My Plain Jane (The Lady Janies #2)(106)

“Wait. That’s not a secret passage. That’s a coal chute.”

“I know.” He panted. “It just always sounded more exciting calling it a secret passage. Don’t worry. It’s an easy slide.” He picked up a large stick on the ground, dug around in the dirt for a moment, and then pulled out a long iron rod. “It’s still here!”

He wedged the end of the rod in between the chute door and the wall, and pulled. The door creaked open.

“We’ll sneak in, and use the element of surprise to our advantage. If we approach him from an unexpected direction, I’m sure we can overtake him.”

Jane furrowed her brows and looked at the dark and totally uninviting coal chute. Helen was next to her, shaking. “What’s wrong, dear?”

“I can’t go in,” she said. “This place feels the way Mrs. Rochester’s room felt.”

Mr. Blackwood nodded. “Of course. The Society knows how to protect places from ghost entry. Helen will have to stay behind.”

“Be safe,” Helen whispered to Jane.

“You too,” Jane said. She glanced at Mrs. Rochester. “Should we let the men go first?” she said.

Mr. Blackwood nodded. “I’ll be there when you all land.”

Considering where they were at that moment, and the mess they were in, Jane took no comfort in those words. By this time, Mr. Rochester had caught up. He held the chute door open as Mr. Blackwood went through it. Jane went next, feet first, into the chute.

It was a short trip, and contrary to what Alexander had promised, she landed hard on her feet, her knees buckling. Pain shot through her legs.

Mrs. Rochester landed next to her with a disgruntled sigh.

“Mr. Blackwood?” Jane asked.

“He is indisposed,” a voice said. It was the duke, the flickering light of a candle illuminating his face.

And there was Mr. Blackwood next to him, with a knife at his throat, held by none other than Grace Poole.

“And you thought your little passageway was a secret,” the duke said.

“Don’t come down, my love!” Mrs. Rochester shouted.

But in the next moment, Mr. Rochester landed next to her, eliminating their last hope that someone on the outside could save them.

The duke, along with Grace Poole and several guards, led the four of them to a large and ornate room.

“Welcome to the Collection Room,” the duke said.

The room was made up of shelves, aisles and aisles of them, and on the shelves were all sorts of objects; pocket watches, urns, necklaces, rings.

“Talismans,” Jane said. She turned to the duke. “Why bother bringing us all the way up here? We know your evil motives. Why not just kill us?”

Mr. Blackwood shot her a harsh glance.

The duke used his pistol to urge the four prisoners against a wall.

“Miss Eyre, you and Mrs. Rochester are Beacons. I still don’t think you understand how exceptional that is. Why do you think I kept Mrs. Rochester alive all those years? With Grace Poole keeping her captive? I would sooner destroy priceless works of art than damage a Beacon. Pliable ghosts like Mitten are rare and take a painfully long time to cultivate. Since you are here, I assume you have de-possessed the king. Frankly, I don’t have the time or the inclination to groom someone new. And I won’t need to, with the power of influence of two Beacons. This is your last chance.”

“Ha!” Jane shook her head. “There is nothing in this world that could induce me to assist you.”

The duke raised his revolver and pointed it at Mr. Blackwood’s head, about an inch away from his nose. “How about now?”

“Wait,” Jane said. “If you kill him, I will never join you.”

“Moi aussi,” Mrs. Rochester said.

“Oh, I won’t kill just him. I will start with Mr. Blackwood, who was like a son to me. And then I will kill Mr. Rochester, who was like a brother to me. And I will not stop there. You see, Miss Eyre, I have come to discover you have quite a few people in your life who mean something to you.”

For just a moment, and much at odds with the tension of the situation, Jane felt a fullness in her heart because the duke was right. She had many people she cared for, more than a penniless orphan would have ever dreamed.

But then the duke cocked the revolver and she remembered the whole kill-everyone-she-loved scenario.

“Wait,” Jane said.

The duke raised an eyebrow. “Agree, or Alexander is dead.”

“Wait,” Jane said again, trying desperately to think of a way out of this mess. One that didn’t involve the deaths of everyone she held dear. The only idea that came to her was to try and stall. “First, give me a glimpse of how the moving on works.”

The duke narrowed his eyes. “Miss Poole,” he said. “Bring her a talisman.”

Grace Poole walked over to the nearest shelf and grabbed a jewelry box with her gloved hand. Then she walked over to Jane and unceremoniously shoved it in her face. Jane flinched and reflexively took a step back.

And she felt something.

A force of some sort.

It wasn’t coming from the box.

It was coming from Bertha Rochester.

When Jane had stepped back, she had stepped closer to Bertha.

The box Grace Poole held began to shake. She looked at it curiously.