Death of a Schoolgirl: The Jane Eyre Chronicles (28 page)

“Mrs. Rochester, you are most talented. I wonder, have you any ability when it comes to capturing the image of a person? If so, could you sketch your assailant from the coaching inn? I have not forgotten about your stolen jewelry. If I take Glebe a sketch, perhaps it will spur action. The lost items have been added to the list of stolen property that the Bow Street Runners keep on hand.”

I thanked him and assured him I’d make a drawing of my assailant that night and bring it along tomorrow. I was glad he’d brought up the subject of my loss. The jewels were secondary to the problem at the school, but I was pleased that he remembered my plight.

I then shared what I had learned about Selina from my students. “She was not well liked. It seems that she could be quite cruel, and would set out specifically to cause the younger girls distress—indeed, took pleasure in it. In fact, she took from them objects that they loved.” I explained about the drawer full of purloined possessions. “In each case, Selina seemed to know exactly what each child treasured, whatever small trinket made that particular girl feel loved.”

I mentioned that Victoria sported bites on her wrist, and Lucy whispered, “Oh my stars. What a despicable child you are describing!”

“Universally disliked? That does make pinning down a killer rather difficult.” Mr. Douglas sighed. He then smiled indulgently as Rose got up to shake a blade of grass off her skirt. Despite the fact that all the girls wore the same uniforms, Rose managed to look as if her pinafore had been sewn by a designer in Paris. Her hair glinted with a shine and softness the others lacked. There was a radiance about her, a natural loveliness. I wondered what her life would be like. Would that beauty be an asset or a curse?

“Selina seems to have displayed a callous disregard for others. When I asked Emma, the maid of all work, what Selina was like, the poor girl turned pale and shook with fear.”

In front of us, Rufina coaxed Nettie and Adèle and most of the Junior girls into a game of blindman’s bluff using Nettie’s handkerchief as a blindfold. I should have demanded that they sit down and finish their lesson. But I enjoyed watching them cavort, and it was a pleasant distraction from our dark discussion. Fresh air has a healthy effect on the young and old alike. The sweet scent of oak leaves perfumed the air, as did the rich, dark fragrance of decaying grass blades.

Perhaps by letting the girls run and play now, they would sleep more soundly tonight, free of fears that Selina would return to haunt them.

Mr. Douglas said, “In summary, we have the death of an unlikable girl who made a lot of enemies. We have the best of the Bow Street Runners on the case. Someone has advised the medical examiner to keep the details to himself. We know that a pillow was used as a weapon. We do not know if the killer attacked the right person—or whether the killer might strike again. Someone has been issuing threats, to Adèle at least.”

“There is more.” I told them about the marks on Nettie’s back and about Adèle’s ignorance of the beating. “Of course, the scars have long since healed, and the caning might have nothing to do with Selina’s death.”

“But it might,” said Lucy. “It surely might.”

I suddenly realized the time. “Girls, tell Mrs. Brayton and Mr. Douglas good-bye. We need to get back to school.”

The initial shyness returned to all except Adèle. She threw her arms around first Lucy and then Mr. Douglas. In babbling French she praised them, told them she adored them, and prayed she would see them again soon.

A spot of worry niggled at me. How would I explain it when we saw them here again tomorrow?

As if reading my mind, Lucy came to the rescue. “Mr. Douglas and I shall be here every afternoon this week. Rags needs his outdoor exercise. So we shall hope to see you again on the morrow.”

“Nicely done.” I leaned close and embraced her, pressing my letter to Edward into her hands.

“Ah, improvisation. It’s a critical skill, isn’t it? Too bad they don’t teach it at girls’ schools.” She smiled at me, then turned to Adèle. “
Au revoir, ma petite
.”

“Trust your instincts,” Mr. Douglas said to me in Hindostanee. “My man awaits your signal for help.”

“I understand.”

