Lucy rang for Polly, and I rushed to my room to supervise her packing. While she bundled up my undergarments, a sleeping gown, and my black silk, I wrote a hurried note.
Dear Husband,
I have a few concerns about the environment at the girls’ school. They bear more scrutiny, which I intend to apply immediately. Therefore, I must write this in haste.
Know that Adèle is safe, and I am well.
Lucy is everything you said her to be and more.
I send my love to you and our son. Tender my warm regards to Mrs. Fairfax.
Your adoring wife, who misses you—
Jane Eyre Rochester
“Polly? Please make sure this goes to the post,” I said, handing her my letter. A pang of sadness ripped through me. How I missed my son and husband! And what could I do about the missing Rochester gems? But this was not the time for self-pity. This was a time for action.
With the abigail’s help, I changed back into my gray dress. The hem drooped in the back from the weight of the water it had collected. Although Polly had cleaned it, the gown was not totally dry. I sighed knowing it would be wet again in minutes. The damp fabric clung to my skin, but that could not be helped. Reluctantly, I folded my new pashmina. It was far too fine for me to wear in my charade as a poor teacher. I stared down at my portmanteau and questioned it as well. Would a simple governess own such a fine trunk? “Polly? Could you find me a muslin bag? I need something less elaborate to hold my clothes.”
She nodded, left, and returned quickly with a worn pillowcase.
“That will do nicely,” I said.
Polly’s nimble fingers held open my boots as I wiggled my toes into place. The scuff marks reminded me of the skirmish at the coaching inn. My ribs ached from my struggle with the thief, and one touch to my eye assured me the episode had not been a dream. I had barely escaped unharmed. How could I protect a small clutch of young girls? Girls who had no experience with rough-and-tumble living? Young women who might be harboring a killer in their midst? I sank down onto my bed, pretended to adjust my stockings, and took a few moments to collect my thoughts. Was it possible that one of the students was a killer? Or had a teacher ended Selina Biltmore’s young life?
Edward, my darling husband, had never seemed so far away. I imagined he would worry about my safety if he knew of my plans. He would point out my elfin size and modest demeanor as inadequate resources for besting a murderer. He might even scold me for exposing myself to possible injury.
But he wasn’t here. And he often remarked that my outward appearance was at odds with my formidable spirit. This could work to my advantage. The killer might underestimate me, and therefore, I might discover the identity of Selina Biltmore’s murderer before he—or she!—recognized my true purpose.
Not only was our beloved Adèle in danger; a murderer roamed the halls of the school. A frisson of fear crawled up my spine. Might another girl fall victim? I hoped not.
Polly handed me the pillowcase packed with my things. I thanked the girl as she started to tidy up the clothing we had rejected.
Miss Miller’s voice drifted up from the parlor. Adèle and the other girls were in her care, but Miss Miller seemed as pliable as a willow branch—not at all the sort of personage who might thwart a killer!
Why, she had been frightened of Mrs. Thurston while considering the consequences of her visit this afternoon! Was it possible that she worried more about her responsibility to Mrs. Thurston than about the safety of her charges? I knew Miss Miller to be a dependable and kind person, a generally fair teacher, though one who had been overworked and weather-beaten even in those days, and seemed even more so now, since our first meeting more than ten years ago. But she had never been authoritative, and I could not imagine her having the presence of mind to protect the students at Alderton House. If confronted by a superior or by a personage with more status, I was positive that Miss Miller would give way.
She needed my help, and as I reviewed what I knew about Alderton House, I wondered: How could the two of us watch over all the girls? Were there other teachers who also could be called upon to safeguard the students?
I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the dressing table mirror, as Polly continued her efforts. My plain and youthful visage belied the harsh conditions I had endured as a child. My simple hairstyle—parted in the middle, pulled back, and braided—contrasted with the complexity of my thoughts, the tangled strands of my emotions. My posture was unbowed, and so was my spirit, but to the outside world I looked as meek and mild as a spring lamb.
