My Plain Jane (The Lady Janies #2)(67)

“Don’t call me Charlie.” She sighed. “What a strange day.” She was trembling, she discovered. And her eyes were a bit wet. “Come on, let’s go. I’m excited to see your flat, Brother.”

“It’s a room, not an entire flat. And the landlady is mean.”

She waited for him to order a carriage, but he said he’d rather walk. So they walked and walked, more than a mile, until they came to a dilapidated house on a darkened street—the kind of street where unpleasant things occurred on a nightly basis. Bran unlocked the front door and led Charlotte quickly and quietly through a hall up the back stairs. To a room the size of a closet.

Charlotte sat on the bed, because that was the only place available to sit. She caught the strong scent of mold. And mouse droppings. “It’s very nice, Bran,” she said faintly. “Very cozy.”

Bran took off his hat and tossed it into a corner. He ran his hands through his wild red hair, making it ever wilder. Then he looked around and gave a bitter laugh. “Well, that’s one good thing. I won’t have to endure this wretched place any longer.”

“What do you mean? Have they found you a better place?” She shivered. “A warmer one?” It was odd, how used to being warm she’d gotten, after only a few weeks at the Ingrams’ and Thornfield.

“No,” Bran said. “But I’ve been given until the end of the month to vacate this one.”

“But why?” she asked.

“I’ve been relieved of my position as Mr. Blackwood’s apprentice,” he reported. “And I’ve been cast out from the Society.”

Her heart ached for him. “Oh, Bran, I’m sorry.”

Bran swallowed. “The duke said I don’t possess the qualities of a true member.”

She grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “He was angry, understandably, about the incident with the teacup. But perhaps he will reconsider. They need agents, after all. Perhaps—”

“No,” Bran said hoarsely. “You heard what Mr. Blackwood said. The duke doesn’t give second chances.”

“What will you do?” she asked.

“Go home, I suppose. Help Father with the parsonage.”

“No, you can’t,” Charlotte cried. “It was just one mistake. The duke can’t fire you for one simple mistake.”

“Oh, but he can,” said Bran. “He wasn’t angry. He didn’t mean me any ill will, Charlie. But he cannot abide incompetence within the Society. They are like a clockwork machine, and I have proved to be a faulty gear. I must go.”

“But, Bran,” she said. “Surely—”

“He wants nothing to do with me. I always found it a wonder that I was inducted into the Society in the first place. Besides, I don’t want to work for an institution that will not accept you as well. They’re fools, if they cannot see how valuable you are, Charlie. You’d be a magnificent agent.” He sighed and scooted over to her, slung his arm around her as if he were the one comforting her. “So. That’s that. I’ll go home. You’ll go back to school. And things will return to normal.”

“I don’t like normal,” she said.

“Neither do I,” Bran said.

“I detest normal.”

“I abhor it,” he agreed.

“I simply loathe normal,” she said, and Bran gave a weak laugh. And then they got up and made some tea.





TWENTY-THREE


Jane

“There’s a letter for you,” Mrs. Fairfax said at breakfast.

“For me?” Jane said. Charlotte and Mr. Blackwood had only just left Thornfield, and Jane couldn’t imagine anyone else sending her a letter.

Mrs. Fairfax pushed it across the table toward Jane, who opened it with curiosity.

It was from Bessie, Jane’s nursemaid from Aunt Reed’s house.

Dear Miss Eyre,

Your aunt Reed has taken ill and is confined to her bed. She has requested to see you. Please make haste, as her time on this earth shan’t be long.

Jane frowned.

“Is everything all right, Miss Eyre?” Mrs. Fairfax inquired.

“No. It is my aunt. She is dying and has requested to see me.”

“Oh, I am sorry. You shall pack your things at once. Eliza!” A kitchen maid entered. “Please help Miss Eyre pack her things.”

“But can you spare me for such a trip?” Jane asked.

“We can and we will,” Mrs. Fairfax said.

“I thank you. But I will not need Eliza’s help. My belongings are few.”

“Very well,” Mrs. Fairfax said.

Jane lowered her gaze. “I will, however, need some money. I have not yet received my wages.”

“You must take that up with the master,” Mrs. Fairfax said, returning her attention to the morning’s post.

“Right,” Jane muttered, not looking forward to such an uncomfortable conversation.

She returned to her bedchamber to pack her meager belongings.

Helen was not quiet with her feelings about the trip. “Your aunt Reed doesn’t deserve to spit in the same room as you.”

“She’s probably rather dehydrated, and will not be spitting at all,” Jane said.

“Nevertheless, I’m glad you are leaving Thornfield Hall, and Mr. Rochester. He is not a good man.”