My Plain Jane (The Lady Janies #2)(13)

Several girls jumped back (Miss Bront? included) and scattered to the other side of the room, as though they definitely hadn’t been trying to listen at the door. Fortunately for Alexander, he hadn’t been speaking about the whole seer and job thing with much volume. By now, the students had probably decided on names for the children they imagined he and Jane Eyre would create.

Awkward.

Confused over the less-than-favorable response to his job proposal, Alexander turned to leave.

“Wait,” called one of the girls. “Did you solve the murder?”

Alexander glanced from Miss Eyre to Brocklehurst to the door and back to Miss Eyre. “Should I?”

“Yes,” several girls cried.

“No!” said Miss Bront?.

The latter was outvoted. Alexander strode into the center of the room. His eyes landed on Miss Temple. “Please tell me what you know about the poisoning.” Now that the seer had turned him down, he wanted to get back to his inn.

Miss Scatcherd prodded Miss Temple. “Go on. He wants to talk to you.”

A couple of the students in the back whispered that he’d left Miss Eyre for Miss Temple, and what a scandal it was. “This is like a real live romance novel,” one girl said. “I can’t stand the tension. Who will he choose?”

Alexander couldn’t wait until his life revolved around ghosts again. “Miss Temple,” he said gently, “if you’d tell me about the day Mr. Brocklehurst expired, I’d be so grateful.”

“He’d be sooo grateful,” sighed one of the girls.

Miss Temple was trembling as she stepped forward. “Well, Mr. Brocklehurst came for one of his monthly inspections—”

“Pardon me,” Alexander said. “We can skip that part. I know enough about the school under Mr. Brocklehurst’s care.”

Miss Bront? was standing near Miss Temple, and the student leaned forward just enough to mutter under her breath, “He knows about the burlap.”

“Ah. Very well.” Miss Temple clasped her hands together. “Mr. Brocklehurst had demanded tea and cookies, so the girls and I made them while he napped in front of the fire. After he awakened, I served the refreshments. A short time later, he expired, though I didn’t realize it at first. I thought he’d just gone back to sleep.”

“Very interesting,” said Alexander. He turned to Miss Scatcherd. “Please bring me the teacup.”

Miss Scatcherd pressed her lips together and frowned, then turned toward a girl nearby. “Anne, fetch the teacup.”

“Which teacup?” asked the girl.

“The one Mr. Brocklehurst drank from!” Miss Scatcherd huffed. “Of course.”

“All the teacups are the same.” Anne pressed both fists against her mouth.

Alexander hated when his clients were difficult and he had to embarrass them, but he needed that teacup. “Miss Scatcherd. The teacup. Now.”

Her face reddened, and after a tense moment with everyone staring at her, she turned and vanished down a hall.

“Why do you want the teacup?” Brocklehurst asked.

Alexander ignored him. Instead, he looked at Miss Eyre. She was so obviously a seer. And, quite strangely, she was surrounded by adoring ghosts. One of the dead girls whispered that she liked Miss Eyre’s hair, and another inquired about her skincare regimen.

How could she not want to work for the Society?

“Look,” whispered one of the living girls. “He’s pining.”

“I really hope it works out for them,” said another girl.

Abruptly, Miss Eyre excused herself and headed toward the door, slipping through the crowd of people (avoiding stepping inside any of the ghosts, too, he noticed).

Miss Bront? caught Miss Eyre’s arm. “Are you all right?” asked the former.

Miss Eyre shook her head. “I don’t feel well.”

Just as Miss Eyre left the room, Miss Scatcherd returned with a cart full of teacups.

“Perhaps you misunderstood my request?” Alexander said. “I only needed the one.”

Miss Scatcherd rolled her rattling cart through the crowd and parked it against a wall. There had to be at least thirty teacups. They were chipped and worn, with the paint rubbed off most of the ceramic. “Yes, well.” The teacher came to stand by Alexander, but landed partly in Mr. Brocklehurst.

Brocklehurst shuddered and jumped away, and all throughout the room, girls gasped and rubbed their arms, as though chilled.

“The cup was washed and put away with the rest.” Miss Scatcherd shook her head. “I didn’t realize you were going to ask about our teacups. How am I supposed to know which one was the one?”

“The teacup held poison and you just put it away?”

“We washed it.” Miss Scatcherd shrugged.

“Very well.” Alexander approached the cart of teacups and glared, like glaring may reveal which teacup potentially held poison.

“I’d have served his tea in the one with the fewest chips,” offered Miss Temple.

That did narrow it down some. Alexander picked out the five cups with the fewest number of chips and showed them to Brocklehurst. “Do any of these look familiar?”

“They all look the same!” The spirit of Mr. Brocklehurst slammed a fist on the cart, making several cups jump. One crashed to the floor. The girls yelped.