My Plain Jane (The Lady Janies #2)(17)
Miss Temple glanced around the room. Charlotte smiled up at her hopefully.
Miss Temple turned to Jane. “Miss Eyre, would you like to read the paper? I know I typically pick a deserving student, but I thought . . .”
Miss Temple was so kind. She knew that Jane had suffered a trying week.
But Jane shook her head. “I’ll stick to my sock.”
This was also a sign that something was off. Normally Jane loved to read the newspaper almost as much as Charlotte did.
“All right.” Miss Temple sounded a bit offended. She scanned the room again. “Miss Bront?, then. You’ve been so helpful lately.”
She handed the newspaper to Charlotte, who laid it carefully on the table next to her notebook—she’d be taking notes on current affairs now, of course, to find the best stories—and unfolded the pages, relishing the heady aroma of the fresh-printed paper and ink. Then on to reading. There was something about King William having yet another row with the Duke of Wellington over some political disagreement or other. An impassioned essay by a young man named Charles Dickens about the state of the poor in London. A list of persons who had recently died from the Graveyard Disease. A recipe for plum pudding that made Charlotte’s stomach rumble. But not much that she found newsworthy.
She turned to the advertisement section last, in which she came upon this notice:
WANTED: A GOVERNESS FOR ONE ADORABLE CHILD.
THE YOUNG LADY IN QUESTION SHOULD BE AT LEAST EIGHTEEN YEARS OF AGE, WELL EDUCATED, PROFICIENT IN THE PIANOFORTE, ABLE TO CONJUGATE LATIN VERBS, AND WELL VERSED IN CLASSIC LITERATURE. MOREOVER, IT IS PREFERRED THAT SAID YOUNG LADY HAVE A CHEERY DISPOSITION, ROSY CHEEKS, AND ABSOLUTELY NO WARTS. SHE SHOULD BE AMENABLE TO PLAYING GAMES (ALL SORTS).
IT IS ALSO IMPERATIVE THAT THE YOUNG LADY IN QUESTION SPEAK FRENCH.
TO APPLY FOR THIS POSITION, PLEASE CONTACT MRS. FAIRFAX AT THORNFIELD HALL.
Charlotte read the advertisement again, because it struck her as so unbelievably specific. That, and it nearly perfectly described someone she knew. Not herself, of course, as she was only sixteen and not remotely interested in becoming a governess. And not the rosy cheek part. But everything else.
She bit her lip. Coming upon this ad at this precise moment had an air of providence to it. Some might even call it destiny. But surely the position Mr. Blackwood had offered Jane was a great deal better than being a mere governess. Surely, given time, Jane would realize that. She’d try for a larger destiny. She’d . . .
No. Jane was not going to change her mind. She had set herself against it, and would not be unset.
Charlotte stood and walked over to Jane, who was still furiously darning her sock by the window.
“Darn,” Jane muttered. “Darn. Darn.”
“Jane,” Charlotte said.
Jane looked up with a little sigh. “Yes, Charlotte?”
Charlotte held out the paper. “You should have a look at this.”
The other girls began to whisper excitedly among themselves, certain that a quarrel over Mr. Blackwood was imminent.
Jane shook her head. “I know you mean well. But I’ve already said that I—”
“No, this.” Charlotte pointed to the advertisement, her finger landing neatly on the word ROSY in ROSY CHEEKS.
Jane took the paper from her hands. “Wait. What’s this?”
Charlotte intuitively felt that she was about to lose her best friend. And that she was about to lose a story that could have been the story. She swallowed down the lump in her throat. “I believe this is meant for you.”
A week later Charlotte walked Jane out to the main gate at Lowood, Jane dragging a small trunk crammed with her belongings and various art supplies. Jane seemed a bit of a mess. She kept glancing over to one side and whispering, “We’re going to be all right. You’ll see.”
“Yes, we’re going to be all right,” Charlotte assured Jane. Things had been better between them since she’d spotted the advertisement. Settled. Boring. But better. “I shall miss you.”
“And I, you.” Jane took a deep breath and stepped past the main gate and officially off the Lowood grounds.
“Come on,” she said. “We’re almost there.”
Charlotte nodded and followed her to the waiting carriage. Jane opened the carriage door and paused, as if she were hesitant, in this final moment, to actually leave.
“We can do this,” she breathed.
“Yes,” Charlotte agreed. “We can.”
Then all at once the tension drained out of Jane’s shoulders, and she climbed up into the carriage.
“Good-bye, Jane.” Charlotte straightened and said with confidence, “We shall meet again, one day, under far better circumstances.” She’d written this into her notebook earlier. It was a good line, a hopeful line, though in this moment she doubted it was true. She wondered if she would ever see Jane Eyre again.
Jane reached down to briefly clasp Charlotte’s hand. “Good-bye, Charlotte.”
“Good-bye.”
The driver of the carriage, a hairy man with a tattered top hat, walked heavily over and closed the carriage door, pushing Charlotte aside and parting the two friends. He took Jane’s trunk and slung it onto the roof of the carriage, where he fastened it down. Charlotte stepped back through the gate, clutching her notebook to her chest, still looking at Jane.