With Rags yapping and racing to keep up, Lucy and her brother headed for home. The girls and I started back toward Alderton House, but we hadn’t gone far when some instinct encouraged me to stop and turn around. Lucy and Mr. Douglas were poised on a grassy hummock, watching my charges and me as we ambled back toward Alderton House. My “sister” waved to me, a subtle gesture that spoke volumes. Even from this distance, I could read the affection in her eyes.

A thrill coursed through me. Whatever happened in this adventure, I was not alone. I had a true friend, one with considerable resources—including a worldly, wise brother.

I took Nettie and Adèle by the hands. “Come along, girls,” I said.

I had a murderer to catch.

We walked through the front door and nearly bumped into Mrs. Thurston, her squat form an ugly gargoyle in the midst of the elegant entry.

“Miss Eyre? Where have you been? What were you doing with my students?” she snapped.

“Practicing our plein air drawing work, which is—”

“Varens.” The superintendent interrupted me by snapping her fingers at Adèle. “Come with me. Mr. Waverly is here, and he has a few questions for you.”

Adèle shrank behind me, her fingers gripping mine so hard that she hurt me.

“Is something wrong, Mrs. Thurston?” I asked, as I turned and put my arm around Adèle’s shoulder in a protective manner.

“Wrong? A girl is dead! Under my roof. And Varens found the body! The Bow Street Runner is here to investigate. That is what is wrong—so hand Varens over!”

Terrorized by the woman’s ugly countenance and shrill voice, Adèle began babbling in French. I interrupted her and
responded in her native tongue, reminding her to keep speaking French, and to speak no English to anyone until I told her to do so. The other girls caught wind of Mrs. Thurston’s predatory behavior. They clustered together and moved away, almost as one creature, trying to slink off.

I gave them instructions. “Ladies? Hang your cloaks up. Wait for me in the first classroom upstairs. Finish working on your sketches. Help one another, if necessary. Rufina? Take charge, please.”

Mrs. Thurston might be the titular head of this institution, but her overwrought actions showed her to be a weak leader. I did not mind that I had superseded her. In fact, a frisson of pleasure rippled through me. The girls responded immediately to my request, moving with alacrity and purpose.

My triumph proved short-lived, as Mrs. Thurston called after us. “Varens? Speak English!”

I bent over and whispered in Adèle’s ear in French. “Do not. Absolutely do not. If you love me, Adèle, you will do as I say.”

“
Oui, m-mademoiselle
,” the child stuttered.

“You have frightened her beyond all sensibility.” I stared coldly at Mrs. Thurston. “She’s terrified and unable to access this second language. If Mr. Waverly insists on meeting with her regardless, I am able to translate.”

“So, you insist on putting yourself in the midst of this? You simply must meddle? She speaks too quickly for me to follow, so be off with you. Take the girl into my office,” Mrs. Thurston said. “Go. Get out of my sight.”

Adèle held on to me so tightly that I stumbled over her feet. “I am frightened,” she managed. “Does he plan to send me to the guillotine? That’s where all the French peasants belong. Am I a peasant?”

“Of course not,
ma petite
.” I hugged her slender shoulders.

I tapped on the office door and Mr. Waverly bid us enter. He cocked an eyebrow at my appearance. “The new teacher,
right? Your eye is looking better. Leave me with the girl.” His voice was gruff. After adjusting his glasses upward so that they perched on his forehead, he tucked his fingers inside his vest pockets and rocked back on his heels. This unusual posture gave him a bit of a swagger.

I was not intimidated by him. “Sir? She is French. Her English is inadequate. Mrs. Thurston suggested that I volunteer to translate for you.” I lowered my eyes and stared obsequiously at the carpeting as I told this small fib. I also held my breath.

“Translate? She does not speak the King’s good tongue?”

“No, sir. Not well.”

With that, Adèle started chattering like a squirrel in French. She told me she was frightened, she said she wanted to go home, she asked why his nose was so crooked, and finally I said, “
Ferme la bouche, ma chère
.”

She did as she was told and closed her mouth. However, her blathering had done the trick. Waverly leaned back against the fireplace and stared hard at both of us. “All right then. Sit down. Both of you.”

