Mr. Bokorhurst's screams, a sound as loud as the very sky splitting in two, made Miss Miller and the nurse come running into the room.
"Oh dear! They've gone mad!" Miss Miller said, heading for the mob.
Miss Temple managed to behead one more before Miss Miller and the nurse, who clearly knew a thing or two about zombies as well, jumped in and tried beating them away to get to Mr. Bokorhurst before he was completely dismembered and consumed, a task made more difficult as we were all covered in the vile zombie ick.
Off to the side, I remained forgotten, but not helpless. I wrenched the dagger free from Karen Marist's chest and hurled it, with quite good aim, into Maria Grayson. That ought to contain her for the time.
Miss Temple made quick work of the remaining zombies, and the nurse and Miss Miller struggled to drag the bodies aside and assess the damage to Mr. Bokorhurst. Surprisingly enough, he lived! Mr. Bokorhurst remained curled up in a ball on the floor, his head tucked into his arms, legs drawn up to provide further protection from the grasping, revolting zombies.
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"You see, Mr. Bokorhurst"--Miss Temple wiped her hands--"I tried to warn you there was danger in your unnatural pursuits."
He was in no position to answer. The nurse coaxed him to a sitting position and began examining him. Miss Miller stood still, blinking repeatedly, as if recovering from a shock. Mr. Bokorhurst bled profusely from the socket of a missing arm, which Miss Temple had tried to pick up to restore, but it was badly chewed. The nurse began bandaging him up. He shook with fright and muttered something unintelligible. I wondered if they had ripped out his tongue, but didn't see it anywhere in the mess. His hair was entirely missing, and a nasty gash was in his temple.
While Mr. Bokorhurst was incapacitated, it was settled, at last, that the returning teachers and students would be told of the sudden recurrence of disease at Lowood and kept from the new makeshift sickroom where the infected girls supposedly lingered. Over the next few days, announcements would be made of their deaths, and the "bodies" buried quickly in the night "to keep others from risk of infection."
"Oh, Jane, my darling girl, we've done it. We've freed the girls and Lowood from the tyranny of Mr. Bokorhurst at last!"
Though I had my doubt that the problem of Mr. Bokorhurst would be solved as easily as a zombie attack, I did not want to spoil Miss Temple's good mood by voicing my concerns. I returned her embrace, shared her delight in our victory, and prepared for the unpleasant task of cleaning up after the dead.
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CHAPTER 12
READER, I WAS WRONG to doubt. The tyranny of Mr. Bokorhurst had indeed come to an end. He died in the night from his wounds, after much pain, reflection, and prayer. When the typhus fever, on which all of the deaths had been blamed, fulfilled its mission of devastation at Lowood, it gradually disappeared from thence, but not until its virulence and the number of its victims had drawn public attention to the school.
The last course of infection claimed as many as twenty girls in a week, and inquiry was made into the origin of the scourge, and by degrees various facts came out that excited a high degree of public indignation. The unhealthy nature of the site; the quantity and quality of the children's food; the brackish, fetid water used in its preparation; the pupils' wretched clothing and accommodations--all these things were discovered, and the discovery produced benefits to the institution.
Several wealthy and benevolent individuals in the county subscribed largely for the erection of a more convenient building in a better situation. New regulations were made; improvements in diet and clothing introduced. The funds of the school were entrusted to the management of a committee. The office of inspector was given to one who knew how to combine reason with strictness, comfort with economy, and compassion with uprightness. The school, thus improved, became in time a truly useful and noble institution.
I remained an inmate of its walls, after its regeneration, for eight years: six as pupil and two as teacher; and in both capacities I bear my testimony to its value and importance. My life, after the first eventful year, was free of zombie curses and vampyres; uniform, but
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not unhappy because it was not inactive. I had the means of an excellent education placed within my reach, a fondness for some of my studies, and a desire to excel in all. I availed myself fully of the advantages offered me. I made friends. I cherished my relationships with my fellow students and teachers. In time I rose to be the first girl of the first class; then I was invested with the office of teacher.
For two years, I discharged my duties with zeal. Miss Temple, through all changes, had thus far continued as superintendent of the seminary. To her devotion and instruction, I owed the best part of my acquirements. Her friendship and society had been my continual solace. She had stood me in the stead of mother, governess, training instructor, and, latterly, companion.
But destiny, in the shape of the Reverend Mr. Nasmyth, came between me and Miss Temple. She had fallen in love with the man who had taken over the deceased Mr. Bokorhurst's duties as clergyman at Bokorbridge Church. When Mr. Nasmyth later found a new position in a far-removed county, he revealed that he loved Miss Temple, too, and he requested her hand in marriage. I could not be anything but overjoyed for Miss Temple, of course.
I saw her in her travelling dress step into a post chaise, shortly after the marriage ceremony. I watched the chaise mount the hill and disappear beyond its brow. Once it was beyond my line of vision, I retired to my room and there spent in reflective solitude the greatest part of the half holiday granted in honour of the occasion. My mentor, and my dearest friend, was lost to me.
