Jane Slayre

by Sherri Browning Erwin

  Have I not described springtime Lowood as a pleasant site for a dwelling? Assuredly, pleasant enough; but whether healthy is another question. The forest dell where Lowood lay was the cradle of

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  fog and fog-bred pestilence; which, quickening with the quickening spring, crept into the orphan asylum, breathed typhus through its crowded schoolroom and dormitory, and, ere May arrived, transformed the seminary into a hospital.

  Semistarvation and neglected colds had predisposed most of the pupils to infection. Forty-five of the eighty girls lay ill at one time. Classes were broken up, rules relaxed. The few, like me, who continued well were allowed almost unlimited license because the medical attendant insisted on frequent exercise to keep us in health. Had it been otherwise, no one had leisure to watch or restrain us anyway.

  The patients absorbed Miss Temple's attention. There was no time for swordplay, though she allowed me to take one of the weapons from the parlour and use it to practise. She lived in the sickroom, never quitting it except to snatch a few hours' rest at night. The teachers were fully occupied with packing up and making other necessary preparations for the departure of those girls who were fortunate enough to have friends and relations able and willing to remove them from the seat of contagion. Many, already smitten, went home only to die. Some died at the school and were quietly and quickly buried, the nature of the malady forbidding delay.

  For a time, it seemed we would lose half of Lowood, but then girls began to recover and reappear in the dorm. But had they returned quite the same? I noticed the few who seemed close to death but recovered had come back to us in a somewhat cold and distant state, not quite the same as they'd been before they'd taken ill. They acted more like Mr. Bokorhurst's "special students." I never saw them eat. They no longer took pleasure in simple things, such as days off from classes. They didn't enjoy roaming in the wild outdoors as the rest of us did, but rather they stayed in and memorized psalms. The Odd Eight became the Odd Twenty. I began to suspect that my hours of leisure were over. Something was not quite right at Lowood, and it was time I did something about it.

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  I could not forget my uncle's words, his charge to me to right wrongs, his insistence that I had it in my blood, the power to effect a change. I was Jane Slayre, and the time had come to act accordingly.

  I, and the rest who continued well, enjoyed the beauties of the season. They let us ramble in the wood, like Gypsies, from morning to night. We did what we liked, went where we liked. I used the time to form my plans and to gain in strength and agility.

  Mr. Bokorhurst rarely came near Lowood now. Household matters were not scrutinised; the cross housekeeper was gone, driven away by the fear of infection. Her successor, who had been matron at the Lowton Dispensary, was unused to the ways of her new abode and provided with comparative liberality. Besides, there were fewer to feed. The sick could eat little. A fair number of "healthy" ate not at all. Our breakfast basins were better filled. When there was no time to prepare a regular dinner, which often happened, the housekeeper would give us a thick slice of bread and cheese, and this we carried away with us to the wood, where each of us chose the spot she liked best and dined sumptuously.

  After a day of trekking through the wood and lifting and moving rocks of various sizes, to build my physique so I could better wield my sword when the time came, I sat with my meal on my favourite seat, a smooth stone rising up from the hillside, which provided a view of the gardens and beyond. I could see the graveyard, though I usually looked towards more pleasant prospects while I dined, and I noticed a fair number of recently dug graves. I left my dinner behind on the stone and drew closer to try to count the number. How many classmates were expected to fill them soon and for how long?

  It made my heart heavy to think of the loss. But as I neared, I realised that some of the now fresh graves had but a few days earlier

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  been full. I was certain I had left flowers here, near Miss Martha Blake Abbot's resting place; yet a hole was newly dug in the ground where a grave had been. A chill ran right through me, along my spine and scattering to my fingers and toes. There'd been a new harvest! Which of my friends had now been turned to zombies?

  I could not stop girls from dying. The sickness would run its course and leave the victims to their fate. But I had to stop Mr. Bokorhurst from practising his vile art in harvesting the poor corpses and reanimating them into his service. I paced, caught up in wild ideas and flights of my imagination. I didn't even notice that Mary Ann Wilson had joined me. She waited, taking her usual seat on the other side of my favoured stone.

