Death of a Schoolgirl: The Jane Eyre Chronicles

by Joanna Campbell Slan

  “Good heavens, what is on your dress?”

  I looked down at the dirt I had gathered while climbing the tree.

  “Change immediately into something presentable,” said Mrs. Thurston.

  “I will do so.”

  We were in the midst of eating luncheon when Mr. Waverly rapped at the front door, demanding to see Mrs. Thurston. After a hurried conference in her office, she entered the dining room. All of the girls were already there, as were Miss Jones and myself. Miss Miller remained sequestered in the Infant dormitory. Mr. Waverly, however, also called in Caje, Emma, and Cook. The staff members took places at the back of the room.

  “Go get Miss Miller,” Mr. Waverly instructed a constable, “and escort her to the carriage waiting outside.”

  Mr. Waverly took the floor. “I am sorry to tell you that we believe that Miss Miller is Selina Biltmore’s killer. Therefore, we are now taking her into our custody. If any of you have evidence pointing to Miss Miller’s guilt, it is your duty as a loyal subject of the Crown to bring those facts forward. Do not share them with each other. I repeat: Do not share any information you have. I shall return on the morrow, at breakfast. You can give whatever information you have directly to me. That is all.”

  Mr. Waverly left, and our meal concluded shortly after. Back in the classroom, a subdued mood settled over the group. The girls were oddly quiet. Rose’s brow puckered and she said, “Will they hang Miss Miller?”

  “Let’s keep her in our prayers.” This was an evasion, but one that satisfied all of our needs.

  The afternoon lessons dragged along. A soft rain started, gathering effort as it went on, until thunder burst like a drumroll demanding we snap to attention. “I believe we shall work indoors today,” I said.

  Once again, loud knocking at the front door disturbed our studies. This time it was the undertaker removing Selina’s body. His assistants also carried all the floral tributes out into the waiting hearse. Twice now she had left this building in the rain. This time, I knew she would not be returning.

  This sorrowful event further dampened my students’ spirits. I lectured on birds of prey. Even my thrilling description of how a barn owl can find a field mouse failed to elicit a flicker of interest. Each child turned her fears inward rather than express her worries. Nettie chewed on her fingernails, and Rose twisted a strand of hair around and around her finger. Rufina dug at a bump on her knee. The Juniors mainly sat huddled together, hunched over, and bleak as an outcropping of small stone protrusions.

  Another spate of banging interrupted our session, but this noise came from directly overhead. Leaving Rufina in charge, I slipped out to ask Emma what was happening. “Mrs. Thurston asked Caje to nail the windows shut.”

  “What!” My plan depended on Mr. Douglas being able to enter the dormitory from the horse chestnut branch.

  “Since Miss Miller won’t be here in the Infant dormitory, this way no one can crawl in or out.”

  This would prove an impediment, but there was no help for it. I would have to carry on regardless.

  By dinner, the girls had recovered somewhat. Their bright chatter did me good. Children seem incapable of dampening down their natural buoyancy for long periods. By the time we repaired to the sitting room, a modicum of normalcy had returned. Without Miss Miller, Mrs. Thurston was compelled to join us during the sewing hour, as I had hoped she would.

  “She plans to sleep with the Infants,” Miss Jones whispered in my ear. “I guess that Mr. Waverly told her in private that under no circumstances were the girls to be left without chaperones again. He was most adamant on that point!”

  The superintendent’s presence had a distinctly dreary effect, though she largely ignored the girls. The novel she had been reading must have been captivating, because she stuck her nose in the book and never spoke to the rest of us. After a while, the book fell from her grip, and she slumped over in the big brown tapestry wing back chair, snoring loudly. When Emma brought the tea and bread, Miss Jones tapped Mrs. Thurston on the shoulder. The rotund woman awakened in time to heap her plate high with savories.

  I had carefully chosen a spot in the middle of the room, on an ottoman, where I was the centerpiece of the group. As the girls poured tea, I leafed through the handful of papers that I’d found in Selina’s dresser. They were nothing but poorly done homework assignments and her unkind thoughts about her classmates; however, for my purposes they worked nicely. I waited until Emma brought a second tray of cheese and then gasped loudly.

  “Oh my!”

