Death of a Schoolgirl: The Jane Eyre Chronicles by Joanna Campbell Slan

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 meinto 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