  "You seem troubled, Jane," she said as I returned to my seat on the stone.

  "Have you noticed anything odd about some of the girls returning from sickbed?" I asked cautiously. One who hadn't been raised by vampyres might not easily believe in bizarre, supernatural occurrences or beings.

  She nodded, but didn't even look up from her parcel as she extracted a slice of cold pie. "I suppose the sickness leaves them weak. It will take some time for their vigor to return." She took a large bite of her pie and moaned aloud. "Mm. It is so good, Jane. I can't remember the last time I had meat."

  "Meat?" I sat up straighter. "What do you mean, meat?"

  "The pie," she said, her mouth stuffed full. "It's mutton."

  "Mutton!" My heart raced in alarm. "Why on earth would anyone serve--oh dear."

  The new housekeeper, I realised. With Mr. Bokorhurst spending so much time away and Miss Temple occupied with the sick girls, it was possible no one had informed the housekeeper that meat was not to be served to students.

  "I must go." I ran off towards the house, leaving my companion and the rest of my dinner behind. In the entry parlour, I took a

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  sword off the wall. This one, with a small handle and a curved blade, was more of a scimitar, really, light and sharp. I shifted it easily in my hands. It would serve me if necessary. I prayed it would not be.

  I ran through the empty refectory to the kitchen. The housekeeper was there, cutting pies.

  "Who has had the pie?" I asked, not even taking a moment to catch my breath.

  "Oh!" The housekeeper beamed. "Nearly everyone! It's quite a success. And Mother always said I wasn't much of a baker."

  "Nearly everyone?"

  She nodded. "One of the girls took a whole pie to herself."

  "A whole pie? Who? Where did she--"

  "Oh, there she is now. How was your pie, dear?"

  I turned to see Celia Evans making her way through the door, arms outstretched before her. Her mouth shone red in sharp contrast to her greyish pallor. She groaned as she walked. Celia, of course, was one of the original Odd Eight. I wondered at the red on her face--and her pinafore. Blood!

  "Stop right there!" I raised my scimitar. Celia groaned again and kept walking, pushing me aside with superhuman strength. I believe I actually flew through the air and landed in a heap on the floor after banging into a rack of pots and pans. I might have lost consciousness briefly, for when I looked up again, I saw Celia leaning over the housekeeper, who was sprawled messily across the kitchen counter next to the neat row of pies. With utmost speed, I flew to Celia to stop her before she--disemboweled the housekeeper. Too late. "No!"

  Celia looked at me, a section of bloody intestine dangling like a sausage from her mouth. Dear, dear. Poor Mrs.--heavens, I didn't even remember her name. I was about to attempt a quick prayer for the woman's soul when Celia, hands dripping entrails, started for me--not with any great speed, fortunately. Zombies were strong, but they apparently were not quick. I spread my feet for stability,

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  as Miss Temple had instructed, and bent a little at the knees to improve my flexibility. I held the scimitar aloft, then waited for Celia to get closer, close enough that I might lop her head off.

  I waited. She inched forward. Slowly. I waited still.

  Oh, never mind. I charged, scimitar extended. "Yah!"

 
I closed my eyes at the last, fatal second. Not a wise move perhaps. I might have missed. But I did not miss. I felt the sharp edge striking home, severing the flesh at Celia's neck and driving straight through her spinal cord. Either zombies were extremely thin-skinned and fragile, or I was much stronger than I had ever imagined. I looked down at Celia's headless body, pea-green goo oozing from the neck, most definitely dead. But where had her head gone? I looked around, right to left. I supposed it flew into the ovens. I did not have time to make sure. There were more pies, potentially more zombies craving flesh, and more live students out there all too unwilling to provide it.

  I left the kitchen and headed back through the refectory towards the classrooms. The special students preferred to work through the day of their own accord. Most of them were still there, gathered around tables, reading psalms aloud in droning, slightly raised whispers. I counted quickly. Eighteen. Celia made nineteen. One missing--

  A scream sounded from the library. I hastened there. "Stay back! Stay!" came the cry.

