Death of a Dowager
Page 1
Contents
Praise
Acknowledgments
Epigraph
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Author’s Note
Praise for Death of a Schoolgirl
A Mystery Guild Alternate Selection
“Everyone’s favorite character, Jane Eyre, returns in a marvelous new adventure. Joanna Campbell Slan’s Death of a Schoolgirl is a must for all her many fans as Jane Eyre searches for an elusive killer who has Rochester’s young ward in his—or her—sights.”
—Charles Todd, New York Times bestselling author
“Charming, winning, mannered, and so genuine it seems like a long-lost Brontë original. . . . The Jane Eyre we know and love is revealed as a nifty detective, just as resolute, clever, and independent as her fans always knew she was.”
—Hank Phillippi Ryan, Agatha, Anthony and Macavity–award winning author
“Jane Eyre was always one of my favorite books and I’m delighted to be able to peek at her life as Mrs. Rochester. I always knew she’d make an excellent sleuth.”
—Rhys Bowen, Agatha and Anthony Award–winning author of the Molly Murphy and Royal Spyness mysteries
“A terrific beginning to a new series. In Death of a Schoolgirl, author Joanna Campbell Slan has given us a fully fleshed sequel to Jane Eyre, as darkly gothic as the original, only this time Jane uses her insatiable curiosity to solve a murder. An intriguing new sleuth!”
—Jeri Westerson, author of the Crispin Guest Medieval Noir series
“A wonderful book. It’s the best sort of historical mystery—richly detailed, cleverly plotted, and filled with characters you’ll not want to leave behind.”
—Stefanie Pintoff, Edgar® Award–winning author
“This tasty blend of well-drawn characters and unexpected plot twists has all the rich flavor of England in the early 1820s. One nibble and you won’t be able to stop until the very last morsel is nothing but a memory. Thank goodness there are more Jane Eyre Chronicles to come!”
—Kathy Lynn Emerson, author of How to Write Killer Historical Mysteries: The Art and Adventure of Sleuthing through the Past
“A delightful chance for Brontë fans to expand their acquaintance with Jane Eyre, who continues her modest but strong-willed ways in an ingeniously contrived return to teaching . . . and sleuthing.”
—Charlaine Harris, #1 New York Times bestselling author
“Layered with compound mysteries that unfold in a manner true to Brontë’s style . . . A faithful and ultimately satisfying continuation of an English classic.”
—Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine
“Captures the essences of Jane and Rochester . . . The mystery is entertaining fun, but it is what happened to Jane and Rochester since the classic ended that subgenre fans will enjoy.”
—The Mystery Gazette
“Slan has woven in some nice bits of real history and knitted her new story almost seamlessly onto the end of the Brontë novel. If you have read the original, your enjoyment will be enhanced, but if you haven’t you will still enjoy this involving tale.”
—New Mystery Reader
“Slan has produced the perfect sequel to Charlotte Brontë’s classic . . . It flows effortlessly, as if Brontë herself were doing the writing, and it rings absolutely true. . . . It is a joy for lovers of the original novel, as well as those who savor a good mystery.”
—Mystery Scene
“A beautifully written story . . . Slan has marked Death of a Schoolgirl with her own indelible brand of suspense and intrigue while adhering to the cadence and restrained emotional atmosphere of the original Brontë novel. Anyone who has ever read and loved Jane Eyre will be captivated.”
—Criminal Element
“A nicely constructed plot . . . An interesting mystery in period style.”
—San Francisco Book Review
“Refashions a beloved heroine as a surprisingly canny detective.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“A very entertaining, believable extension of Jane Eyre . . . [Slan] has done an impressive job using rich historical details to transport readers back in time.”
—RT Book Reviews
“A promising competitor in the popular field of historical mysteries.”
—Florida Weekly
“A charming read . . . Smart, sexy, and delightfully fun . . . A well-plotted little mystery, one fans of the genre (and also those of the Victorian novel) are certain to enjoy.”
—Life in Naples, WGCU
“Exceptional.”
—Meritorious Mysteries
“Who would have thought Jane Eyre was such an excellent detective? . . . A great new series in the making and an incredibly fresh story.”
—Killer Nashville
“It’s like Jane Eyre walked directly off the pages of Brontë’s Jane Eyre and into this book. The transition was flawless.”
