Prayers began promptly at six thirty in the dining room as a prelude to breakfast. I followed the girls, but once I crossed the threshold, Miss Parthena Jones motioned to me to join the teachers at the head of the table. I took a seat between Miss Jones and Miss Miller. Mrs. Thurston sat to Nan Miller’s right.
Toast soldiers stood at attention in silver toast racks. The yeasty fragrance of the fresh bread caused my mouth to water and my belly to rumble with hunger. Generous pots of jam, cheese, and butter also decorated the white tablecloth.
Chairs scraped as girls took their assigned places. We opened the Book of Common Prayer. Mrs. Thurston mumbled her way through Psalm 119, as well as the first and the second lesson.
When Mrs. Thurston finished, all of us waited expectantly to hear what the woman would say.
“We shall all observe strictest mourning for our departed friend, Selina Biltmore,” she said. “Her remains will be returned here to Alderton House. Tonight during your quiet time, the dressmaker will measure each student for her white clothing, as is appropriate when a child passes. Teachers, I’ve instructed the dressmaker to measure each of you for white dresses in a suitable fabric. You will also be expected to purchase mourning shoes. As I speak, Emma covers the mirrors and windows. During this time, I expect all of you to act with proper seriousness and decorum.”
Mrs. Thurston started to sit, glancing around as she did. Miss Miller jerked her chin in my direction and mouthed, “Introduction?” With that, the superintendent froze halfway to her seat, and added, “Miss Eyre joins us to teach German and sketching.”
No words of welcome accompanied this pronouncement, nor was I asked to stand and greet the group. Perhaps Maude Thurston believed that Miss Miller had introduced me the night before. Or perhaps her rudeness knew no bounds. I thought it the latter.
The aroma of breakfast grew more tantalizing with every second. How different this was from Lowood, where the scent of bad food caused our stomachs to turn even as they rumbled with hunger! Although Miss Miller had warned me that life at Alderton House would be different, in no way did her comments prepare me for the continuing surprise of bounteous spreads of food.
Struggling with the weight of a heavy tray, Emma first brought in teapots of steaming tea and pitchers of milk, cool with foam on top. The girls took turns pouring tea for their schoolmates, and at last serving themselves. The students’ manners rivaled those of the gentry, holding the cups just so, pinkie fingers extended. Stirring the tea without splashing or making noise. Passing the sugar and cream to one another. When necessary, lifting snow-white damask serviettes from their laps and dabbing at their mouths.
Miss Miller’s plate overflowed with delicacies, and great portions disappeared faster than I could imagine. I sipped my tea and watched my old colleague out of the corner of my eye. She chewed contentedly, staring silently at her plate.
So this was how the wealthy schoolgirls lived. Coddled and cosseted.
A superintendent might budget the needs of her pantry in a lavish manner, while actually serving nearly inedible food. I expected similar economies from Mrs. Thurston. Her acceptance of Lucy’s “sponsorship” and the meager salary she offered me proved the woman’s avarice.
But Mrs. Thurston was shrewder than I’d credited. By delivering well-fed girls to their families, Mrs. Thurston prepared her students for the marriage market, where well-rounded figures were a badge of desirability. From the looks of it, she settled on a strategy: “Feed the girls and please the parents.”
“Manners, Elspeth,” warned Miss Jones, as a girl from Miss Miller’s Infants’ group reached across the table for a pitcher of milk.
The child withdrew her hand abruptly and apologized. Other students flinched with obvious distress. Miss Jones smiled at the girls. “Remember, Miss Eyre has just joined us. We all want to make the right impression.”
What is the right impression? Especially since I saw your schoolmate dead and cold on a stretcher?
That led me to wonder, was Miss Jones as aware of the danger as Miss Miller and I? I needed to ask. But what if we shouldn’t trust Miss Jones? What if she was the murderer?
My mind traversed broad circles, following each idea around and around. In short order, I found myself suspecting everyone I had met at Alderton House except the elderly Signora Delgatto.
Was there any benefit to my staying? What if it had truly been a random act? If so, it might be impossible to trace the killer’s actions.
This will never do! You must seek out information and have a reason for your thinking, I admonished myself.
I set down the bread I was eating and massaged my temples. Despite my various scenarios, I could not shake a deep conviction that Selina had been the target all along.
If what I’d learned about the girl was correct, there was no shortage of possible killers!