My face was still swollen, my eye was black, and my lip was split. I touched these tender nodules and marveled at the damage that had been done to my person. Yet when confronted by a thief armed with a knife, I had fought back! I had not given way!
What an unlikely savior I would prove to be for these girls!
Yes, I was small and unassuming, but I was also determined.
I would have to do.
Lucy rapped sharply on my door and stepped inside. “Have you finished, Polly? I wish to speak to Mrs. Rochester in private, please.”
Polly gave a half curtsy as she left and closed the door behind her.
“You do not know my brother,” said Lucy, “so I must tell you this one thing to ease your mind: He is a powerful ally. Bruce is cunning and brave, and when it comes to the safety of those in his care, he can be positively ruthless. Be advised, you can count on him.”
I nodded. “I see that in his manner.”
“I sense your determination. However, I beg you—do not put yourself or Adèle at risk. Your bravery is evident in your bruises and scrapes. You fought so hard for a handful of jewels! I can only guess how you would defend a child. But if you sense danger, do not try to soldier on alone. Instead, call for help. I am suggesting a prearranged signal. We know there is a horse chestnut tree near the Senior dormitory. You could tie a handkerchief to the branch nearest the window, couldn’t you?”
I nodded at my friend. “That should work well.”
“One of Bruce’s men will be watching for it. He has a group of like-minded former military men who work for him on a regular basis. They served together in India, so they are tested and true. You will never be without resources.”
I stared at her. Lucy was more thoughtful and more versed in the art of subterfuge than I ever would have expected.
As if reading my mind, she smiled. “At a later date, we can discuss how I came to be so conversant with such matters. But this is hardly the time. May I suggest that you do not share this information with Miss Miller?”
I quickly grasped the reason. Clearly Lucy and her brother also felt a pinprick of doubt regarding Miss Miller’s loyalties.
“I shall keep the existence of a watchman our secret. The prearranged signal will go no further than the two of us.”
Impulsively, my new friend—for such she was proving herself to be—embraced me, a gesture I accepted with pleasure. “What courage you have! We’d best get you on your way. Williams will drive you and Miss Miller to the school and let you out two streets away, as to avoid suspicions about your arrival by carriage. My brother and I will be in the park tomorrow afternoon and every afternoon thereafter. We shall wait for you on a bench. You can expect at least one of us to be there daily.”
She stepped back and stared into my eyes. Hers had changed, deepening from that springlike shade of bluebells to the midnight blue associated with the fathomless depths of the sea.
“You can count on me for anything. Anything at all,” she insisted again. “When I said I wished to be your sister, I offered you my home, my hearth, and my heart. After glimpsing your character, I am proud to be your sister. You are not alone in this venture. I stand in the shadows, but I am here. I am ready to assist you in any way possible.”
This embrace was quicker, but the emotion that welled up inside us made us grasp each other much more tightly. A signal, perhaps, that we both feared those rocky shoals and storm-tossed seas a
head.
As we parted from our hug, she gave my hands one more quick squeeze of affection. The pressure from my wedding band reminded me of the part that I would be playing. Lucy must have read my mind because her fingers lingered against those of my left hand.
“Your ring.” A sadness filled her eyes as she turned my hand over before clasping it with both of hers.
I stared down at my wedding ring. I had expected to never remove it, to wear it with my shroud to the grave, but here I was, less than a year and a half later, tugging at it. Reluctantly, I worked the simple gold ring down the length of my finger. My skin fought the ring’s slow progress. The removal tore my heart in two. When, at last, it slipped over my fingertip, I grasped and squeezed the band tightly, hoping to burn the shape into the flesh of my palm.
Lucy plucked the ring from my hand. “It’s not the ring or the ceremony that binds you and Edward. It’s your heart. I see it in your face, in your eyes as they light up when you say his name. Do not despair. Gold is a soft metal, easy to dent or ding or melt. But a woman’s heart is a substance immutable even to the most skilled alchemist. Have no fear, Sister. With or without this ring, you are still his, and Edward is still yours.”