  The voice drew me. I entered, turned a corner, and found Rebecca Douglas huddled in the corner between stacks, waving a book at Julia Severn, who groaned and slowly, slowly made her way towards Rebecca.

  "I don't know what happened!" Rebecca, near breathless, exclaimed. "One minute she was fine, and then I gave her a taste of my pie and she went wild. She--she bit me!" Rebecca showed me her arm, which now exhibited a good-size welt.

  "Stay right there," I ordered Rebecca.

  Julia turned towards the sound of my voice, a thin stream of

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  yellow spittle trailing from her lips down her chin. She grunted. Fortunately, it took her so long to turn her body after her head and start after me that I was able to raise my weapon and sever her spinal cord from the back, causing her head to loll in Rebecca's direction. Rebecca shrieked. I gave another solid whack, and Julia was no more.

  "Jane," Rebecca marvelled, looking from me to Julia's goo-dripping head and back again. "How could you?"

  "Rebecca," I said calmly, "she was going to kill you. And eat you. It was the least I could do. Now go to the sickroom. Have the nurse wrap your wound and send Miss Temple to me at once. Not a word to the other students. I'll take care of all this."

  Rebecca, rendered dumb no doubt by the sight of a plentiful pea-green muck gurgling from the cavity of Julia's neck, simply nodded and made her way out of the room. By the time she reached the corridor, the sound of her hurried footfalls indicated she had broken into a run.

  Miss Temple would have to leave the sick students in care of the nurse to see to the pressing matter of disposing of three grue-somely dead bodies, wouldn't she? I had just begun to fear she wasn't coming when she suddenly appeared. I met her as she hurried down the hall.

  "Miss Temple. We have an unfortunate situation."

  "Unfortunate?" She raised a brow. "Of course. I've been meaning to tell you."

  "To tell me? How could you know?"

  "About Helen?"

  "About the zombies. The housekeeper has served mutton pies. Only two seem to have eaten, but--the housekeeper's dead. Rebecca Douglas was terrorized. And Julia Severn and Celia Evans are no more."

  "No more? Jane!" She hugged me to her. "How very brave you are! But how did you know? I trust you made use of my instruction?"

  I nodded. "With the scimitar from the parlour. It was lighter

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  than the saber I've been practicing with, and quite sharp. Helen told me of voodoo bokors and zombies, and of last year's incident with Miss Brockway."

  "Bless her soul. And bless you, dear, still so young! It must have required a good deal of strength." She held me at arm's length and looked me over. "You'll need a new pinafore. Perhaps stockings. But you're unharmed?"

  I looked down. Blood and green goo was splattered across my frock and legs. "A bruise or two, perhaps. But unharmed. Now what of Helen Burns?"

  Helen had been ill for weeks. So ill that she had been removed from my sight to I knew not what room upstairs. She was not in the hospital portion of the house with the fever patients, for her complaint was consumption, not typhus; and by consumption I, in my ignorance, understood something mild, which time and care would be sure to alleviate.

  I was confirmed in this idea by her once or twice coming downstairs on warm, sunny afternoons and being taken by Miss Temple into the garden; but, on these occasions, I was not allowed to go and speak to her. I only saw her from the schoolroom window, and then not distinctly, for she was much wrapped up and sat at a distance under the veranda.

  "Mr. Bates has been here. He says she'll not be here long."

  A wave of panic made me weak in the knees. Helen Burns was numbering her last days in this world, and she was going to be taken to the region of spirits, if such regions there were. I experienced a shock of horror, then a strong throb of grief, then a desire--a renewed necessity to see her; and I asked in what room she lay.

  "She is in my room," Miss Temple said. "You may go and see her at once. I will take care of the mess in the--"

  "Kitchen," I offered. "The housekeeper and Celia Evans are in the kitchen. Julia Severn is in the library. The others seem to be

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  absorbed by their psalms in the refectory. I don't believe they've eaten."

  "Thank God for that. Now go. Go to Helen. I fear there isn't much time."

