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Grace couldn’t believe her eyes when Charlie indicated that Mouse was not Amelia, although the shrug suggested a trace of doubt. He had been at enough meals now to have seen all the women from a distance. And he had been able to look into all the secure cells and meet all the ancillary staff, such as the cook and laundry maids. It was beginning to look as if they were on a wild goose chase after all.
Disappointing, but not surprising. They had accepted from the start that Isabelle only had second-hand information from the woman called Charlotte. If Amelia had ever been here, she would likely have left by now. In a way, it was a relief. Grace would be delighted to disappear over the wall this evening, safely into the custody of her second favourite policeman, knowing she had done her best to help Charlie.
But first, Grace needed to talk to Charlotte Brontë and Alice Smith. After a night on the prowl, her first priority was to stoke her boiler, even if the only fuel on offer was oversalted porridge, thick slabs of bread with the merest scraping of butter, and tea so weak it scarcely darkened the milk.
She scraped her bowl clean and drank her tea to the dregs, wondering if she would be treated as badly as Oliver Twist if she asked for more.
“Have mine.” Fluff pushed an untouched bowl across. “Can’t face food this morning.”
“You don’t look at all well, Fluff.” In her distraction, Grace had failed to notice that Fluff’s usual rosy pink complexion had faded to the colour of old straw. “You were moaning in your sleep last night.”
“My stomach aches. It must be something I ate.”
“Shall I get Sister Jones?”
“Miss Dalloway said it’s the nurse’s day off. She said I was not to fuss, that I’d be as bright as a new penny after a rest. Don’t look so worried, Jane, I’ll be fine.”
Grace shovelled the rest of the food down, then washed both plates. She returned to find Miss Dalloway giving Fluff a small dose of laudanum.
“Will you help Fluff into the dayroom, Jane? Call me if she gets worse.”
Grace draped Fluff’s arm over her shoulder, while Lizzie took the other side. Together they shuffled her into the most comfortable chair in the dayroom, adding an extra cushion for support. Fluff curled up into a ball, clutching her stomach. Grace took her pulse, which was weak, and wiped her clammy forehead with a handkerchief.
Lizzie took Grace aside. “I wish Sister Jones was here. This is just how Clara looked the day before she died. Superintendent Gresham said she died because the demon had lodged too strongly inside her. She didn’t have the strength of spirit to fight it.”
“Gresham is a steaming pile of weasel dung. I beg you not to believe a word he says.”
“I don’t really, I suppose. But he seems to have such power. Sometimes I worry that I will be next, damned for my disbelief.”
“Lizzie, this is going to sound like an odd question, but do you know how Fluff’s family viewed her condition. Were they willing to raise her baby within the family?”
“Fluff wanted to keep her child, but she told me her father had been ready to cast her out onto the street. It was only by the intervention of her mother and uncle that he agreed to admit her to Stillwaters instead and only if she gave up the child. Appalling behaviour. How could anyone think so ill of a lovely girl like Fluff?”
“And you?”
“My older sister and her husband are desperate for a child. For all my father despises me, he wouldn’t hurt her for all the gold in Central Otago.”
“Then I think you have nothing to fear. Would you keep an eye on Fluff? I have to talk to Miss Brontë. I’ll be back as soon as I can, but please call me immediately if she gets worse.”
The Romantics were gathered in a circle, happily arguing over which of their favourite books they would adapt into a play next. Grace hovered at the edge of the circle, directly in front of Charlotte.
Miss Brontë clapped her hands for attention. “Miss Jane Bennet wishes to speak to me. Who am I to refuse such an honour after her heroism yesterday?” She allowed the giggles to subside, then winked at her deputy. “Perhaps we should liven the morning with a little dancing, Miss Austen?”
Her second-in-command soon had the women twirling around their section of the dayroom, conveniently obscuring their leader from the view of the two attendants. Grace was rapidly coming to the view that Miss Brontë was a formidable force.