From the day she left, I was no longer the same. Without Miss Temple, every warm and settled feeling, every association that had made Lowood in some degree a home to me, was gone. I had imbibed from Miss Temple something of her nature and many of her habits. Peaceful, harmonious thoughts had taken over the violent, wild feelings I'd begun to develop in my youth. I was quiet. I believed I was content. To the eyes of others, usually even to my own, I appeared a disciplined and subdued character.
In the weeks after Miss Temple's--Mrs. Nasmyth's--departure,
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I walked about my chamber most of the time. I imagined myself only to be regretting my loss and thinking how to repair it. Eventually, once I reflected on it, I came to a different conclusion; that my mind had put off all it had borrowed of Miss Temple--or rather that she had taken with her the secret thrill I had of training at her side and practicing with weapons. She had given me a gift before she left, a pair of Egyptian daggers with lovely engraved handles. They had belonged to her father, but now I had no chance to use them.
I remembered the excitement I had felt at the visitation from my uncle's ghost and the charge that he had made of me, the power that had coursed in my veins when I'd held the stake up to Mrs. Reed's face, the thrill of decapitating zombies to send so many souls to the heaven they deserved. Certainly I was grateful to have lived so many years at Lowood free from threats or violent challenges. My motive had been to escape the Reed household and to get an education, and I had.
My world had for some years been in Lowood. My experience had been of its rules and systems. At last, I remembered that the real world was wide, and that a varied field of hopes and fears, of sensations and excitements, awaited those who had courage to go forth into its expanse, to seek real knowledge of life amidst its perils. What I wanted was a new place, in a new house, amongst new faces, under new circumstances. It occurred to me that those who want situations advertise. I simply had to advertise in the Herald. Satisfied at last, I fell asleep.
With earliest day, I was up. I had my advertisement written, enclosed in an envelope, and directed before the bell rang to rouse the school. It ran thus:
"A young lady accustomed to tuition is desirous of meeting with a situation in a private family where the children are under fourteen (I thought that as I was barely eighteen, it would not do to undertake the guidan
ce of pupils nearer my own age). She is qualified to teach the usual branches of a good English education, together with French, Drawing, and Music."
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This document remained locked in my drawer all day. After tea, I asked leave of the new superintendent to go to Lowton, to perform some small commissions for myself and one or two of my fellow teachers. Permission was granted. It was a walk of two miles. The evening was wet, but the days were yet long and I still loved the outdoors in the daytime. I visited a shop or two, slipped the letter into the post office, and came back through heavy rain, with streaming garments, but with a relieved heart.
A week later, I repeated the journey in search of answers to my post. My ostensible errand on this occasion was to get measured for a pair of shoes, so I discharged that business first. When it was done, I stepped across the clean and quiet little street from the shoemaker's to the post office.
"Are there any letters for J.S.?" I asked.
The old lady who kept the office peered at me over her horn spectacles. At last, she presented a document across the counter, with an inquisitive and mistrustful glance. It was for J.S.
"Is there only one?" I asked.
"There are no more," she said.
I thanked her, put the letter in my pocket, and turned homeward. The school rules obliged me to be back by eight, and it was already half past seven. I waited to read until I was back at school and had the chance, after dinner. I took out my letter. The seal was an initial F. I broke it. The contents were brief.
"If J.S., who advertised in the Herald of last Thursday, possesses the acquirements mentioned, and if she is in a position to give satisfactory references as to character and competency, a situation can be offered her where there is but one pupil, a little girl, under ten years of age; and where the salary is thirty pounds per annum. J.S. is requested to send references, name, address, and all particulars to the direction: Mrs. Fairfax, Thornfield, near Millcote,----shire."
I examined the document for a long time. The writing was old-fashioned and rather uncertain, like that of an elderly lady. I felt that an elderly lady was no bad ingredient in the business I had on
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hand. If she turned out to be some sort of demon, I could no doubt handle her well enough if she took the form of someone aged.
Mrs. Fairfax! I saw her in a black gown and widow's cap. Thorn-field! That, doubtless, was the name of her house, a neat, orderly spot. Millcote,----shire. I brushed up my recollections of the map of England. Yes, I saw it, both the shire and the town, some seventy miles nearer London than the remote county where I now resided. I longed to go where there was life and movement. Millcote was a large manufacturing town on a river, a busy place enough, doubtless. Not that my fancy was much captivated by the idea of tall chimneys and clouds of smoke, but I decided that Thornfield would probably be a good way from the town.
The next day, steps were to taken to make arrangements. Having sought and obtained an audience of the superintendent, I told her I had a prospect of a new situation where the salary would be double what I now received (for at Lowood I got only fifteen pounds per annum) and requested she break the matter for me to some of the committee and ascertain if they would permit me to mention them as references. She obligingly consented to act as mediatrix.
A day later, she informed me that Mrs. Reed must be written to, as she was my natural guardian. A knot of dread formed in my stomach. Mrs. Reed! How could she still have a hand in my affairs? A note was accordingly addressed to that lady, who returned for answer, that "she might do as she pleases: I have long relinquished all interference in her affairs." And thank goodness! This note went to the committee, and at last, after what appeared to me a most tedious delay, formal leave was granted for me to better my condition if I could; and an assurance was added that as I had always conducted myself well, both as teacher and pupil, at Lowood, a testimonial of character and capacity, signed by the inspectors of that institution, would be sent to Mrs. Fairfax.
