I fought to regain consciousness as the world came back into focus. A dull ache thrummed in the back of my head. My stomach rumbled with hunger.
“Miss Eyre? Please, wake up. I haven’t time to play nursemaid.” A blocky hand waved a vial of strong scents under my nose. “Put the tray on the table, Emma. That will be all. Close the door on your way out.”
We were seated in a highly decorated parlor, a veritable jungle of overbearing palms. Dark and gloomy portraits frowned down on us from all four walls. Vases, an obelisk, and a multitude of porcelain figurines competed for space on a white mantel. Reaching for opulence, the decor achieved clutter. The general stuffiness and the overabundance of items added to my mental confusion.
“Drink this. I added a touch of ratafia.” Miss Miller guided a delicate rose-sprigged teacup to my lips so that I could take a fortifying swallow.
I gasped. The tea could not disguise the fact that the ratafia tasted like oak barrels, where I assumed the beverage had fermented.
I added more tea to my cup and asked, “What happened?”
“I am not sure. Emma summoned me to the kitchen. I thought to meet our long-lost German teacher. Imagine my surprise to find you in our kitchen, and in this battered state! Then you fainted dead away. From the looks of that fresh bruise and broken lip, it is clear that you have had a most trying experience.”
“A highwayman robbed me.”
“Oh dear! They roam the roads with impunity, do they not? You must have put up quite a struggle.”
“I did,” I said. I sought to direct our conversation into another channel. There was no reason to dwell on my past misfortunes. “Did you say that someone had died?”
“Yes.” Miss Miller’s voice was little above a whisper.
“Who?”
“Pardon?”
“I need to know. Who died?”
“Why, Miss Eyre! I hardly think it is any of your affair!”
“Which girl is dead? Is it Adèle?”
“Adèle? We have no student named Adèle.”
“Adèle Varens. She is here. I know it! Tell me she is all right.” My head began to swim with pain.
“Oh! You mean Adela Varens! You call her by her French name? You see, Mrs. Thurston issued strict instructions to only call the girl ‘Adela’ in order that she might become more British in her manner and—”
“Is she all right?” Her evasions proved so frustrating that I could have grabbed Miss Nan Miller by both shoulders and shaken her.
“Of course, Adela is fine.”
I tried to organize my thoughts. Adèle was not dead. However, another girl was! What was happening here?
“How did that girl die?” I needed to know if this was somehow connected with the threatening mail Adèle had received. Was my young friend in imminent danger?
Miss Miller sighed. “Selina Biltmore was found dead in her own bed this morning. An undisclosed illness, or some unknown weakness, appears to have felled her. Really, Jane, you are most provoking. As I said, I need to get to my responsibilities, especially given this sad occurrence. I shall see you to the door.” Miss Miller attempted to stand.
I grabbed her arm and held her fast. “No,” I said. “I cannot leave. Not yet.” My hands flew to my temples where the pain stabbed through my skull like a pair of sharp daggers.
“I shall excuse you overstaying your welcome because it is clear to me that you are in pain. I can see it on your face. You carry no reticule. I assume that since you were robbed you are penniless and without shelter, like so many here in London. I would offer you a bed for the night, but unfortunately, I am not in a position to do so. I hate to send you away, but my presence is urgently required elsewhere.” Miss Miller pulled away from me and tried to stand, her chilly speech bolstered by her stiffened posture. “Do come visit me again. I am sorry we lost touch with each other. Now that we are reacquainted—”
“Miss Miller! I must see Adèle. I have pledged to do so.”
Miss Miller sat back down. “How do you know Adela?”
“Think back to our time together at Lowood. Do you recall that I advertised in the Herald for a position? And that I was offered a situation as a governess?”
Miss Miller pondered this. “Yes, I recall that.”
“It was Adèle I was hired to teach, and as a consequence, the child grew very dear to me. I’m sure she’s told you as much.”
Miss Miller looked away and fingered her dress, meddling with its thin fabric. “No, I had not heard. Well then, you must have been one of several teachers she had! You see, Dowager Lady Ingram is a friend of our founder, Lady Kingsley. Through this connection, Mrs. Thurston heard that Mr. Rochester had a governess who ran away from her post. Under circumstances most embarrassing and insalubrious.”
A hot blush crept across my face. “What did Dowager Lady Ingram say?”
Seeing Miss Miller waver between telling me and holding her tongue, I added, “I might have heard a similar story.”
“It is a wild tale of a wedding interrupted. See, there was a governess involved, a young lady with aspirations far above her station. Terribly unsuitable. Dowager Lady Ingram told Lady Kingsley how this tutor bewitched the lord of the manor. Had him quite crazed for wanting her. As a consequence, he proposed marriage and she accepted, causing the squire to spurn poor Blanche Ingram, who would have made him a brilliant match. Lady Ingram’s daughter Blanche’s heart was quite broken. But it was all for good, because that wicked man was already married! Can you imagine? When the upstart governess found out his true intent—bigamy!—she ran away, and the squire sent his ward off to school. That’s how Adela came to lodge here. And there’s more.”
“Pray continue.” Although I knew an honest version of this story by heart, I wanted to hear the gossip that Dowager Lady Ingram was spreading. I needed to know what tales were being told about me and Edward.
“Dowager Lady Ingram told Lady Kingsley that the wife was a madwoman, kept locked in the attic of Squire Rochester’s country manor. Have you ever?” Miss Miller paused and took a sip of her tea. Her urgent business had been temporarily postponed in the excitement of sharing such scandal. “I guess the squire had a nurse who looked after the madwoman, but that old crone was given to drink. And one night the crazed wife slipped free of her drunken minder and set the old hall on fire! Squire Rochester was nearly killed as a consequence. Don’t know but he’s now an invalid. He hasn’t been to see Adela since she came here.”
“I see.” It took me a minute to absorb this retelling of the events of my life, which, though twisted, contained elements of truth. “But the squire has married again since the fire—in which his first wife perished. Did Lady Ingram not say he had? Doesn’t Mrs. Thurston know that Edward Rochester has taken a new bride?”
Miss Miller shrugged. “I don’t know. Could be. Perhaps Mrs. Webster heard about his marriage. Mrs. Thurston came on nearly six months ago. She has had much to do, especially since our German teacher left.”
“Has Adèle—Adela—made no mention of her guardian and his status?”
“Heavens, no. Maude Thurston cannot abide gossip.”
It took all my self-control not to scoff at this. Clearly, the woman loved gossip! She had no compunctions about sharing unfounded, scurrilous remarks about Edward and me.
Miss Miller continued, “Mrs. Thurston expressly warned Adela not to talk about her guardian. She told Adela the man is a fiend and his name is not to be bandied about.”
I gasped. Nothing prepared me for this. No blow to my body could hurt as much. How dare Maude Thurston subject Adèle to such restraints? How dare this woman judge my husband and label him so crudely! And what must Adèle think? She dearly loved her bon ami, Edward Rochester. The poor child. How confused she must feel!
It’s of little matter, I consoled myself. I am here now. I can set this right.
My former colleague stood. “It has been good to see you. However, given the tragedy of this day, I really must cut our visit short. Perhaps you can come back and visit me and see Adela some other time.”
“But I am here now, and I want to see the girl.”
“That is noble of you, I am sure, but unnecessary. It is really quite impossible for you to visit with Adela today.”
“Perhaps I have not made my position clear. I demand to see Adèle!”
“By what right, Jane?”
“I have every right. I am Mr. Rochester’s wife!” I pulled off my glove and thrust forward my left hand.