Michael Ford - Jane Goes Batty

“You can’t kill me,” Charlotte shouted. “I’m Charlotte Brontë.”

“Well, I do love your books,” said Miriam, clearly still not believing Charlotte. “Even so, I’m afraid your time is up.”

“Jane!” Charlotte yelled. “Tell her who I am.”

“She’s Violet Grey,” Jane yelled back.

“She’s lying,” said Charlotte. “Do you know who she is? She’s Jane—”

She was cut off by the sound of Miriam’s body hitting the floor. The woman had fallen several feet in front of Jane and Byron, and Jane could see the gash where she had been struck in the head. A thin line of blood trickled from the wound.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” Beverly said.

A moment later Jane felt herself pulled to a seated position and pushed against the wall. Byron was likewise arranged. The two of them were facing Ted and Charlotte, who were still tied to their chairs. Charlotte glared at Jane but said nothing.

Beverly walked over to Miriam’s body and pushed her with her foot. Miriam didn’t respond. Beverly then turned to the others. “I suppose you all want an explanation,” she said.

“Just untie us,” Charlotte said, straining against the ropes holding her still.

Beverly laughed, but there was no humor in her voice. “Untie you?” she said. “Why would I want to do that?”

“That’s enough, Doris,” Charlotte said. “Do as I say.”

“Doris?” said Jane. “Who’s Doris?”

“I am,” Beverly said.

“Doris!” Charlotte said. “Untie me. Now.”

“I don’t understand,” Jane said. “What’s going on here?”

Beverly—now Doris—sighed. “I suppose I do owe you an explanation,” she said.

“She’s my servant,” said Charlotte. “And if she knows what’s good for her, she’ll untie me at once.”

Doris ignored her. “It’s true,” she said to Jane. “I am her servant. At least I was.” She turned back to Charlotte. “But that’s all over with. I no longer take orders from you.”

“What are you talking about?” Byron said.

“And you ,” said Doris, wheeling around to look at him. “None of us would be here if it weren’t for you.”

Byron looked at her, squinting. “I don’t remember turning you,” he said.

“You didn’t,” said Doris. “You turned her.” She nodded at Charlotte, then took a deep breath. “And she turned me as revenge against my mother, then made me serve her.”

“Your mother killed me!” Charlotte yelled. “She gave me typhus!”

“Your mother was Tabitha Ackroyd?” Byron asked.

Doris nodded. “After you turned Charlotte she came after me, turning me because she blamed my mother for her death.”

“I took her child because she took mine!” said Charlotte.

“I was no child,” Beverly snapped. “And my mother no more caused your death than I did.” She stepped toward Charlotte. “But now I will have my revenge.”

“You wouldn’t dare kill me,” said Charlotte.

Doris laughed. “I don’t intend to kill you,” she said. “I’m going to have you arrested and jailed for the murder of Jessica Abernathy.”

“You’re the one who killed her,” Jane whispered.

Doris nodded. “Yes,” she said. “And I put the note from Violet in her pocket.”

“They’ll never believe you,” Charlotte said. “Jessica was my sorority sister.”

“Please,” Doris said. “You only befriended her because you hoped she would publish your novels once she established herself. Then when she became Jane’s editor you saw an opportunity to get your revenge on your enemy.” She clapped her hands together. “No, I think you’ll be going to prison for murder. Or maybe you’d like to tell them that you’re Charlotte Brontë, as well as a vampire. What do you think they would do to you then?”

“I’ll kill you,” Charlotte growled.

“What do you think it would be like being a vampire in prison?” Doris asked, addressing Jane and Byron. “Not much fun, I wouldn’t think. And what would a life sentence be when you’re immortal? How long do you think it would be before other prisoners started turning up drained of blood? And how soon would it be before someone noticed that the prisoner in cell block C looked exactly the same as she did when she entered her cell sixty-eight years before? I suspect the scientists would be very interested in such a specimen.”

“It doesn’t sound very nice,” said Byron. He looked at Charlotte. “I hope you have a good lawyer.”

“I’m still confused,” Jane said. “You killed Jessica to frame Violet. That makes sense. But what about Miriam? Why were you working with her?”

“That was Charlotte’s idea,” Doris said. “You see, after your last run-in Charlotte decided to look into your boyfriend’s family to see what kind of mischief she might make. Imagine her surprise when she discovered that his own mother was one of the world’s most feared vampire hunters.”

“I don’t know how you couldn’t have known,” Charlotte said to Jane. “You’re really very stupid.”

“Says the vampire who just got framed by her own servant,” said Jane.

“I’m not her servant!” Doris said. “Stop calling me that. Both of you.” She waited until both Jane and Charlotte were quiet, then continued. “Charlotte arranged for Miriam to catch me,” she said. “I then begged her to let me live and made a bargain with her. I would help her find other vampires.”

“But you had to agree to be defanged,” said Byron. “Now I see.”

“At first we thought we would tell Miriam that her son’s girlfriend was a vampire,” Doris said. “Then Charlotte decided it would be more amusing if she found out by accident, so I told Miriam I knew of a vampire living here.”

“That would be me,” said Byron. “Correct?”

“Yes,” said Doris. “As it happened, it was very convenient for all of us. By having Miriam kill you, Charlotte would have her revenge on you for turning her. It would also put Miriam in contact with Jane.”

“A little something for everyone,” Jane said. “It’s very nice, but there seem to be an awful lot of coincidences in this story.”

“Please,” said Doris. “As if the two of you don’t have books filled with convenient coincidences. You can’t have an entertaining story without them.”

“My novels are not entertainment,” Charlotte said. “They are literature.”

“They’re tripe,” said Doris. “The only people who like them are miserable little girls who have never been kissed and likely never will be and the occasional boy who finds a copy of Jane Eyre in his sister’s bedroom and thinks there might be dirty bits in it.”

Jane giggled.

“Yours are only slightly better,” Doris told her. “Supposedly independent women trotting about the countryside after impossible men.”

“But they are better,” Jane said. She looked at Charlotte and winked.

“Not that this isn’t a brilliant plan,” said Byron. “And it is. But it seems like a lot of fuss to go through just for a spot of revenge.”

“Not at all,” Doris said. “I really do love romance literature, and the festival was great fun. When this is all over with I plan to go right on as Beverly Shrop. Seeing Charlotte jailed and the two of you staked is just an added bonus.”

“But why me?” asked Jane. “I’ve done nothing to you.”

“Perhaps not,” Doris said. “But you’ve treated me rudely. Admit it—you thought I was just some silly woman trying to make money off your work, didn’t you?”

“Well, yes,” Jane admitted.

“You wouldn’t give me the time of day,” Doris continued. “And yet I brought busloads of fans to see you. It’s very ungrateful of you. Besides, having you dead will explain why Miriam is dead. I’m sorry about that. Well, a little sorry.”