I “translated” this command.

“Miss Varens, is it true that you and Selina quarreled the day before she died?” he asked.

Adèle told me in French, “She took my ribbon. The one that
mon bon ami
gave me when he sent me away. She would not give it back. I asked and asked and asked for it. I was so angry”—and here she stomped her foot—“so I told her she was mean and cruel and that I hated her.”

I translated. “Adèle resents the fact you question her relationship with Miss Biltmore. They were dear friends. Yes, Miss Biltmore borrowed Adèle’s ribbon, but that is all. The girls often share personal items.”

Mr. Waverly stroked his chin and considered all this. Taking his glasses off to polish them, he said, “Indeed. Is it true
that Miss Biltmore refused to wake up in the mornings? And that Miss Varens was responsible for getting Miss Biltmore out of bed?”

I translated his questions.

“That lazy, no-good cow,” Adèle said. “Selina would sneak out at night. She climbed down the tree. God only knows who she was meeting. Then she would be too tired to wake up. We would both be late but only I would be punished. It made me so angry.”

“Miss Biltmore was also responsible for getting Adèle out of bed. Adèle hates getting up in the morning.”

“Indeed?” He tilted his head and adjusted his spectacles. “Could you ask Miss Varens if she smothered Miss Biltmore with a pillow?”

My mouth dropped open. He could not suspect Adèle! But she understood him.

Adèle stomped her foot so hard that all the whatnots on the étagère jumped and did a St. Vitus dance. She began to say things in French that I could not and would not translate. All of them, I am sure, were learned at her mother’s knee. None of them suitable for polite company.

No matter how emotional she was, she could never hurt another living soul. She would cry for hours when we happened upon a dead baby rabbit in the forest or a baby bird that had fallen from its nest. Surely anyone could see how honest and guileless she was.

“
Non! Non!
” Adèle shouted. As she wound down, she said she would have liked to strangle Selina many times. Yes, she would. But she would never actually
do
such a thing. If she did, that would be committing a mortal sin, and therefore, she would never go to heaven. So, of course, she didn’t kill that stupid cow. How could he accuse her so unjustly? With the suddenness of a summer storm, she burst into torrents of tears.

“But you wanted to kill her. Are you sure you did not do it?” Speaking perfect French, Mr. Waverly asked this directly of Adèle.

Before I could intervene, Adèle said, “
Mais non!
I am not a bad girl. I would never do that.” Adèle faced him, stomped her foot, and spoke in a manner that brooked no questions. “
Jamais.
Never. Do you understand me?”

“
Parfaitement
,” said Waverly. “Perfectly.”

“You!” I pointed a finger at him. “You speak French!”

“And you, miss, you are a sneak and a liar!” he retorted.

“How dare you? Of course I would protect this child from you. Is this how the much vaunted Bow Street Runners work? They throw their weight around and frighten little girls? How proud you must be of your position!”

He burst out laughing. “I say, for a tiny house wren, you attack like a trained falcon. Run along, Miss Varens. I need to talk to your ‘interpreter.’”

My body stiffened with anger. I leaned over, hugged Adèle, smelled the sunlight on her hair, and kissed her. “Go to the classroom with your friends, darling. You are fine. You did just fine.”

She cast Mr. Waverly an imperious look over her shoulder. “Humph,” she grunted, and she stomped out of the room.

“I bet she ruins a lot of shoe leather.” Waverly watched her go. “All that stomping breaks down the soles.”

When I turned to see if he was serious, he shrugged. “My father was a cobbler. Sit down, Miss Eyre. We need to talk.”

I stepped backward and bumped into a chair overloaded with papers. I scooped them aside unceremoniously and sat down.

“I say, I was quite taken in.” He packed his briarwood pipe full of tobacco and propped his feet up on Mrs. Thurston’s tea table. “I have to admit, I thought you a regular green girl, but you gulled me. You do realize I have a serious job to do, do you not? Your interference won’t make it easier. Nor will I find the killer faster if you manipulate my witnesses. Until then, you and she both are in danger.”