  “What is it?” Mrs. Jones set down her teacup.

  “This is a diary that Selina must have started.”

  That elicited a snort of laughter from Mrs. Thurston. “Selina? A diary? I heartily doubt it. Our Selina wasn’t much interested in introspection.”

  “Nevertheless, I found these papers in her dresser earlier. I meant to throw them out but decided I should look through them first.” I made a show of glancing over the papers before clutching them to my breast dramatically. “They are dated shortly before her death. What time is Mr. Waverly arriving tomorrow? He will certainly want to read these. I believe there is information here that points to a motive for her murder.”

  Mrs. Thurston snapped her fingers at me. “Give me those.”

  “I cannot. You heard the inspector.” I folded the papers and tucked them into my pocket. “He specifically told us to keep any information to ourselves, didn’t he, girls?”

  Little faces nodded, looking from me to Mrs. Thurston and back again.

  “How could I face him and tell him I was disobedient? For tonight, this will keep. I shall hold them close to me. I plan to sleep with them under my pillow.”

  “Confound you! I say, hand them over!” The superintendent thrust out her chubby hand.

  “No. Considering all that has happened, I plan to adhere to instructions. To do otherwise would reflect very poorly on all of us!”

  That capped it for her. Mrs. Thurston heaved herself from her chair and stormed out of the room, stomping along and muttering darkly. Miss Jones sighed. “I am going down to the kitchen to ask Cook to make hot chocolate. It might settle our nerves.”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “On such a dreary night, I’m sure that would be most appreciated by all.”

  A few minutes later, Miss Jones reappeared with a tray, and the girls perked up considerably as the rich scent of chocolate filled the room. As she had predicted, the treat improved everyone’s mood.

  Afterward, we went to the dormitories. Mrs. Thurston’s voice drifted through the wall as she fussed at the Infant girls about some small matter.

  I pushed the curtains aside and checked. Yes, the sill had been securely nailed shut. There was no remedy except to move forward. While behind my modesty screen, I fingered the kirpan. The sleeves of my night rail would not cover it. The wrapper caught on it. Frustrated, I took the dagger from its sheath. When I stepped out from behind the screen, I quickly tucked it under my pillow.

  Although the rain had quit, clouds covered the moon. I’d never known a darker night. My pulse raced. Would my audacious plan work? The stillness absorbed all light and gave nothing back.

  “Miss? Are you going to tuck us in?” Rose called to me from across the room.

  “Of course I shall. That is the best part of my job,” I told her as I picked up my candle and headed her way. Although I yearned for my own son, I would also miss these girls. I pulled up the covers and gave each child a kiss on the cheek. Rose surprised me by reaching up and hugging me—hard. “You are the nicest teacher we have ever had.” Her words were slightly slurred.

  Rufina tried to speak and also tripped over her own tongue.

  There was only one explanation: The hot chocolate had been dosed with laudanum.

  In short order, the girls fell fast asleep. I moved from bed to bed to be sure they were tucked in. Rhythmical snores and sighs came from all my young friends. With any luck, tonight I would flush out the killer—and none of the c
hildren would be the wiser. They would sleep through any commotion. In the morning, we could assure them that the school was safe again.

  At long last, I climbed into my bed and stared at the ceiling while I waited for a signal—Bruce Douglas’s tap on the windowpane. That noise would tell me that he was up in the tree and in place. I planned to pantomime that the sash could not be opened.

  Perhaps I could use the kirpan to somehow pry the nails loose. I climbed out of bed, lit the candle, and tried, but it did not work. The struggle seemed to tire me, and I was increasingly clumsy. After a few halfhearted attempts, I staggered back to bed.

  My last waking thought: I’ve been drugged!

  Fighting the call to slumber, I fell fast asleep.

  Chapter 45

  The first part of my plan had been simple: I would set up a scenario that suggested that I had incriminating papers. Thus, the killer would need to come to me to get them.

  The second was more complex: Once the killer tried to wrestle the papers from me, we would seize him or her.

  Mr. Douglas would be right outside my window, where he could hear any scuffle and immediately come to my aid. One of his men would be positioned under the tree, and he would sound the alarm to bring the others running.

