Jane Slayre (10 page)

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dear children, it becomes my duty to warn you that this girl, who might be one of God's own lambs, is a little castaway: not a member of the true flock, but evidently an interloper and an alien. You must be on your guard against her. If necessary, avoid her company, exclude her from your sports, and shut her out from your converse. Teachers, you must watch her: keep your eyes on her movements, weigh well her words, scrutinise her actions, punish her body to save her soul, for this girl is--a liar!"

Mr. Bokorhurst paused, as if for dramatic effect, then resumed.

"This I learned from her benefactress; from the pious and charitable lady who adopted her in her orphan state, reared her as her own daughter, and whose kindness, whose generosity, the unhappy girl repaid by an ingratitude so bad, so dreadful, that at last her excellent patroness was obliged to separate her from her own young ones, fearful lest her vicious example should contaminate their purity. We are prepared to deal with her here. Let her stand half an hour longer on that stool, and let no one speak to her during the remainder of the day." With that, he turned for the door and exited.

There was I, then, mounted aloft at the centre of the room. I was filled with fury at the injustice. Mrs. Reed was the liar, yet was I to bear the punishment for her words? Just as my anger was about to get the best of me, Helen Burns walked by and smiled. She asked Miss Smith some slight question about her work, was scolded for the triviality of the inquiry, and smiled at me as she again went by and returned to her place. What a smile! It lit up her thin face, her blue eyes, like the reflection of an angel.

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CHAPTER 8

WITHIN THE HALF HOUR, five o'clock struck. School was dismissed, and all were gone into the refectory. I decided it was safe to get down and I ventured through the darkening room to a corner, where I sank down to the floor. I would have wept, but I found myself laughing when I remembered Mr. Bokorhurst's face contorting as he denounced my evil ways. Laughing alone was not as much fun as sharing the sentiment, and I wished that Helen Burns were with me. I had nothing, no one, and precious little chance of recovering from the horrible impression created by Mr. Bokorhurst by way of Mrs. Reed.

I had meant to be so good, and to do so much at Lowood, to make so many friends, to earn respect and win affection. Already I had made visible progress. That very morning I had reached the head of my class. Miss Miller had praised me warmly. Miss Temple had smiled approvingly in my direction. I was well received by my fellow pupils and treated as an equal by those of my own age. One afternoon visit from Mr. Bokorhurst was enough to erase all the positives and level me low. Could I ever rise again?

I heard a sound nearby and startled. Helen Burns had come in quietly and was crossing the room.

She brought my coffee and bread. "Come, eat something. You need to keep your spirits up. It's not as bad as all that."

Of all people, Helen Burns should know. She suffered regular humiliations without shedding so much as a tear.

"I probably should cry, but I was actually having a laugh. I must be wicked. I can't help but smile when I think of the expression on Mr. Bokorhurst's face, as if he'd swallowed our burnt porridge."

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I thanked her for the food, took a bite of the bread, and a healthy swallow of coffee.

"That's better," she said, her soft voice soothing.

"Helen, why are you being kind to one whom everybody regards as a liar?"

"Everybody, Jane? Why, there are only eighty people who have heard you called so, and the world contains hundreds of millions."

"But what have I to do with millions? The eighty are sure to think badly after Mr. Bokorhurst's discourse."

"Jane, you are mistaken. Probably not one in the school either despises or dislikes you. Many, I am sure, pity you much."

"How can they pity me after what Mr. Bokorhurst has said?"

"Mr. Bokorhurst is not a great and admired man. He is little liked here. Had he treated you as a favourite, you would have found enemies all around you. As it is, the greater number would offer you sympathy if they dared. Besides, Jane ..." She paused.

"Well, Helen?" I put my hand into hers.

She chafed my fingers gently to warm them and went on, "If all the world hated you, and believed you wicked, while your own conscience approved you and absolved you from guilt, you would not be without friends."

I adored Helen for saying so. "As long as I believe I've acted in the right, I can't be wrong?"

"Not to those who know and love you, Jane."

Helen had calmed me. I was about to ask if she was truly one of the heavenly beings sent to keep watch over me when she started breathing fast and began to cough. Angels did not struggle with such mortal afflictions.

Resting my head on Helen's shoulder, I put my arms around her waist. Her spasm waned. She drew me to her and we reposed in silence.

