Sometime later, Adèle rooted around in her covers, making enough noise to awaken me.
“Adèle?” I slipped from my bed to hers. “It is I, Jane Eyre.”
“Oh, mademoiselle! Mon Dieu, I am so happy! So, so happy! How I have missed you.” She peppered me with kisses and hugged me with all her might. Lucy had been quite correct in saying that Adèle had lost weight, I noticed as the child bumped against my bruises. Despite my best efforts to stay silent, the pressure on my black eye proved too much and I moaned with pain as Adèle’s head bumped mine.
“You are hurt? Oh, your face.”
“Just a fall at the coaching inn. Nothing more,” I said. “Now shhhh. The others are sleeping.”
“Others? Ah, I am not at home? Not back at Thornfield? This is but a dream?” Her voice trembled.
“We are both at Alderton House. I am here to watch over you.” I slipped my hand into hers and gave hers a squeeze. “I have taken a position as your German teacher.”
“And our proctor? You will be our proctor?”
“Yes. I shall be sleeping in this dormitory each night.”
She propped herself on one elbow. “So that was not a dream, either, was it? Selina is dead, is she not?”
Before I could stop her, Adèle tumbled out of her bed, hit the floor hard, bounced to her feet, and ran to the empty bed, whimpering, “Selina!” as she threw herself against the pallet.
“Stop, you must stop!” I grabbed at Adèle. I did not want the others to awaken. Not until I could coach Adèle in her new role.
Rose sat up in her bed and looked around with unseeing eyes, then settled back to sleep. Nettie whimpered, and Rufina mumbled.
“She is dead,” Adèle sobbed.
“Shhh! Adèle, you must be quiet. You will wake the other girls. Yes, Selina is dead and there’s nothing to be done but to keep her in your prayers.”
Adèle turned to me, wide-eyed and wild. “She was cold, mademoiselle! So cold! I tried to wake her. I tried and tried, but she wouldn’t get up, and her skin was—”
“Do not think about it. Do not!”
Adèle commenced to crying in earnest. “Mama went away, too. To the Holy Virgin. I remember when they came and told me she was gone—never to return. I cried and cried.”
I said nothing. Adèle’s mother Céline Varens was not dead. She had run away to Italy, leaving her child with her landlord and his wife, who had told Adèle her mother had died, rather than betray her unnatural act. Though not the girl’s father, Edward had taken charge of Adèle and thought it better not to correct her rather than admit to the loving daughter that her own mother had abandoned her.
Adèle continued to wail. “Now I shall never see Selina or Mama again! And it is all because I am wicked. A wicked, wicked child. That is what Miss Jones says about me. And Mrs. Thurston says I have an imp inside me!”
“You are not wicked.” I pulled Adèle closer to me. She wrapped her thin little arms around me and buried her face in my neck, sobbing for all she was worth. Rocking her back and forth, I did my best to calm her.
“I know you well. It is not in your nature to harbor ill will toward anyone. Selina is dead; that is so. But you are not the cause. Trust me.”
“What about Mr. Rochester? My bon ami? Why has he not visited me? Is it because you two are married? He must hate me, because he sent me here and he has not written me in ages! Neither have you!”
“When did you last hear from us?”
“Years ago!”
“Years ago? Think carefully, Adèle,” I cautioned her. I knew her predilection for exaggeration.
“Before Easter last.”
I nodded. That was only about six months ago, not nearly “years ago.” The timing would coincide with Mrs. Webster’s departure and Mrs. Thurston’s arrival.
The full import of my situation struck me: I could not now tell her about our son. Not yet. She would be too happy about our new life, her new “sibling”—and she would want to tell her friends, tell everyone. That would ruin my plans. If I left things as they stood, I could continue this charade. But I would have to ask her not to talk about my marriage to her bon ami.
The necessary duplicity saddened me immensely. I hated keeping the truth from Adèle.
But what choice did I have?
“I am here now, dear child. You know I care for you, don’t you? Else why would I be here?”
“Y-yes,” she admitted.
I believe I can be forgiven if a few of my tears mingled with hers. My longing for Edward leapt up inside me, as powerful and as electric as a sudden summer storm. The thought of my baby, Ned, caused my arms to throb with the ache of longing. My throat tightened with emotion.
I rocked my old student in my arms, amazed at how her shoulder blades protruded through her night dress. “Sh, sh, sh,” I repeated as she refused to let go of me. Exhaustion swept over me, and finally, I decided to carry her to my bed.
“Hush now.” I tucked her in and crawled on top of the covers, beside her. Her arms wound tightly around me the way a sweet pea vine grips a lattice. There we lay, two weary travelers clinging to each other. What was I doing here? Why didn’t I take Adèle and run? What had happened to Selina was not our concern, was it? I had nothing to offer the other children. Nothing.
We could hold on until tomorrow. At the dawn, we would dress and gather our things. I would march downstairs and announce my true identity to Mrs. Thurston. Despite her apologies, which I expected would be copious, we would turn our backs on Alderton House. With Adèle’s hand in mine, we would skip down the street to Lucy Brayton’s house. I would put this godforsaken school behind us, safeguarding what was dear to me.
With that plan of action firmly in mind, I dozed off. As did Adèle.