  Edward would be waiting with John in Lucy’s carriage, parked two houses down, so as to be less conspicuous. Williams would be sitting in the driver’s seat, armed and ready to spring to action. Waverly had been instructed to have the roaming constable shorten his rounds, keeping Alderton House within his sight at all times.

  I had planned to feign sleep, but the drugged cocoa was too powerful to resist.

  I dreamed of Ferndean. Ned was on my lap, cooing up at me, squinting in the sun. Mrs. Fairfax bustled around and poured me more tea. Adèle danced and twirled until dizziness overtook her. Edward stood beside me with his hand on my shoulder. We sunbathed in the gentle spring light, enjoying the nodding daffodils and cheerful red tulips. I picked a purple violet and showed it to Ned, who laughed out loud.

  Then I glanced down and spotted a snake.

  My face was pressed down into the pillow.

  I struggled. A weight on my back pinned me to the pallet.

  I couldn’t breathe. I twisted and turned. Fighting the pressure on the back of my head, I attempted to rotate my face. But the weight on me proved too much.

  The kirpan!

  My hands had been beside my head when the intruder pressed on me. Now I wiggled my fingers under my pillow. My lungs cried out for oxygen! The pain was nearly unbearable! Then an image of Ned came into my mind and I bucked like a wild horse.

  Had my scheme worked so well that the murderer decided I was a threat? Why wasn’t it enough to simply steal the incriminating papers?

  The unexpected motion knocked my assailant off-balance. I lifted my head long enough to gasp. The gulp of air clarified my thinking. My right hand burrowed under the pillow, but the person leaning on my shoulders held me captive. I bucked again, but this time my assailant was prepared for my upheaval. The pressure never eased off.

  I grasped the knife by the handle, but I could not work my hand free.

  My lips were forced against my teeth. My assailant gave a mighty downward shove. A gush of warmth told me my lip had split. The blood ran toward my nose, wetting the pillow cover. The wet fabric molded to my nose.

  I was drowning in my own blood!

  In a panic, I raised my hips and managed to flip onto my back. The pillow fell to the floor. With my one free hand, I reached up and grabbed a handful of hair. I yanked hard.

  I heard a woman sob as she put the pillow over my face again. “No, stop. I don’t want to hurt you!” she whispered near my ear as she pressed down. “Sleep! Go back to sleep!”

  Was it possible that she really meant me no harm?

  The world faded. Stars circled the edges of my vision. Darkness closed in on me.

  I yanked the hank of hair again and used the strength in my legs to roll my body to one side. In order to stay with me, my attacker needed to shift her weight. We were close to toppling off the side of the bed. With one mighty tug, I struggled to withdraw the hand with the kirpan—and succeeded! My hand was free!

  I raised it overhead and plunged it into my attacker.

  She screamed in pain and rolled off of me, falling hard onto the floor, still grasping the pillow. I jumped to my feet and stood over her, with a dripping knife blade in my hand.

  Whirling on me, she grabbed me around my ankles and pulled them out from under me. I hit the floor with a crash.

  Edward! Help me! I thought.

  Everything went black.

  Chapter 46

  “Jane? Darling girl, come back to me,” Edward called from far away.

  “Try the smelling salts,” Lucy said.

  An odor assaulted me, causing me to gasp and choke.

  “That is it, my sweetheart. Come on. Breathe!” Edward commanded me. “For God’s sake, Jane! Come back to us!”

  Sputtering and fighting, despite the pain in my chest, I sucked in fresh air.

  “I do not doubt that her ribs are broken,” Mr. Douglas said.

  He might have been right. Each breath hurt, a pain so intense that I never wanted to breathe again. I wanted only to rest, to slip away. To leave the agony behind me and go back to that twilight of nothingness.

  With enormous effort, I took one agonizing breath and then another. A strange voice said, “Good job. Keep it up, Mrs. Rochester.”

  I struggled to open my eyes. Edward held me in his arms the way a mother cradles an infant. His face looked down on me as we half sat and half reclined on a settee in the parlor. His brows knit in concern. “I thought I had lost you!” He kissed my forehead.

  “Sir, I believe she might breathe better if I bind her ribs. The wrapping stabilizes the bones.” A serious-looking young man pushed his wire-rimmed spectacles up on his nose. The black bag in his hand led me to think he was a surgeon.