I finally said, "Perhaps it's better not to be one of Mr. Bokorhurst's special students, then."

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"Special students?" Helen started a little. "Who told you this term?"

"I overheard Mr. Bokorhurst and Miss Temple speaking of them. Do you know of them? What makes them special?"

She paused. "There are a few students who don't seem quite right to me."

"The ones who don't eat?"

She nodded, leaned closer, and whispered, "Eight of them in all. They took sick last year. We had a case of scarlet fever spread amongst us. Most of the afflicted recovered. The few who had prolonged symptoms were taken away in the night. Many of us supposed them to be dead. We were never told one way or another. But they came back days later, and here they are still well and living amongst us. All except for Ginny Canham. Something happened. She attacked Miss Brockway, tore her to shreds."

"Shreds?"

"Bloody shreds. Miss Temple intervened, but it was too late. There was nothing to be done. Miss Smith was hired to replace her."

"Nothing to be done? But what became of Ginny?"

"Oh, no one knows exactly. Miss Temple subdued her with a sharp blow to the head. Then she was escorted away. Back home perhaps, or--"

"Or?"

"Or she was killed, no hope for it. Do you know what a bokor is?"

"As in Bokorhurst?"

"Indeed," she said. "In Deepden, we had a maid, a lovely woman with dark skin and fire-bright eyes. We took her in and gave her a home after she'd been thoroughly abandoned by the sea captain who had brought her here from the West Indies. She knew things of a strange religion called voodoo. A bokor is a voodoo priest, a type of sorcerer."

"A sorcerer! Of course." Helen seemed surprised at how readily I accepted her tale. "And how does he enchant his victims?"

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"He makes them into zombies."

"Zombies?"
This word, like
bokor,
I hadn't heard.

"A reanimated corpse. A bokor brings the dead back to life, but not the sort of life we know, more of an indentured servitude."

I gasped. Like Abbot! But I didn't want to interrupt Helen's further explanation.

"Zombies serve their master in all things. It's an unnatural way to exist, most against God's will. As long as the zombified remains roam the earth, the spirit of the deceased cannot ascend to heaven. They're most calm, nearly lifeless in demeanor unless--

"Unless they're fed. Feeding encourages them to eat more and crave meat. And once they've tasted flesh, oh dear. I believe it's what happened to Ginny. Only teachers are allowed meat at meals, but somehow Ginny must have got hold of some. It sent her to a frenzied quest for human flesh. Oh, the blood! There was so much blood. I believe she ate a fair amount of Miss Brockway before Miss Temple subdued her, judging from the state of the corpse and the entrails dripping down Ginny's chin. I wish I could forget the sight of it. There's only one way to stop them permanently."

"A stake through the heart?" I ventured, more convinced than ever that Helen Burns was an angel sent to point me on my path.

Helen shook her head and looked at me strangely. "A stake? No. One must remove the heart or head to release the zombie from the curse. They return to death and their spirits are free."

"Remove the heart or head?" I wondered at what strength must be required to entirely sever a head or scoop out a heart. "But if one is not sure ... if I struck one that was not truly a zombie, I could kill her."

"To be certain," Helen agreed, then started coughing.

I patted her back. "Don't speak of it now. We'll talk more later."

Mr. Bokorhurst, a bokor? It made sense. I reflected on his conversation with Mrs. Reed, trying to recall the full extent. He made mention of new harvests, replacing Abbot. Had Miss Abbot been

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at Lowood? Was he harvesting dead students to be trained as future domestics? Diabolical!

I had so much more to say to Helen, but we sat silently while she caught her breath. I most certainly did not want Helen, my only friend, to go away and come back not quite right. We had not sat long thus when Miss Temple came in.

"I came on purpose to find you, Jane Slayre," said she. "I want you in my room; and as Helen Burns is with you, she may come, too."

We went. Miss Temple might be in Mr. Bokorhurst's employ, or even under a spell, but I trusted her completely. Whatever reason she had to take part in Lowood's secrets, I would soon find out. For now, we followed the superintendent's guidance through some intricate passages and mounted a staircase to reach her private apartment. It contained a good fire and looked cheerful. Miss Temple told Helen Burns to be seated in a low armchair on one side of the hearth, and, herself taking another, she called me to her side.

