exceedingly skilled at this art of rational thinking.”

“But how could anyone know what I was carrying—and how I was carrying it—and forgo my portmanteau, unless…” I paused. “Do you have the drawing I made? The one of the thief?”

Mr. Douglas withdrew it from his pocket. “I showed this
to John as he took my horse. He said he went to detain the man we’re looking for.”

I looked over my sketch with a curious mixture of anger and sadness, the twin by-products of betrayed confidence. “What do we do now?”

“I have the authority to take the culprit with me. If that is what you wish. You can certainly bring the thief before the Assizes.”

I rose and walked to the door. “Hester? Could you come here, please?”

Perhaps I should have waited so that Edward and I could discuss the matter further, but I couldn’t help myself. I needed to know if my suspicions were accurate. I wanted to hurry this along, because waiting for the blow only increased the pain.

“Yes, miss?”

Mrs. Fairfax set down the tea tray. Seeing the expression on our faces, she asked if she might leave us alone.

“Please keep Adèle and Ned occupied. Do not let them in here,” I instructed the housekeeper before turning to Hester. “You have brothers, right? Three or four?”

She froze and stared at me with huge eyes.

“One of them looks like this?” I held up the sketch I’d drawn.

Her eyes traveled from me to Edward and back to me. She fell to her knees, sobbing, her face pressed to the carpet. “Please, oh, please, miss. He shouldn’t have. He was wrong. And it’s my fault, too. I didn’t mean to! I just told him about the jewels and how pretty they was. His children had nothing to eat. Nothing! So he thought if he took them…but then he couldn’t sell them…and we’re both going to hang! I know we are!”

“Hush,” I said. I lifted the woman to her feet and sat her in a straight-backed chair while Edward and Mr. Douglas went out to the barn. They came back shortly with John, who was holding a shotgun on one of the Muttoone brothers.

“Josiah! I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry!” Hester wailed.

After one look, I knew. He had been my assailant.

He stood there in the midst of the parlor, head bowed and thick tongued, stumbling an apology. Over and over, he apologized. Most touching, he begged that we forgive Hester. “It weren’t her idea. She mentioned it, and I took it on meself.”

“Where are they?” Edward asked gruffly.

“Under your h-horse’s t-tack in the stable.” The young man could barely talk for stuttering.

Edward dispatched John to find the gems and Leah to fetch her husband, James. After a brief conference, Mr. Douglas and Edward decided to detain Hester and Josiah in the small room we used as a larder until we could talk the matter out. James was given the shotgun and told to stand watch.

While I listened, Mr. Douglas and Edward discussed various legal remedies. We called in Mrs. Fairfax, who was naturally curious about what had happened—and positively horrified when she heard. Eventually, Edward laid the decision at my feet. “What do you think I should do? He broke the law. He hurt you. That is what makes me angriest.”

I was angry, too. However, I was also ashamed. “How many children in their family have died? How long were they hungry? What did we do to help them?”

That was all I asked. It was enough. Edward gave the siblings a stern dressing-down and then told them to quit the place.

“Seems to me they got off lightly,” Mr. Douglas said.

“Not really,” I said. “They have lost their income. They will have to confess this transgression to their families.”

“Their children will not suffer,” Edward said. “I shall see to it.”

The three of us sat up late that evening, talking until we were exhausted. “I believe your response was correct,” Mr. Douglas said. “You showed compassion and mercy.”

“Actually,” Edward said as he swirled amber brandy in a
snifter while we sat before the fire, “my wife showed compassion and mercy. I bowed to her wishes.”

I stirred the coals, watching them fade until they were nothing more than gray and white ashes. “Their crime was in response to our neglect. We should have done more for them.”

“And we will, my darling. I promise you.”

That night I dreamed I stood in the garden and stared up at the stars. As a child, I promised myself that my mother and father looked down on me. It was fanciful and reassuring, but it gave me no comfort now. I wanted to see my son grow into a man. I wanted to be at Adèle’s side when she wore a bridal veil. I wanted to stand beside Lucy and Augie Brayton’s son when he matriculated at Eton.

I breathed in the sweet fragrance of violets and turned to see my friend Helen beside me. “Did you cry out for help? Was it your voice I heard?”

Of course.
She smiled at me.
We are never really parted from those we love. The stars disappear in the harsh light of day, but still they shine. They might be invisible, but they are there.

The next morning my husband woke me up with a kiss. We took our time getting dressed.

“I had the strangest dream.” I took my husband by the hand.

“What about, my darling?” He kissed my palm, and we walked side by side down the hallway. Edward stopped and poked his head into the kitchen. “Mrs. Fairfax? Would you bring our tea out into the parlor?”

“I am trying to remember. It was about my old childhood friend, Helen. Helen Burns. She came to me. I can’t recall what she said. Give me a minute.”

I was backing into my chair when something stopped me. A flash of purple caught my eye. I turned and stared at it, there on my seat.

One perfect violet.

It is easy to confirm that
Jane Eyre
was first published in 1847; however, pinning down the exact year in which Charlotte Brontë’s classic was set proves more challenging. Allusions to publications by Keats and Byron suggest a timeframe between 1814 and 1820. There are other hints as well.

The book that intrigues eight-year-old Jane, Thomas Bewick’s
A History of British Birds
, was published in two volumes, between 1797 and 1804. Since the rest of the tale (up until the concluding chapter) takes effect over the next ten years of Jane’s life, we are now looking at an “autobiography” set somewhere around the year 1815.

In any event, I chose the year 1820 for this continuation of Jane’s narrative because the death of George III and the ascension of his son made for such a fascinating period in history. Few men have ever been as thoroughly blessed and as totally despicable as King George IV, George Augustus Frederick of the House of Hanover. It is against the backdrop of this sovereign’s immorality, selfishness, and irresponsibility that Jane’s character truly shines. Although King George IV was endowed with every advantage, and Jane Eyre a fictional orphan with none, there is no question in my mind which of these two characters has stood the test of time.

To learn more about this era, please visit my website,
www.­JoannaSlan.­com
, for a listing of resources.