In her classic tale, Charlotte Brontë introduced readers to the strong-willed and intelligent Jane Eyre. Picking up where Brontë left off, Jane’s life has settled into a comfortable pattern: She and her beloved Edward Rochester are married and have an infant son. But Jane soon finds herself in the midst of new challenges and threats to those she loves…

Jane can’t help but fret when a letter arrives from Adèle Varens—Rochester’s ward, currently at boarding school—warning that the girl’s life is in jeopardy. Although it means leaving her young son and invalid husband, and despite never having been to a city of any size, Jane feels strongly compelled to go to London to ensure Adèle’s safety.

But almost from the beginning, Jane’s travels don’t go as planned—she is knocked about and robbed, and no one believes that the plain, unassuming Jane could indeed be the wife of a gentleman; even the school superintendent takes her for an errant new teacher. But most shocking to Jane is the discovery that Adèle’s schoolmate has recently passed away under very suspicious circumstances, yet no one appears overly concerned. Taking advantage of the situation, Jane decides to pose as the missing instructor—and soon uncovers several unsavory secrets, which may very well make her the killer’s next target…

“Here.” Cook poured from a teapot with a chipped spout, a delicate vessel on which pale roses had been painted, her chapped red hands thickly incongruous against the translucent white of the pot. She pressed a mug of lukewarm tea on me. I took a tentative sip. I wished it had milk and sugar, but I was grateful nonetheless.

I closed my eyes to savor the brew. One more image impressed itself on my brain—a flapping sheet, the spectral silhouette I’d witnessed from the walkway. .

I squeezed the thick mug, trying to transfer its warmth. I was cold, and hungry and tired. When the senses are over-stimulated, the imagination naturally attempts mediation, doesn’t it? I decided that my mind had taken my concern for Adèle, my guilt at not visiting, her fearful letter, my own memories of Lowood, and woven all these separate occurrences into a new and fantastical tale. Mixed together with the sight of a sheet flapping in the wind, I’d invented a dramatic intrigue. My mind had merely woven disparate visions together, hoping to create a narrative, even where none existed.

That couldn’t have been a dead body that I had seen.

Taken in tandem with the threat to Adèle, it conjured up all sorts of wild imaginings.

Don’t go there, Jane, I warned myself. Keep to your plan. Surely Adèle is fine!

Industry. I wanted motion and purpose to keep my emotions in check. I drained the mug. Before I could thank the cook, she took the cup from me and turned her back on me.

“Hamburg. That’s a long way away, eh? You been running from someone. He done you harm, eh?”

She had confused me with someone else. I opened my mouth to correct her, but before I could, she said, “No matter. Miss Miller will be happy to see you. Especially after what happened this morning. She is going to need all the help she can get, I’ll warrant.” view abbreviated excerpt only...

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