With that, my friend left to instruct her cook to pack up a bit of cheese and bread for Miss Miller and me, in case she and I had missed our supper. Higgins was getting Miss Miller’s coat when Mr. Douglas intercepted me in the hallway. He motioned me into the library.
“I must be quick. I sense that you are that rare person who finds strength in adversity. Good. I have served with such men in India, and I tell you they are the strength of any organization. Since you lack neither the will nor the intellect, I shall endeavor to give you self-preservation skills that should serve you well if you are confronted with a deadly adversary. Pay strict attention, please. The first is simple: Never underestimate your opponent. Trust no one. Stay alert. Do not allow yourself the luxury of an unguarded moment.”
“Maim samajh guyi,” I said.
“You speak Hindostanee!”
“Only a little. Thank you for your good advice. I shall follow it carefully.”
His eyes widened in wonder. “You are welcome. Entirely welcome.”
Chapter 18
Once in the carriage, Miss Miller shrank so far back into the shadows that I could only discern the outline of her fingers pressed against her mouth. The clop-clop-clop of horse hooves drummed us away from the Brayton home. Over the course of the day, my muscles had stiffened, and each bump and bounce along the cobblestones sent lightning bolts of pain through my body. After one particularly rough jolt, I gasped in pain.
“Does it hurt much?” asked Miss Miller.
“I shall be fine.”
“I hope we both shall be.”
Another carriage passed by, its coach lights illuminating our cabin and highlighting an anxiety in Miss Miller’s eyes.
“I rarely ride in coaches.” She ran her hands over the horsehair seat covers. “My, my.”
My heart softened toward her. “You have done right to tell us about your fears, and therefore, you have done your duty to Alderton House.”
“And what of you? Surely taking Adela home would have been a simpler solution. Your husband would applaud your good sense, and you could rest easily at night with his ward under your roof again. It’s not too late, Mrs. Rochester. The driver could wait outside Alderton House. You could take Adela and leave.”
The thick landscape of the park presented an impenetrable fortress. Tree leaves moved against a sky of gray, a ceiling that pressed heavily upon us. I moved restlessly, feeling closed in and panicky. My thumb rubbed the spot where my wedding band had been. Miss Miller was right: It would be easier to take Adèle and go home. No one would blame me. Besides, I had a husband and son to consider. My life was not mine alone anymore. Their own lives and well-being depended upon my safe return. My scheme threatened those sacred obligations.
But as Bruce Douglas had pointed out, how could I live with myself if I did nothing to aid the girls at Alderton House?
I straightened my shoulders. “My course of action is set. Perhaps we should turn our efforts toward making me a credible German teacher, even if my hire is temporary.”
“You do possess the necessary language skills, don’t you?”
I sighed. Why were we going over old ground? Was she that fearful that our plot would be discovered?
I bit back my impatience and said, “I have studied German. I can read and write in that language. As for conversation, I have mastered enough to teach other beginners. Before we met, my husband traveled through Europe, spending time in all the capitals. He has a good ear for languages. He corrected my pronunciation of simple words.”
“‘My husband traveled through Europe.’” Miss Miller echoed what I had said in a tone of wonder. “How different your world is these days! Well, you should feel at home at Alderton House. At Lowood, we were trained to serve others. At Alderton, we train girls to be served by others. There is merit to both ways of life. In truth, the more I learn about the expectations visited upon these children of privilege, the sadder it makes me. They have less freedom than one might suppose. Mrs. Webster, our former superintendent, once compared a hothouse orchid to a common thistle. Both may be delicate and luminous in their beauty. But one can only survive under the constant, tender care of a gardener, while the other can scratch out an existence in the most meager of soils.”
Miss Miller fingered her skirt thoughtfully and said, “Mrs. Webster would then ask us, ‘Which flower is to be envied?’”
