Death of a Schoolgirl: The Jane Eyre Chronicles (20 page)

“You wait in the entrance hall. This is none of your concern.”

I fought the urge to say, “Oh, but it is.” Instead, I managed a half curtsy, left her office, and walked loudly to a spot in the hallway. When I heard the door slam, I stepped toe-heel, toe-heel back to Mrs. Thurston’s room. Pressing my ear against the smooth wooden panels of her door, I could catch a word or two: “Idiotic inspector…How dare he?…an accident…ruin us…”

At that point, her diatribe ceased. Miss Miller must have reminded her about the note from Lucy. A long pause ensued.

“This would be temporary? Only until Fräulein Schoeppenkoetter reaches us?” I heard Mrs. Thurston ask.

An urgent appeal came from Miss Miller, but I could not make out the particulars. I caught the words “German” and “chaperone” and “for now.”

“Bring me Jane Eyre!” said the superintendent.

“You are dripping water on my carpet,” Mrs. Thurston muttered. So was Miss Miller, for that matter.

Standing there in my wet clothes, I rued my appearance. As a rule, I prided myself on my respectable, nearly Quakerlike neatness, and this misadventure had cost me the chance to keep my appearance tidy. Now, here I stood, looking and feeling unkempt, which left me sorely at a disadvantage.

“You lied to me today! You allowed me to think you were Fräulein Schoeppenkoetter.” Mrs. Thurston pointed a finger in my face and shook it angrily. Her hot, fetid breath assaulted my face.

I considered reminding her how she had not given me the chance to introduce myself. Instead, I held my tongue and allowed her to continue her harangue. She lectured me about proper conduct. Teachers in her employ were expected not to chew tobacco or use snuff, not to give themselves airs or ape their betters, not to act overly familiar with the parents or students, and not to question her.

Though I chafed at her tone, the rules were the same in
every other educational institution in the land. But rather than point out the redundancy of her recitation, I said nothing.

“While under my roof, you are not to have followers. Is that clear? So whoever it was who beat you, well, he is not welcome at Alderton House.”

I wholeheartedly concurred with that! But I bit back a smile because I couldn’t conjure up the spectacle of her turning away my “follower,” Edward Fairfax Rochester. Indeed, I hoped I would be done with this assignment before my husband arrived in London.

Mrs. Thurston continued, locking bleary eyes on my person. “You will, of course, join us for prayers in the evenings and on Sundays. Once you prove suitable—and if Fräulein Schoeppenkoetter does not come—I may grant you a half day off every third week, but that is at my discretion. We do not mollycoddle our students. So you were that French girl’s governess? Then I have a low opinion of your skills as an educator, Miss Eyre.”

An uncomfortable heat started at my neck and crawled up to my cheeks. I longed to rebut Mrs. Thurston’s remarks! I wanted to set her straight, to explain that Adèle had made admirable progress under my care, but I had not been her teacher for the past two years—Alderton House was responsible for her recent education. However, I knew that if I quarreled with the old woman, all advantage was lost.

It came to me: Could it be that Maude Thurston had written the threatening note to Adèle?

I swallowed hard and decided I would find out.

“As for her guardian, Mr. Rochester, I have heard all about your misadventure with him. That is what comes of setting your cap so far above your station! Throwing yourself at a country squire. Have you no sense of decorum?” She drew herself up. I found my attention riveted to a stray chin hair that switched back and forth like the tail of a playful dog. This image—ridiculous in the extreme—helped me cool my rising temper.

“Are you listening to me, Miss Eyre? I trust you are not applying to teach here so that you can be close to Mr. Rochester’s ward. Do you see this position as a way to wiggle your way back into his good graces?”

“No,” I said honestly. I told myself the woman would be quiet soon. I reminded myself she would eat enough crow to vanquish all the ravens at the Tower of London. But containing my ire became increasing difficult as she continued.

“Oh ho! I see by your face that you do harbor feelings for him! While London is a town of sophisticated tastes, illicit behavior is still frowned upon.”

Why is it, I wondered, that boorish people persist in repetition? Do they assume that you cannot hear them? Or is it the nature of a boor to repeat the same tiresome phrases over and over?

“You wish gainful employment? And you have hoodwinked a sponsor into recommending you? You hope to be welcomed back into the fold of decency? We shall see, we shall see! Get me my Bible, Miss Miller.”

Turning back to me, Mrs. Thurston held her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “You came this close to becoming a bigamist!”

No insult to my person could have knocked me harder. I blinked back strong emotion, and Maude Thurston frowned as she noted my response.

Miss Miller rummaged through an overloaded étagère. Obnoxious gewgaws, statues of dubious provenance, and other awkward tokens crowded the shelves. After a quick search, she pulled out a dingy leather-bound Bible. The forceful smell of must and mold mingled with the scent of strong spirits.

“On this Holy Book, you must swear to put aside all your feelings for Mr. Edward Rochester, Adela Varens’s guardian. Come! Place your hand on it!” Mrs. Thurston grabbed the book from Miss Miller’s hands and thrust it toward me.

My old friend’s pleading look told me all I needed to know.
She was asking me to forswear my husband, even at risk to my soul. If I backed down now, Miss Miller’s part in this misadventure would go hard on her.

“Really, Mrs. Thurston. Is this necessary?” I said peevishly. “I am here, I can teach German—and Mrs. Brayton vouches for my character. Are you suggesting her recommendation is without merit?”

I had her. Mrs. Thurston paused. Confident that the threat of Lucy Brayton struck the old woman a sound blow, I continued, “Is her approval not reason enough to accept me? Or should I return to her home and take her check with me?”