—Girl Lost in a Book
“Jane Eyre is back! . . . Slan faithfully re-creates the Gothic world of Jane Eyre with every bit of the dramatic, intense emotions which made the first story popular . . . If you’re a fan of Gothic and Jane Eyre, Death of a Schoolgirl will not disappoint.”
—Fresh Fiction
“[A] wonderful mystery. Slan beautifully captures the characters and the atmosphere, the tone of Jane Eyre . . . A compelling, fascinating mystery.”
—Lesa’s Book Critiques
“[An] enjoyable continuation of the Jane Eyre story.”
—Stop, You’re Killing Me!
“An extraordinary read! . . . A great way to introduce a new generation to Jane Eyre.”
—Escape with Dollycas into a Good Book
“Would that all sagas which left readers wanting more could be continued as skillfully!”
—Molly Weston (Meritorious Mysteries), winner of 2012 MWA Raven Award
Death of
a Dowager
Jo
anna Campbell Slan
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
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This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.
DEATH OF A DOWAGER
Copyright © 2013 by Joanna Campbell Slan. The Edgar® name is a registered service mark of the Mystery Writers of America, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group.
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Berkley Prime Crime trade paperback ISBN: 978-0-425-25351-9
eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-62215-5
An application to register this book for cataloging has been submitted to the Library of Congress.
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime trade paperback edition / April 2013
Cover illustration by Alan Ayers.
Cover design by George Long.
Interior design by Laura K. Corless.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
For my aunt, C. Shirley Helmly
Acknowledgments
First, I want to thank the many wonderful book clubs that have chosen to read Death of a Schoolgirl, the first book in the Jane Eyre Chronicles. Your emails to me are a source of great joy and encouragement. I am so very, very pleased that this new series has sent many of you back to read or re-read Charlotte Brontë’s classic Jane Eyre. It certainly remains my favorite book of all time. For book club questions or more information about my other work, please visit my website at www.JoannaSlan.com.
Second, I offer my deep and humble appreciation to “Team Jane.” My talented, perceptive, and devoted editor, Shannon Jamieson Vazquez, was actually editing this book while going into labor. I’m sure that little Sam was worth the interruption! While mother and son were bonding, the fabulous Michelle Vega stepped in. Meanwhile, my superagent, Paige Wheeler, continues to be my guiding light, and I adore her. Kayleigh Clark, my Berkley Publishing Group publicist, has done a great job of spreading the word about Death of a Schoolgirl. Maryglenn McCombs, my personal publicist, has always been my advocate and my cheerleader.
Last but not least, my sister, Jane Campbell, provided wonderful insight along the way. She’s a fantastic plot-buddy who never lets me down. If you are lucky enough to write books for a living, better hope you have a sister as wonderful as Jane.
It is madness in all women to let a secret love kindle within them.
—Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre: An Autobiography
There is abundant evidence to prove that despite the wrong he did her in after years, she was always in his heart of hearts his “only real and true wife.”
—William Henry Wilkins, Mrs. Fitzherbert and George IV
Prologue
Love has a transformative power, an alchemy that reshapes the most intransigent personality. I hear its magical intonations when my husband talks to our infant son, Ned. I see its thrilling ascendance when I watch my friend Lucy Brayton fuss over garments for her new son, Evans. I note its charming selflessness as our housekeeper, Mrs. Fairfax, anticipates our needs. I feel its strength coursing within me at night whilst I stare at the moon and count my blessings. In the still hours of the night, when the only sounds are soft snores of the sleeping persons who make up our household, I thank God for this familial harmony, this wondrous sense of belonging. Here, in the shelter of Ferndean Manor’s leaking roof and crumbling walls, we thrive as a small tribe of like-minded souls. We are bound together by mutual affection as strong as any iron chain. It pleases me mightily to think how all of this is a result of our love, Edward’s and mine.
What folly caused seekers of old to search for recipes to change base metal into gold? Far more potent is that emotion that transfers blissful ignorance into warm affection. For when we are surrounded by love, everything is tinted with a new hue of happiness. And that, I am confident, is the chemistry most worthy of pursuing. That transformation of the human soul! Love is more rare and treasured than any lump of gold. It is the prize that all of us seek, its end product is acceptance, and its denial is at the root of all sorrow.
To refuse a woman the chance to follow her own heart is cruelty beyond imagining. To force a man to marry a woman he can’t love is to inflict misery. To brush aside the passions inflamed by love is to invite disaster. To underestimate the love of a parent for a child is folly.
