My Plain Jane (The Lady Janies #2)(101)

Her notebook!

The one with her Jane Frere story in it.

The one she’d left behind when she and Jane had fled Thornfield.

The one she thought she’d lost forever.

“Where did you find this?” she gasped.

“It was in Miss Eyre’s room. I picked it up after my duel with Rochester. I thought you’d need it back. I imagine it’s going to be a famous novel someday.”

“You didn’t read it!”

“I read . . . a bit.” (We know, dear reader, that this was a fib. Alexander had read it from cover to cover, some of it three or four times.)

“Oh.” She didn’t know what to say.

He ducked his head. “I’m sorry—I was unable to resist. I found it quite compelling, truly. You should finish it.”

He put it into her hands. She clutched it to her chest for a moment and then slipped it into her jacket breast pocket. It was handy, she’d admit, to have a jacket breast pocket.

“You think you might have time for some casual writing?” His eyebrows lifted.

She grinned. “You never know.”

The sun was sinking fast as the group approached the palace. Charlotte’s nerves were jittering. At the gatehouse of Saint James, they stopped.

“Who goes there?” asked the chief officer from behind the gate.

“Jane,” said Mrs. Rochester. “C’est your cue.”

Jane lifted her chin and stepped forward.

“I am an agent of the Society for the Relocation of Wayward Spirits,” she announced. “I’m here on urgent Society business. I need to speak with the king at once.”

“And who are they?” The guard narrowed his eyes as he looked around at their assembled party.

“This is my entourage.” Jane’s voice wavered. “I’m the star agent.”

Mr. Blackwood coughed uncomfortably.

“Very well.” The guard stepped aside and let them pass. And then they were inside the palace. It had been the fastest storming of a castle ever.

In the great hall, they found the king on his throne, surrounded by lavishly dressed nobles, eating fistfuls off a tray of sweets. The room was easily the most extravagant that Charlotte had ever been in. The high ceilings were embellished with real gold leafing. The carpet had the look and texture of red velvet. The walls were covered in a wine-red wallpaper, and every few feet were adorned by large portraits of the past kings and queens and other various royalty.

Beside her, Charlotte heard Jane draw in a sharp breath.

“Are you all right?” Charlotte asked.

“I’ve never liked red rooms,” her friend said darkly. Charlotte made a mental note to ask her about that someday. It could be good material for her book.

She was so excited that she was now going to be able to finish her book. She could practically taste the ending. (We know the feeling.)

“Your Highness, an agent from the Society here to see you,” announced the guard. “She claims that it is urgent.”

Charlotte gave her a little nudge. Jane moved forward again. “I’m Miss Eyre, Your Majesty. If you will recall, I was here to see you recently.”

The king eyed Jane. “No. Can’t say that I do recall.” He glanced at Mr. Blackwood. “But you’re somewhat familiar. You look . . . like someone’s father.”

“I have one of those faces,” Mr. Blackwood said. “I look like everyone’s father.”

So now came the tricky part. The getting-the-ring-off-the-king’s-finger part.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Sire,” Jane said a bit awkwardly. “Again.”

She stepped up to the throne and held out her hand as if to shake. The king took it, reluctantly. Then he gasped and drew back as if she’d bitten him.

“Did you just attempt to steal my ring, young lady?” he puffed.

Well, it’d been a long shot, the simply getting-the-ring approach.

“I only need it for a moment. Then I’ll give it right back,” she said.

“How dare you! Guards!” he cried.

And then they were immediately surrounded by a dozen guards with swords and guns.

“Well, that was fast,” remarked Bran. “No time for niceties or anything.”

“On to plan B,” Mr. Rochester said quietly.

“Take them out of here,” the king ordered. “Now. Perhaps a few days in the stocks would be appropriate.”

Charlotte hoped plan B was going to work. Otherwise it would be an unpleasant weekend.

“We require that one ring,” Mr. Blackwood said.

“It’s my ring,” said the king. “It’s my precious. And I think I know you, sir. You are Mr. Blackwood.”

“And you are Mr. Mitten. We will be taking the ring now,” continued Mr. Blackwood smoothly.

The king smirked. “You and what army?”

“Precisely.” Mr. Blackwood sighed. “Miss Eyre, it’s ghost time.”

Jane cleared her throat. “Hello,” she said a bit timidly, glancing around her. “It’s so nice to see you this evening. Would you, perhaps, if you’re not too busy at the moment, assist us?”

“You should command them,” Mr. Blackwood said out of the side of his mouth. “Call them. Order them to your side.”