  In Miss Temple's chamber, a small bed covered in white curtains was set up beside Miss Temple's bed. I crossed the room, lifted the curtain, and could make out a form under the bedclothes. I heard a light snoring from behind me, turned, and recognised one of the recently hired nurses, a candle at her side burning dimly on the table. She must have fallen asleep in her chair. I hesitated only a moment to draw back the covers from Helen's face to determine if she was sleeping as soundly as her nurse.

  "Helen!" I whispered softly. "Are you awake?"

  She stirred and I saw her more clearly now, fever-bright eyes shining from her pale face. Despite her weariness, she seemed quite composed and so little changed that my fear was instantly dissipated. How could she be dying? The doctor must have made a mistake.

  "Can it be you, Jane?" she asked in a gentle voice.

  "It is Jane. How I've missed you."

  I sat on the edge of her bed and kissed her forehead. Her skin was cold and felt like parchment, thin and delicate.

  "Why are you here, Jane?"

  "No one could keep me away. I needed to see you, my friend. I heard you were very ill, and I could not sleep until I had spoken to you."

  "You are probably just in time. When I'm gone, will you bring me flowers, Jane?" She broke off in a fit of coughing.

  "Helen!" Her talk distressed me. Gone? Helen? Never! But I started to cry, as if part of me knew the truth that my heart struggled to deny.

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  She quieted and sighed. I was surprised that Helen's coughing did not rouse the nurse. "Jane, your little feet are bare." I had removed my shoes, stockings, and pinafore before entering for fear of alarming Helen. "Lie down and cover yourself with my quilt."

  She patted the bed beside her. I scooted under the blankets. She put her arm over me and I nestled close to her.

  "Helen, you mustn't leave me now. We need to work together to stop Mr. Bokorhurst. He's evil, Helen. Those poor girls."

  "He must be stopped. You know the way. It's up to you."

  "I know the way to free the poor souls from their curse, yes." If I could. I'd gained in strength and stamina, but to free them all and to stop Mr. Bokorhurst?

  "Jane, my brave Jane. You've always known. I sensed your strength and your spirit from the start. I'm so glad we've been friends."

  "We are friends."

  "I am very happy, Jane. When you hear that I am dead, you must not grieve. We all must die, eventually, and I am not in pain. My illness has been gentle and gradual. My mind is at rest. I leave no regrets, and no one to regret me."

  "I will regret losing you, Helen. I will!"


  "You'll remember me, and the memories will give you joy, I hope. I go to a wonderful new home. I have faith. I am going to God."

  "You are sure then, Helen, that there is such a place as heaven, and that our souls can get to it when we die?"

  "As long as we meet no impediments."

  "Like zombie curses?"

  She nodded. "I am sure there is a future state. I believe God is good. I can resign my immortal part to Him without any misgiving. God is my father. God is my friend. He loves us all, and I love Him."

  "We will meet again, Helen. I am sure of it."

  "That's my Jane, my dear Jane."

  I clasped my arms closer around Helen. She seemed dearer to me than ever.

  "How comfortable I am!" she said in a sweet, low voice. "That

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  last fit of coughing has tired me a little. I feel as if I could sleep, but don't leave me, Jane."

  "I'll stay with you, dear Helen. No one shall take me away."

  "Are you warm, darling?"

  "Yes," I said. "Quite warm."

  "Good night, Jane."

  "Good night, Helen."

  She kissed my cheek, and I hers, and we both soon slumbered.

  When I awoke, it was day. An unusual movement roused me. I looked up. I was in the nurse's arms. She was carrying me back to the dormitory. I knew the truth then: Helen had died in my arms in the night, else Miss Temple would never have allowed us to be disturbed and separated. God bless Miss Temple, and may he love and keep Helen Burns.

  CHAPTER 10

  WHILE OTHER STUDENTS ROSE and prepared for the day ahead, I was allowed to stay in bed. Miss Miller made the excuses. I was feeling unwell, she said, a stomach complaint not at all resembling typhus. Best they leave me alone to recuperate without affecting, or being affected by, others. I slept for part of the day. For the other, I plotted.