This I have witnessed with my own eyes. It happened thus . . .
Chapter 1
Ferndean Manor, Yorkshire
May 15, 1821
“A nice day for a walk on the moors.” My friend Lucy Brayton’s sweet smile caused her blond curls to bounce becomingly under her bonnet. Halfway to her fortieth year, she could accurately be called handsome rather than beautiful, until she smiled. Then the sparkle in those summer sky blue eyes and the lilt of her lips proved transformative.
I agreed with her. “It is lovely.”
White-as-wool clouds dotted the gray blue sky, and the freshly washed landscape glistened. Here and there, new green tree leaves served as a stunning background for the plum purple of the Northern Marsh orchids and the brilliant red of the poppies. She and I meandered along, watching out for puddles and picking posies to fill her trug.
“Lovely despite the standing water,” I added.
“Here or there?” She nodded toward Ferndean Manor, and we both laughed, thinking back on the mess that last night’s storm had made of the kitchen. Spring rains announced the changing of the seasons, and the fearsome storm had been exceptional. The elements had assailed us, blinding bursts of lightning and deep booms of thunder that put us all on edge. The combination of shocking sight and startling sound had produced a surreal counterpoint to our domestic tranquility as we gathered around the fireplace in the drawing room. After several hours, there had come a more intimate sign of the storm’s fury—the clatter of rain hitting tiles. The roof in Ferndean’s kitchen had buckled under the assault.
It was yet another sign of how the house, never meant for permanent inhabitants, had fallen into disrepair. Displaced from his family seat at Thornfield Hall due to fire, my husband, Edward Rochester, had decamped to his hunting lodge, and I’d joined him here. We made do with a small staff: John and Mary Harrigan, my husband’s elderly manservant and his wife; Amelia Sands, my son Ned’s nursemaid; Cook, a woman who came in from nearby Millcote several days a week; Leah, a maid of all work; and Mrs. Alice Fairfax, our housekeeper and distant cousin to my husband. Our household also included our son, Edward Rivers Rochester, who celebrated his first birthday on April 1, and Adèle Varens, Edward’s eleven-year-old ward, home from school for the summer; as well as our houseguest Lucy Brayton, wife to Edward’s good friend Captain Augustus Brayton, currently posted to India. I had been Lucy’s guest in London the previous autumn, and we had quickly become close friends ourselves. The severity of the disas
ter demanded that all of us pitch in to help. The multitude of pots in our cupboards could not contain the water flowing through the ceiling at an alarming rate. Even little Adèle did her best to move jars of preserves and tins of spices. We spent much of the night and part of the morning trying to save what foodstuffs we could.
While we were elbow deep in the mess, John volunteered to inspect the roof. Someone needed to measure the size of the crater, determine what could be done, and send to Millcote for supplies. Neither Lucy nor I thought this a wise course of action. A glance between us confirmed our unanimity, our concern for the old man’s safety. We managed to convince him to hold off at least until daylight. Then, early this morning, a rap on the back door announced John’s grandson, Leah’s husband, James. Hearing the howl of the wind and the pounding of the rain, the younger Harrigans had figured, quite rightly, that Ferndean would sustain damages. When he heard that his grandfather was set to climb on the roof, James quickly volunteered to go instead.
“Nay,” said John. “I’ll tend to it.”
“Why not let the younger man prevail?” In a whisper, I expressed my worries to Edward, who shushed me, saying quietly, “John has always done for me, ever since I was a lad. I shall not shame him over his advanced age. If he thinks he can inspect the roof, I shall let him. He takes great pride in helping me.” The fire that destroyed Thornfield Hall, his family home, had also taken Edward’s left hand and right eye—leaving his other eye to suffer in sympathy for its lost companion—and rendering him more dependent upon John than he’d been in years.
Again, Lucy and I traded looks. This time hers was accompanied by a shake of her head and a suggestion for me. “After you see to Ned and Adèle, why don’t we take a walk? We can gather wild roses from the bushes.”
“Yes.” I sighed. “I would rather be anywhere but right here. I have a bad feeling about John’s adventure.”
As I expected, Amelia had the children well in hand. Adèle was playing with a new set of paper dolls that Lucy had brought her from London, and Ned was busy chewing on a silver teething ring, yet another gift from my friend. I dispensed hugs and kisses all around before putting on my bonnet and meeting Lucy at the front door.