In about a month, I got that lady's reply, stating that she was satisfied, and fixing the day, a fortnight hence, as the time for my assuming the post of governess in her house.
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The fortnight passed rapidly. I had not a large wardrobe, though it was adequate to my wants, and the last day sufficed to pack my trunk, the same I had brought with me eight years ago from Gates-head.
The box was corded, the card nailed on. In a half hour the carrier was to call for it to take it to Lowton, whither I myself was to repair at an early hour the next morning to meet the coach. I had brushed my black stuff traveling dress and prepared my bonnet, gloves, and muff. I looked through all my drawers to see that no article was left behind. I could not rest; I was too much excited. A phase of my life was closing tonight, a new one opening tomorrow. It was impossible to slumber in the interval. I left my chamber to pace the corridors.
"Miss." A servant met me in the lobby, where I wandered like a troubled spirit. "A person below wishes to see you."
"The carrier, no doubt," I thought, and ran downstairs without inquiry. I passed the teachers' sitting room, the door of which was half-open, to go to the kitchen, when someone ran out.
"It's her, I am sure! I could have told her anywhere!" cried the individual who stopped my progress and took my hand.
She was attired like a well-dressed servant, matronly, yet still young; good-looking, with black hair and eyes, and lively complexion.
"Well, who is it?" she asked in a voice and with a smile I half recognised. "You've not quite forgotten me, I think, Miss Jane?"
In another second I embraced her. "Bessie! Bessie! Bessie!"
She half laughed, half cried, and we both went into the parlour. By the fire stood a little fellow of three years old, in plaid frock and trousers.
"That is my little boy," said Bessie directly.
"Then you are married, Bessie?"
"Yes. Nearly five years since to Robert Leaven, the coachman. I've a little girl besides Bobby there, that I've christened Jane."
I was touched by the honour and told her so. "And you don't live at Gateshead?"
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I hoped for her sake, and that of her children, that she did not expose them regularly to the Reeds or Abbot.
"I live at the lodge. The old porter has left."
"Well, and how do they all get on? Tell me everything about them, Bessie. Have a seat. Bobby, come and sit on my knee, will you?" Bobby preferred sidling over to his mother.
"You're not grown so very tall, Miss Jane, nor so very stout," continued Mrs. Leaven. "I daresay they've not kept you too well at school. Still, Miss Reed is even slighter in figure than you, though I daresay she still stands taller. And Miss Georgiana is stouter, perhaps two of you, but still fancies herself a beauty."
"I am sure she should. Her mother always said so."
Bessie smiled. "They had a carriage made without windows and with heavy drapes to cover every crack so that they could go to London last winter. Everybody admired Miss Georgiana, and a young lord fell in love with her. His relations were against the match; and--what do you think?--Miss Georgiana and her mother and sister made a feast of them! They tried to make the lad into one of them, but he couldn't handle the transformation. He died, poor thing. Miss Georgiana blamed her sister for insisting on having a taste of his blood and draining him too dry before he had a chance to return the favour. Now she and her sister lead a cat-and-dog life together; they are always quarrelling."
"Tragic! And what of John Reed?"
"Oh, he is not doing so well as his mama could wish. He declared himself to be of age to handle the household affairs, but his mother did not agree. He insisted on going off to find his own way in the world. We hear from him but rarely, usually when he has gambling debts to discharge or bodies to hide. He's not much of a hunter. He prefers to attack travellers and passersby, easy targets. He doesn't concern himself if their blood is too common for his tastes."
"Troubling. His mother
must be constantly concerned lest he pick up a taint."
"Missus has grown stouter, though she looks well enough in the
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face. She hunts often to take her mind off her troubles. Mr. John's conduct is indeed a constant worry."
"Did she send you here, Bessie?"
"No. I have long wanted to see you, and when I heard that there had been a letter from you, and that you were going to another part of the country, I thought I'd just set off and get a look at you before you were quite out of my reach."
"I am afraid you are disappointed in me, Bessie," I said, laughing.
"No, Miss Jane, not at all. You are genteel enough. You look like a lady, though rather plain, and it is as much as ever I expected of you. I daresay you are clever. What can you do? Can you play on the piano?"
"A little." I still smarted from the sting of having been called plain, though I treasured Bessie's frankness.
Bessie went and opened the piano in the room, then asked me to sit down and give her a tune. I played a waltz or two, and she was charmed.
"The Miss Reeds could not play as well!" said she exultingly. "They did eat their music master."
"That's right." Bessie smiled. "I'd forgotten. Mrs. Reed kept them quarantined for a week in case they caught something until she remembered that his grandfather was a viscount. And can you draw?"
"That is one of my paintings over the chimneypiece." It was a landscape in watercolours. I had given it to the superintendent in acknowledgment of her obliging mediation with the committee on my behalf. She'd had it framed and glazed.
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