Jane Slayre by Sherri Browning Erwin Page B

took the guard unawares. But the guard looked and came back, apparently seeing nothing. Perhaps they'd slipped away out a back entrance?
    "There's no one there, child. Come."
    "But, the woman--"
    "Eh, she didn't pay full fare. If she misses her ride, she'll find another."
    Afraid for what sort of ride she might find, I stared into the dark
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    room as the guard lifted me to carry me away. I was only a child. What more could I say?
    Once more I was stowed away in the coach. My protector mounted his own seat, sounded his hollow horn, and away we rattled over the stony streets. As the misty afternoon waned into dusk, I began to feel that we were getting very far indeed from Gates-head, and very cheerful for it. The country changed. Great grey hills heaved up round the horizon. As twilight deepened, we descended a valley, dark with wood, and long after night had over-clouded the prospect, I heard a wild wind rushing amongst trees.
    It was as if a knot of tension finally uncoiled in my stomach, allowing me to find a sort of relaxed inner peace. I fell asleep. I had not long slumbered when the sudden cessation of motion awoke me. The coach door opened, and a person like a servant stood at it. I saw her face and dress by the light of the lamps.
    "Is there a little girl called Jane Slayre here?" she asked.
    "Yes," I said, and was then lifted out. My trunk was handed down, and the coach instantly drove away.
    I was stiff with long sitting, and bewildered with the noise and motion of the coach. Gathering my faculties, I looked about me. Rain, wind, and darkness filled the air; nevertheless, I dimly discerned a wall before me, and a door open in it. Through this door I passed with my new guide. She shut and locked it behind her. There was now visible a house or houses--for the building spread far--with many windows, and lights burning in some. We went up a broad, pebbly path, splashing wet, and were admitted at a door; then the servant led me through a passage into a room with a fire, where she left me alone.
    I stood and warmed my numbed fingers over the blaze. There was no candle, but the uncertain light from the hearth showed, by intervals, papered walls, carpet, curtains, shining mahogany furniture. It was a parlour, not so spacious or splendid as the drawing room at Gateshead, but comfortable enough. I puzzled to make out the weapons hanging in a row down the wall as if treasured works
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    of art--swords, with long blades that gleamed in the firelight. I supposed someone was a collector, perhaps one of the teachers. The door opened and a woman entered. Another woman followed close behind.
    The first was a tall lady with dark hair, dark eyes, and a pale and large forehead. Her figure was partly enveloped in a shawl. Her countenance was grave but gentle, her bearing erect. I guessed she might be around twenty-nine years of age, her companion some years younger.
    "The child is very young to be sent alone," said the tall lady, putting her candle down on the table. She considered me attentively for a minute or two. "She had better be put to bed soon. She looks tired. Are you tired?" she asked, placing her hand on my shoulder.
    "A little, ma'am."
    "And hungry, too, no doubt. Let her have some supper before she goes to bed, Miss Miller."
    "But, perhaps we should wait and see first? In case--"
    "Nonsense. She is clearly full of life, and there's no meat to be had. Is this the first time you have left your parents to come to school, my little girl?"
    I explained to her that I had no parents. She inquired how long they had been dead, how old I was, what my name was, and whether I could read, write, and sew a little. She touched my cheek gently with her forefinger. "I hope you should be a good child."
    Mr. Bokorhurst's conversation with Mrs. Reed came to mind, but I shut it out. Yes, I recalled his connection to Miss Abbot, but so far, the women who greeted me seemed nothing out of the ordinary. No waxen pallor, extended fangs, or