“I have no doubt. I know I am the thistle, and glad to be so.” I sat deep into the well-worn carriage seat. The day had tired me, and my eyelids begged to close. The end of day had the opposite effect on Miss Miller. The darkening gloom and the rhythmic swaying of our carriage rendered her garrulous.
“I concur. The plant is useful, sturdy, and distinctive.”
Suddenly her voice sounded just like our old superintendent, a woman we had both known and admired, Maria Temple. Miss Temple had challenged us to use our minds, finding rote repetition and mimicry offensive. “A split-tongue rook can be trained to repeat words,” said she back then, “even if they be nonsensical. But God has granted you the gift of reasoning. Use His gifts wisely!”
I wondered: If Miss Temple were here, would she applaud our scheme?
I fervently hoped so.
The carriage lurched to a stop. A storm of emotions assailed me. Could I follow through with this charade? Would my masquerade fool Mrs. Thurston and, possibly, a killer? If I learned that someone had murdered Selina Biltmore, what might I do with that knowledge?
Williams rapped on the carriage door, and before he could send water cascading over me for the second time in one day, I quickly rose to exit. He gravely handed me my pillowcase full of clothing. Miss Miller and I made our way to the curb, waving him on.
My colleague and I stood side by side, watching the light of Williams’s receding coach lamps glint and skip along in the running rainwater. Neither of us spoke. The task ahead loomed large before us, a steep hill, a Sisyphean ordeal far too arduous for two tired women. Silently, we turned and started to trudge toward Alderton House.
“I assume he is much older than you?”
She did not need to specify whom she was speaking of. “Edward is twenty years my senior.”
“Then he is old enough to be your father! Although that is not unusual, is it?”
“I scarcely gave the matter any thought. Edward is my ideal match; the two decades between us mean nothing to him or me.”
“We can use the age difference to your advantage. I suggest you emphasize your innocence,” Miss Miller said. “If Mrs. Thurston questions you about the rumors she heard, tell her of your lack of experience with the opposite sex. Proclaim how little you knew about Squire Rochester and his designs on you.”
“Is that truly necessary? The circumstances were extraordinary.” A catch in my chest squee
zed hard, and I found it difficult to speak. This was the first time that I fully realized how at Alderton House, I would need to adopt a far different relationship to the man I loved! Why, Nan Miller did not even know that I was a mother! During my first visit, she and I had focused on Adèle’s welfare. On this second visit, we had concentrated on the safekeeping of the Alderton House students. Suddenly I realized how little I had told my old friend all about my new life. I gasped slightly, and she reached out to steady me, thinking I had stumbled upon a rock.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Fine. Just momentarily overcome with homesickness,” I said. Seeing her expression and recalling the scandalous gossip she’d heard, I gave Miss Miller the brief—correct—details of my past three years, concluding with the news of my baby.
She stopped. The rain punished us, but Miss Miller stood there, soaking it up. “You have a child? Of your own?”
“Yes,” I said, and a smile came to my face. “He is six months old, and his name is Edward Rivers Rochester. We call him Ned, and he is beautiful.”
“A happy ending,” said Miss Miller.
“Yes.”
We walked a bit without conversation. I asked, “What of yourself? What has happened in the years since we last met?”
“After you were successful with your advertisement, I placed a similar note in the paper. A school in Liverpool required a headmistress. I served there for a year and a half.”
We both wiped water from our faces, as the rain showed no signs of slowing and the droplets hit hard with venom. “And then?” I encouraged her.
A hesitation, a catch in her voice, warned me that she was fighting a strong emotion. “Circumstances changed. I came to London, and then Miss Gryce—do you remember her from Lowood?—mentioned in a letter that Lady Kingsley needed a headmistress.”
I sensed there was more, but a fresh gust of wind sent a shiver down my spine. My injuries cried out in protest. I gritted my teeth and struggled to keep pace with Miss Miller, whose legs were longer than mine and presumably not stiff with pain.
Death of a Schoolgirl: The Jane Eyre Chronicles Page 13