  “Wha…what?” That was the best I could muster.

  “You are safe, Jane.” Edward squeezed my hand.

  “Mrs. Rochester, a surgeon is attending to Miss Jones in one of the classrooms. A constable is with them.” Mr. Waverly leaned over me.

  “We burst in on her as she was trying to smother you,” Edward said.

  “It was a near thing.” Mr. Douglas turned his cap over and over in his hand. “I tapped on the window, but you didn’t respond.” Lucy, dressed as a street urchin, stood at his side. She had a frightened expression on her face, which was mostly covered by an oversized newsboy’s cap. This costume had served her well when she delivered the message to Mrs. Thurston that Fräulein Schoeppenkoetter had again been delayed.

  “Mrs. Thurston had Caje nail it shut,” I explained. “And the cocoa I drank was dosed. I should have expected that. It only had a little laudanum, but enough to keep the girls sound asleep. They are unaware of the scuffle, aren’t they?”

  “Yes,” Lucy said. “I checked. They are sleeping, as is Mrs. Thurston. Emma and Caje are awake. They are making tea in the kitchen. Cook is also asleep. Caje explained she takes a nip at night and might be hard to rouse.”

  “I couldn’t keep my eyes open,” I said. “Where is Miss Jones? How is she? Did I cut her badly?”

  “No,” Mr. Waverly said. “You merely managed to nick her, but it was enough to make her cry out. Mr. Douglas heard her. He yelled to his man, who alerted the rest of us. We were stymied by the front door until Mr. Douglas volunteered to pick the lock.”

  “My skills are rusty.” Mr. Douglas broke into a roguish grin. “So is the lock! Took me longer than I had hoped. Meanwhile, with the help of his man, John, your husband broke down the door in the area. Somehow he managed to race upstairs and straight to your bedside. Thank God you called out to him!”

  Of course, I hadn’t done any such thing. At least, not out loud. But my heart had called to Edward.

  And he had heard me.

  “There is only one p
roblem,” I said to the assembled group. “Miss Jones didn’t kill Selina. And she never intended to kill me.”

  “But I pulled her off of you,” Edward said. “John came on my heels and helped me wrestle her to the floor. She is a large woman. A strong one, too. Your lip still bleeds.”

  “She was simply trying to snatch Selina’s papers from under my pillow—and because she is such a large woman, she was suffocating me.”

  “But she had your pillow in her hand—” Edward interrupted.

  “Yes, but I believe she panicked. I do not believe her original intention was to do me harm. After all, she dosed the hot chocolate. She had every reason to think I would be insensate. Her goal was to stop me from sharing Selina’s journal—a journal that doesn’t exist.”

  “So she murdered Selina Biltmore, is that right?” Mr. Waverly asked.

  “No.”

  “I am confused,” admitted Lucy, removing her cap and running a hand through her hair.

  “Someone else murdered Selina. But my plan flushed out Miss Jones because she was worried about the journal, which I invented to enact this scheme. You see, Miss Jones was slipping out at night. She was meeting someone, and Selina found out.”

  “How do you know all this?” Edward asked.

  “I sprinkled powder on the landing and saw her footprints. Later, I examined her shoes and they were wet. That was why Miss Jones had to get a look at the faux journal. She worried that Selina noted her disappearances—and Miss Jones feared she would be sacked without references if Mrs. Thurston found out. On the other hand, Miss Jones is responsible for writing the threatening notes.”

  “What threatening notes?” Mr. Waverly said. “No one has mentioned this to me.”

  Lucy reached in her pocket and handed over the notes I’d given her earlier for safekeeping. Edward explained to Mr. Waverly about the threat that had fallen out of Adèle’s letter to us.

  “I withheld the threats from you, but my reasoning was sound,” I said to the Bow Street Runner. “With the first one, I worried that it might have been written by Adèle in a bid for our attention. Because of various circumstances, we hadn’t visited her in some time—and our letters did not get through, either. Adèle was angry at being ignored, and rightly so. Writing such a note would have been an easy way to punish us. If I gave it to you, it would only make her look bad. You were already suspicious of her.”