“Place your hand on my Bible!” Maude Thurston repeated.

Miss Miller’s lips formed one word:
Please.
I could imagine her fear. The Holy Book was inches from my fingertips, yet I could not move toward it.

How could I swear to put aside my love for Edward? Even in our darkest hours, when I had concluded that my only salvation came in putting distance between us, even as I’d run blindly away from the only person I had ever loved, I had never been able to say that I did not care for him. Regardless of the humiliation I had once suffered—I could not sever my feelings for him. No, from the instant I’d first seen him thundering over the hill on his black steed Mesrour, he held my heart in his hands.

This beastly woman demanded that I swear on the Holy Bible that he who meant everything to me meant nothing!

I hesitated. Miss Miller bowed her head and clutched her hands together against her breast. Her lips moved in a prayer.

As did mine.

“Repeat after me,” Mrs. Thurston said. “I, Jane Eyre, do solemnly swear on my true faith as a Christian—”

Eeeekkkkk!

A scream interrupted her.

Since I was closest to the door, I flew out of Mrs. Thurston’s office and raced up the stairs, following the noise. I worried that it was coming from the Senior dormitory, so I climbed faster and faster, thinking of Adèle.

Miss Miller followed me into the hallway, but Mrs. Thurston did not. One quick backward glance affirmed that the superintendent was planning to remain in her rooms. I didn’t spare a second look.

As I mastered the stairs with increasing difficulty, I reminded myself that my young charge had been fine when I left her mere minutes ago. Sleeping soundly, totally insensate to her surroundings, but fine.

The scream dwindled to whimpers.

When I reached the second floor landing, I spotted the open dormitory door. The setting sun had darkened the room somewhat, but my eyes quickly adjusted to the gloom.

I discovered a figure sprawled on the floor. “Are you hurt?” I called out.

“No,” sobbed a childlike voice.

“Adèle?” I said to the lumpy covers, a quiet mound signifying her still-drugged form. I leaned close enough to hear her snore lightly. Her skin felt warm to my touch, but not overly so.

I turned to the child on the floor. Ragged sobs came from her throat. A sliver of light revealed a tangle of auburn hair, a body curled tightly into a protective ball like a threatened hedgehog.

“Are you all right?” I asked, touching her shaking shoulders with a gentle hand.

“Sc-scared. Gh-ghost! I want Miss Miller!” The name came as a wail of misery.

“I am her friend. Where are your classmates?”

“Lining up for dinner,” she said without once looking at me. “Are you a ghost?”

“No. I assure you that I am quite real. Here.” I located both of the child’s hands, which she had pressed to her face. Slowly, I peeled her fingers away. Her hands clutched mine in mortal terror, and still she refused to open her eyes.

“Come now. It’s all right. Look at me.”

“Miss Eyre, where are you?” Miss Miller called up the stairs.

“In the Senior dormitory.” I raised my voice, hoping it would carry my message to her.

Cautiously, the girl on the floor opened her eyes.

“Eeek!” she cried again. “What is wrong with your face?”

I had forgotten my bruises. I choked back a laugh. All the students would be curious about my injuries. That was the nature of the young, to approach the world with unrestrained wonder, unfettered by the faux sophistication that society encouraged adults to affect. Only as we grew older did we learn to practice the art of dissembling about our natural, healthy interest or shutting down that miraculous facility of a wondering mind.

“I’ve been hurt. That’s all. Tell me what has happened. Miss
Miller is on her way.” I could hear my friend’s heavy footsteps leading the way on the stairs, followed by the tromping of a group of other, lighter feet.

Miss Miller’s voice mixed with others, and I realized she was diverting the students, who had responded to their friend’s scream by swarming the stairway. They sounded like a bunch of magpies chattering, trying to make sense of a confusing situation.

But of course they were upset. They had every reason to be. One of their classmates had been discovered dead—and their imaginations had run wild.

Reaching into my pocket, I located a handkerchief and mopped the wet cheeks of my crying companion.

“Come along. There’s a draft along the floorboards.” After I helped her to her feet, I coaxed the girl to sit on an empty bed. Even in the fading sunlight, I could see that she had a curious delicacy, suggesting she would grow up to be a beauty. Tears dripped from long lashes set in an oval face and balanced by tiny rosebud lips.

“Wh-who are you?” she asked of me.

Miss Miller finally made her way through the clutch of hysterical students crowding outside the dormitory door. “Rose, this is our new German and drawing teacher. Meet Miss Eyre.”

But the girl refused to calm down, almost throwing herself at Miss Miller. “Don’t let Selina hurt me! She’s haunting us!”

“She’s dead, child,” Miss Miller said sternly.

“No! She…she’s here!” Rose pointed at the coatrack, draped with my wet things. The imaginative mind of a frightened girl had given them substance and a human shape.

“I see naught but a coatrack and sodden outer garments,” Miss Miller said. “Rose? Cast a good look yonder. Do not let your mind play tricks on you. See? There is no ghost, merely wet clothing belonging to Miss Eyre.”

To help support this claim I went quickly to the coatrack
and held out my shawl and bonnet for Rose to inspect. Afterward, I replaced everything on the pegs.

Rose peeled herself away from Miss Miller and peered, first through squinted eyes and finally through wide-open lashes, at the bonnet and shawl. I lifted each of them again, moving more slowly.

“I thought…I thought…she had come back for us,” said Rose. “I only came up to find my wrap because I was cold, and then I saw…I saw that…and I…I guess I was silly.”