I slept through dinner, vaguely aware that Polly had tried valiantly to rouse me. Thus refreshed, I awakened in the morning at seven, a habit derived from checking on my son. The sky hung black as a funeral crepe, and torrents of rain beat against the window glass. Polly heard me stirring and brought me my dress. Not a smidgeon of mud blemished the skirt. I thanked her profusely for her hard work. When she heard I planned to visit the school, she suggested my black silk worn with a tucker. However, it was one of my better gowns, and a quick glance outside told me the rain was not letting up.
“I shall simply wear my gray corded muslin again,” I said to Polly, and asked her about breakfast.
“Cook don’t make anything before ten because Mrs. Captain isn’t up till then. Lady guests don’t usually get up as early as you. How about a cup of tea, ma’am?” She went to ask Sadie to bring it up for me.
As I drank the reviving beverage, Polly assembled my clothing. I could tell by her lack of enthusiasm that she thought my choice ill-advised. Nevertheless, she helped me into my undergarments. I moaned a little with pain as she tightened my stays.
“Sorry, ma’am,” she said.
After I was dressed, Polly brushed my hair, parted it, and, at my direction, pulled it neatly into two coils, one on each side of my head.
To finish my toilette, I added the tiny pearl pin from Maria Temple to the front of my dress. Compared to Lucy’s finery of the night before, the brooch seemed whimsical, but it brought me such happy thoughts of my old teacher that I decided it must stay.
“Is Williams available? Please tell him to bring the carriage around front.” With that—and more thanks—I dismissed the girl.
I had decided it was best to first see Adèle, assure myself that she was fine, and then return to the Braytons’ home. The cook would have set out breakfast by the time I returned. Thus, I could eat at my leisure, pen a note to Edward, and perhaps visit Hatchards while Lucy was making her afternoon social calls.
But as the coach started rolling, I debated the wisdom of my plan. My stomach growled with hunger, recalling my missed dinner. The motion of the carriage produced a light-headed sensation.
Suddenly, we came to a stop. Peeking out the window, I realized we sat at the end of a lane, a goodly distance from any houses.
“Beggin’ your pardon, Mrs. Rochester, but I dunno if I can get us closer to the school. There are several carriages blocking the way.” Williams positioned himself half in and half out of the Braytons’ landau door, his awkward straddle baptizing me with fresh torrents of rain.
“We have arrived?” The trip from the Braytons’ to Alderton House was much shorter than I had expected.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“That is the school up ahead? That large building on the right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Braving the rain, I stuck my head out farther and surveyed our situation. “Can you not get me any closer, Williams?”
“I’ll see what I can do, ma’am.” The coachman doffed his cap—not the best idea since the rain ran over his head and shoulders—and took off to determine why the conveyances ahead of us were stopped. He returned shortly and said, “The jarvey up ahead warns me they ain’t moving. We could turn around. Come back later.”
I considered that perhaps I should return to the Braytons’. I could go back to bed and await breakfast, postpone my visit to Alderton House for a few hours, or even another day, and perhaps change into a dress more suitable for my status. Wasn’t it Glebe who’d remarked that I didn’t look like a lady who’d own diamonds?
But Adèle needs me.
With that thought uppermost in my mind, I made up my mind. I moved toward the door of the coach.
My right eye had swollen so alarmingly that sight was difficult. But I ignored my injuries and squinted out the window as the rain poured over the brim of my bonnet. Beyond the stalled carriages stood two figures in black, clearly involved in conversation, their heads invisible under a large black umbrella.
“That’s a fine-looking Berlin,” said Williams, staring at one of the carriages. He spoke more to himself than to me. “Fast and light, but hard to overturn.”
“Is one conveyance markedly better than another?” My curiosity got the better of me.
Williams’s jaw dropped. “Certainly, ma’am. Why, just look at it!”
What was it Edward had once told me? “In London, ostentatious style determines one’s pecking order. The citizens of that town judge one another with the same sort of assessment a farmer generally bestows on livestock.”
“I shall get out here,” I declared, having made my decision.
“No, ma’am! Please, no, you cannot! Mrs. Brayton finds out, she will have my hide!”
I doubted that. Stuffed and mounted he wouldn’t make much of a prize. Williams certainly would not enhance her fine marble entryway.
“I’ll speak on your behalf. My mind’s made up.” I struggled to open the door, and Williams hurried to help me down. I swallowed a whimper as I stepped first on the lozenge-shaped carriage step and finally onto the uneven cobblestones.
The smells of London assailed me: damp wool, wet coal dust, moist peat smoke, running waste from chamber pots, and piles of fresh, steaming horse droppings. All this at a highly desirable address! I could only imagine the squalor of the rookeries in Holborn, those wretched quarters where I had been told that thieves, children, hogs, and dogs vied for food and shelter.
“Williams, those two men block the front door. How else might I enter?”
“See the wrought iron railing with the steps going down? That’s called the area. But it’s for the trade and servants. Wouldn’t do for quality like you!”
Two years ago, I wouldn’t have been welcome anywhere except through the servants’ entrance. My wardrobe may not have changed, but every other aspect of my world had.
“Thank you, but it will have to do,” I said, my tone brooking no argument.
Williams tipped his hat again and said, “Very well. I shall wait for you around the corner, ma’am!” With that, he hopped back up to his high perch.
I hurried against the wind as it buffeted me up and down, the way a kite gets tossed about on a fretful spring day. Picking my way through the puddles, I discovered a walkway. I gave a wide berth to the two men—who still stood on the front steps, talking in urgent tones and totally ignorant of my presence—and I continued until I could grasp the wrought iron fencing and follow it along. I was nearly at the bottom of the stairs when the two men ended their conversation.
One hopped into the Berlin and took off down the street. The other opened the front door of Alderton House and disappeared inside. He came right back outside, his hands gripping a long, low plank. On it was a bundle covered by a white sheet. A partner carried the other end of the burden, both struggling to keep their footing as they navigated into the wind.
Unexpectedly, the wind changed direction. The gust knocked the men sidewise—and pushed me against one of the house walls. I watched helplessly as the men struggled to regain their balance by juggling their load. A corner of the white fabric worked free from the stretcher.
The wet sheet rose up like a sleeping creature comes awake. The fabric swayed first this way, then that. Snapping and snarling in the wind.
I shivered at the sight of it, an inanimate object come to life to dance a demonic jig.
The new man shrieked and nearly dropped his end of the transport. The other man responded with guttural curses, first at his partner, then at the elusive fabric that jerked up and away from his grasp.
The cursing man reached high and snatched at the white sheet, finally dragging it. The pelting rain ought to have plastered it down, but the fabric refused to stay pinioned. It jumped free of his hand once more, and flew up to reveal what was in the bundle.
A body with skin as white as chalk.