My Plain Jane (The Lady Janies #2)(42)

THIRTEEN


Charlotte

While the party was occupied with the talking board, Charlotte took the opportunity to duck behind the curtains near where Jane was sitting. This was Charlotte’s chance.

“Jane,” she whispered urgently. “Over here, Jane!”

Jane didn’t turn around.

“I’m behind the curtain, Jane,” Charlotte whispered a bit more loudly.

Jane scratched her nose.

“Jane! Jane!” More frantic whispering from Charlotte.

Nothing. Then Jane stiffened like someone had poked her in the ribs. She looked around and spotted Charlotte peeking out from behind the heavy velvet drapes. Charlotte waved at her, then ducked entirely behind the curtains. A moment later Jane slid in beside her.

“It’s me!” Charlotte announced, then remembered they were supposed to be hiding, and she lowered her voice. “Surprise!”

Jane looked not so much happy to see her as terribly confused. “I knew it was you. But what are you doing here?”

“I disguised myself as a highborn lady in order to gain entrance to the house.” Charlotte gave Jane a quick hug. “And it worked.”

Jane didn’t hug her back. “Why would you do that?”

“I came to speak with you, Jane.”

Jane drew away. “Why would you desire to speak with me? You heard what they said about governesses.”

Charlotte stared at her. Jane’s eyes were cold, and with good reason. The ladies had been cruel just now. And Charlotte had played a part in that. The thought filled her with shame.

“That was horrible,” she said. “They should never have spoken about you like that. I shouldn’t have—”

Jane nodded. “So what do you want, Charlotte?”

“Um . . .” She’d been so certain about what she was going to say, until this moment. “I’ve come about the job. At the Society.”

Jane threw her hands up in the air. “Oh, for heaven’s sake! Are you still going on about that ridiculous offer of employment? I already told you—”

Charlotte pressed on. “This is more important than you realize, Jane. I’ve come with Mr. Eshton . . . Mr. Blackwood. He’s the agent with the Society for the Relocation of Wayward Spirits. He’s . . .”

“That agent!” gasped Jane, pressing her hand to her forehead as if the very thought of Mr. Blackwood made her head ache. “The one with the evil pocket watch! I knew there was something familiar about him.”

Charlotte didn’t know anything about evil pocket watches, other than the fact that Jane seemed to be obsessed with them. “Mr. Blackwood—Mr. Eshton, here—is most desperate to have you as part of the Society, Jane. It turns out that they are in dire need of new agents. The Society is on the decline, you see, and it is most imperative that . . .”

Jane was firmly shaking her head. “Charlotte, it’s no use. I don’t even know why they would want me. It’s a mistake.”

Charlotte grabbed Jane’s hand. “Do you see dead people?”

Jane’s mouth closed so fast there was almost a snap. She met Charlotte’s eyes.

“Tell me the truth,” Charlotte implored her. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” Jane murmured. “Yes, I see them.”

Blast, Charlotte wished she had her notebook on hand. There’d be so much to write.

“Don’t tell anyone,” Jane said.

“That’s why they want you, silly. It’s an incredibly valuable gift that you have, Jane. Mr. Blackwood has instructed me to give you the following offer—if you would come to London, be initiated as an agent into the Society, you would receive a decent salary. You could negotiate the exact sum, but it would be more than a woman could make doing anything else. Once you’ve gone through all the necessary training, you’d be given a mask (and they’re terribly comfortable—I can tell you from personal experience), so you could carry on your job incognito, as it were. And you’d be provided with your own private living quarters.”

Jane stared at her mutely. For a moment, it seemed like Charlotte might have finally gotten through to her. Because who could resist such an offer? Most jobs didn’t come with a flat in London, let alone such a stylish uniform.

But then Jane’s expression became, if anything, slightly horrified.

“Well. The job does entail interacting with ghosts,” Charlotte went on, because she could see how the ghost element would not exactly be appealing to everyone, “but you wouldn’t have to talk with them, just capture them and return them to the Society headquarters. That’s what Mr. Blackwood does. I find the whole thing vastly exciting. You’d get to travel the country, you know.”

Jane’s mouth opened. And then shut again. Finally she said, “I wish to be a governess.”

“You do not. No one wants to be a governess.”

“I do.”

“I don’t believe you. Think of the prestige you’d gain, working at such a highly respected institution. You could afford to buy a nice dress and good shoes. You’d live in London. Think of the food, Jane. Just think of the food.”

Jane shook her head. “I’m well fed here.”

“But you’d earn a salary! A decent salary!”