“I suspect you don’t miss much, Miss Jane Bennet. What are you really doing at Stillwaters?”
“I might ask you the same, Miss Brontë. I believe you would be better placed leading a tribe of Amazons into battle. Or perhaps running a school for talented young ladies?”
“Call me Charlotte, my dear. Most people seem to find me rather ridiculous, but you have seen through me.” Charlotte smiled – a lovely smile that lit up her eyes. “My parents wouldn’t consent to my wish to train as a teacher, thinking it too common a vocation for a well-bred girl. I, in turn, refused outright to marry the obnoxious lard-brain they offered as the alternative. I sank into the world of books and music, until the melancholy became too much for any of us to bear.”
“And here, you have found your calling. Lifting the spirits, and probably saving the lives, of young women who might otherwise fall into despair at their circumstances.”
“To each, her own small task. Although, in truth, it is me who has been saved from a life of misery. I expect that shocks you, Jane, but I assure you that a life deprived of a meaningful occupation is far worse than the deprivations of Stillwaters. Now, how may I help you?”
“First, I have something for you.” Grace checked that the dancers were still shielding them, then reached under the sturdy armchair that was Miss Brontë’s throne, withdrawing one of the books she had taken from the storage cupboard and hidden within the springs of the seat.
Charlotte seized the prize from her and clasped it to her bosom. “Oh my sainted days, Jane Eyre.” A tear slipped from the corner of her eye and dropped to the book in her shaking hands. “My dear Jane, how can I thank you for this treasure?”
“By keeping it safe for the enjoyment of all. There are another dozen or so novels hidden under the armchair, liberated from the confiscated items in the storage cupboard upstairs.”
“I shall withdraw them one at a time, never knowing what priceless gem I might pull out next. Oh, the thrill of anticipation will keep me in a state of bliss for months to come! But come now, no need to be coy Jane, I can see you wish to ask me a question.”
“Indeed I do. I met a woman called Isabelle Forsyth after she escaped from here last week. She said to tell a friend of mine that Amelia and Josiah were still alive. This woman, Amelia, is very important to us, as she has been missing for six years. Isabelle said a woman called Charlotte asked her to pass the message on, but we were separated before I could ask her anything more.”
“How intriguing. I would love to help you solve your mystery, but I’m afraid I am not the Charlotte she was referring to. I never met Isabelle, although she was pointed out to me. She wasn’t here long and didn’t speak to many of the women, as far as I can recall. She was a restless soul, always prowling the garden, as if seeking a chance to flee. As for Amelia and Josiah, I have never heard of anyone with those names here at Stillwaters. There have been a few patients named Charlotte over the years, but none other than myself at present, I believe.”
“Have you been here long?”
“Oh, goodness, I hardly know. Time has no meaning anymore. I was committed in the spring of 1888.”
“Over four years ago.”
“Has it really been so long? I’m truly sorry I haven’t been able to help you, Jane Bennet.”
“You have lifted my spirits and eliminated a possibility. I no longer believe Amelia is here, if she ever was. Enjoy your novel, Charlotte.”
“Indeed I shall. I see it not as a mere book, but as a gateway into another world, better than any tonic a doctor could concoct.”
Charlotte clapped her hands again, bringing the dancing to a halt. Her group was soon flocking to her side, eager to hear what had passed. “Well, ladies, who would like to hear a charming tale about a girl who overcomes great hardship to become a beloved governess?”
The Romantics gathered in a circle, flapping and squawking like a flock of excited parakeets around a particularly juicy slice of fruit. Miss Jane Bennet stood at the edge of the group, basking in their squeals of delight. What pleasure it gave her to see the resilience and companionship of these young women, rallying their spirits with activities they enjoyed, despite the circumstances they found themselves in.
Grace still wanted to talk to Mouse, but that would be best done in the seclusion of the garden. There was still plenty of time for her to finish her task before she escaped over the wall after lights out.