My Plain Jane (The Lady Janies #2)(19)

“Do eat,” Mrs. Fairfax said.

Jane tried to be as ladylike as possible as she shoved spoonful after spoonful into her mouth. It was the most delicious stew she’d ever had. It was the only stew she’d ever had.

“Well, Miss Eyre, this is the entire house staff, and were Adele not asleep, I would introduce her as well. I know you must be tired, but would you please tell us a little about your background? From where do you come?”

Jane was about to answer, but then an eerie scream pierced the air.

Jane and Helen both startled. No one else moved.

“What was that?” Jane said.

“What was what?” Mrs. Fairfax said.

“That scream!”

“What scream?”

“The one just now,” Jane exclaimed.

“The one that pierced the air!” Helen added.

“Oh, that would be the wolves,” Mrs. Fairfax said cheerily, as if a bloodcurdling scream from a wolf wasn’t only slightly less terrifying.

“That did not sound like an animal,” Jane said.

“Oh, well, then it was the wind. Come along, dear. Everyone, time for bed.”

“But . . .” Jane glanced around the room, confused at the utter lack of alarm. “But shouldn’t we make sure no one is hurt?”

“Why, dear? The entire household is here. So, you see, it couldn’t have been a human. And if it were a human, they would probably scream again. But no, there was just the one scream.”

“What if they can’t scream again?” Jane said with a tone of dread.

“Well then, there’s not much to be done about it is there?” She headed for the doorway. “We should all turn in. Thank you, Miss Eyre, for delighting us tonight. Isn’t it a prodigious thing indeed for someone so plain to be so clever?” Mrs. Fairfax held open the door. “Now, off to bed!”

Mrs. Fairfax instructed the soot-covered boy to start a fire for Miss Eyre. A scullery maid then led Jane and Helen to a bedchamber on the third floor. The room was big and warm, and the bed was comfortable, and after everything that had happened that day, all Jane could focus on was climbing under the covers and going to sleep.

“You might want to lock your door,” the maid said on her way out.

“Why do you say that?” Jane asked.

“It’s nothing to alarm you, miss. Grace Poole sometimes wanders the hallways.” With that, she shut the door.

“I don’t remember a Grace Poole among the servants, do you?” Jane asked Helen.

“Maybe she’s a ghost.”

“I’m sure the servant would have mentioned that small detail.”

Helen frowned. “I told you this place was haunted.”

Jane rubbed her forehead. “Grace Poole is probably on night watch. And the sound could have been a wolf,” she said mid-yawn.

“And I might be the Queen of England,” Helen said.

“Hush, dear,” Jane whispered. Helen went quiet.

Jane slept restlessly that night, stirring at the softest of noises. At least Helen was sprawled out beside her. Because the bed was that big.

The next day, Jane tried to ask Mrs. Fairfax again about the scream, but the woman wouldn’t have it.

“There’s an entire house and all of its quirks to learn,” she said. “No time for speculating.”

But Jane couldn’t help speculating as Mrs. Fairfax ushered her from room to room.

The estate probably could’ve housed ten Lowood schools, it was so big. The only part of the house they didn’t tour was the east wing, which Mrs. Fairfax said was boarded up for restoration. When the tour ended it was mid-morning. And time for tea in the kitchen.

“When am I to meet Adele?” Jane asked.

“Tonight,” Mrs. Fairfax answered.

“And Mr. Rochester?”

“Who knows when the master will return. He often stays away for months at a time.”

“Hmpf,” came a grunt from the doorway of the room.

Jane startled and turned. In walked a woman wearing servant’s clothes. Her apron sash sat askew on her hips, and her hair looked like it had barely survived a windstorm. A strong jaw and extreme eyebrows gave her a menacing appearance, which intensified when the candle by the doorway lit her features in such a way to cast a long shadow up her forehead. She strode over to the teapot, poured herself a cup, and strode back toward the doorway all the while making very little noise.

At the doorway, the cat blocked her passage and hissed. The woman leaned down and hissed back, revealing a mouth full of black and brown teeth. The cat sprinted away.

Jane considered this to be very strange behavior, but Mrs. Fairfax didn’t even glance up from her tea.

“Who was that?” Jane asked.

“Grace Poole,” Mrs. Fairfax said. “She works in the east wing.”

“But I understood it to be boarded up for restoration?”

“Never mind about Grace Poole. Do you have any further questions for me, Miss Eyre?”

Helen raised her hand. “What do you mean she works in the east wing? Is she doing the restoration?”

Jane tried her best to ignore her friend. “Yes, what can you tell me about Mr. Rochester?”

“Oh, well,” Mrs. Fairfax said. “He is a very good master, if somewhat unpredictable of mood. He is loyal and he pays our wages in a timely fashion, which makes it easier to forgive his sometimes dark manners and mostly rare but sometimes often outbursts of anger.”