"Is it all over?" she asked, looking down at my face. "Are you feeling better now?"

"Indeed. Helen has quite brought me to my senses." I debated how much I could press Miss Temple about the special students and opted to wait before bringing it up. "My mood has much improved. Still, I'm reeling inside from having been wrongly accused. You, ma'am, and everybody else, will now think me wicked."

"We shall think you what you prove yourself to be, my child. Continue to act as a good girl, and you will satisfy us."

"Shall I, Miss Temple?" Was it good to want to kill zombies? I felt somehow it must be. I noticed a sword, like the ones in the parlour, hanging over the mantel and wondered if it had a more necessary purpose than decoration. Dared I ask?

"You will," said she, passing her arm around me. "I have every faith in you, Jane Slayre. And now tell me, who is the lady whom Mr. Bokorhurst called your benefactress?"

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"Mrs. Reed, my uncle's wife. My uncle is dead, and he left me to her care." I stuck to the simple facts, leaving out that Mrs. Reed was also dead in her way.

"Did she not, then, adopt you of her own accord?"

"No, ma'am. She was sorry to have to do it, but my uncle, as I have often heard the servants say, got her to promise before he died that she would always keep me."

"Well now, Jane, you know, or at least I will tell you, that when a criminal is accused, he is always allowed to speak in his own defence. You have been charged with falsehood. Defend yourself to me as well as you can. Say whatever your memory suggests is true; but add nothing and exaggerate nothing."

I resolved, in the depth of my heart, that I would be most moderate--most correct without revealing the complete truth of the Reeds' conditions. Having reflected a few minutes to arrange coherently what I had to say, I told her nearly all the story of my sad childhood. Exhausted by emotion, I used language more subdued than it generally was in my repeating the tale of my upbringing. Thus restrained and simplified, without any mention of vampyres, it sounded more credible. I felt as I went on that Miss Temple fully believed me.

I mentioned Mr. Lloyd's coming to see me after what I described as an attack by John Reed that resulted in a knock of the head and not the biting of my neck. I did not spare Mrs. Reed the mercy of leaving off that she'd left me to potentially bleed to death in the red room, though I did not mention the ghostly visitation of my uncle and the path he'd tasked me to follow.

"I know something of Mr. Lloyd," Miss Temple said, after regarding me some moments in silence once I'd finished. "I shall write to him; if his reply agrees with your statement, you shall be publicly cleared from every imputation. To me, Jane, you are clear now."

She kissed my cheek and still kept me at her side. I was a child unused to affection, and I liked Miss Temple showing me some care. She then addressed Helen Burns.

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"How are you tonight, Helen? Have you coughed much today?"

"Not quite so much, I think, ma'am."

"And the pain in your chest?"

"It is a little better."

Miss Temple got up, took Helen's hand, examined her pulse, then returned to her seat. As she resumed it, I heard her sigh low. She was pensive a few minutes before rousing herself cheerfully.

"But you two are my visitors tonight. I must treat you as such." She rang her bell.

"Barbara," she said to the servant who answered it, "I have not yet had tea. Bring the tray and place cups for these two young ladies."

When the tray arrived, I delighted in the sight. How pretty, to my eyes, did the china cups and bright teapot look, placed on the little round table near the fire! How fragrant was the steam of the beverage, and the scent of the toast! Tonight was for celebration, not accusations.

"Barbara," Miss Temple called her servant back. "Can you not bring a little more bread and butter? There is not enough for three."

Barbara went out, but she returned soon. "Madam, Mrs. Harden says she has sent up the usual quantity."

Mrs. Harden, be it observed, was the housekeeper, a woman after Mr. Bokorhurst's own heart, made up of equal parts of whalebone and iron. Perhaps literally. She might have been held together by such.

"Oh, very well!" returned Miss Temple. "We must make it do, Barbara, I suppose." As the girl withdrew, Miss Temple added, smiling, "Fortunately, I have it in my power to supply deficiencies for this once."

Having invited Helen and me to approach the table, she placed before each of us a cup of tea with one delicious but thin morsel of toast. She got up, unlocked a drawer, and, taking from it a parcel wrapped in paper, disclosed presently to our eyes a good-size seed-cake.