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“But you must!” Frances protested, to my surprise. “If you don’t, Mrs. Grimshaw will, and she’ll do it harder.”

We heard footsteps on the stairs: Mrs. Grimshaw was coming to see how the punishment progressed. “Please!” Frances cried.

I took up the strap, raised my skirt, and said, “Scream and cry as loudly as you can.”

Twenty times I lashed the strap hard against my own leg and endured the pain, while Frances screamed as though I struck her. After it was done, I felt sore but virtuous for having spared Frances. She later appeared at breakfast looking chastened, and Mrs. Grimshaw gave me a nod of approval. My hatred for the school burgeoned. I could not bear to stay in this place where children were tortured; yet I didn’t want to abandon Frances. Though I yearned for home, I couldn’t forsake my mission. It seemed likely that Isabel White had suffered the same evils as Frances, but perhaps the school harbored more secrets that I must learn for the sake of Charlotte and our family. Hence, I resolved to stay and persevere.

But after the pupils retired to the dormitory, Mrs. Grimshaw waylaid me. “I saw Frances undressing, and there’s not a mark on her,” she said, bristling with anger. “You didn’t whip her. Next time, do as you’re told, or I’ll ’ave the police on you.”

She left me shaking with dread. I realized I must leave the school, no matter my regrets. That midnight, I quietly dressed, then packed my satchel. I crept outside, intending to walk to town and board the earliest train home. A cool, restless wind blew clouds across the stars and the full moon. The trees in the garden tossed their boughs; shadows stirred. As I sped down the path, I noticed a light. It came from the forbidden windmill.

Curiosity delayed my flight. I crept up to the windmill. Its door was closed, but the lighted window was open. Through it I heard men’s voices inside the mill. I peered through the window and saw the Reverend Grimshaw standing in the light from a lantern he held. I had a clear view of his face, but the two men opposite him stood with their backs to me.

“Gentlemen, I no longer wish to do business with you,” the Reverend Grimshaw said, his manner at once pompous and fearful.

“It’s too late for you to terminate our association,” one of the other men said in a high, cultured voice.

“But this has become too dangerous. Rumors about the school are circulating in town. The Church has sent officials to inspect the premises. And the more girls who pass through the school, the greater the chance that one will talk.” The Reverend Grimshaw seemed on the verge of weeping. “Please, good sirs-if you don’t release me, I shall be ruined!”

“If you renege on your promise, you’ll have worse to fear than that the Church will discover the fate of the girls in your charge,” said the other man. His voice was deeper, and menacing. “Would you like everyone to know that you satisfy your carnal desires with your pupils?”

Even in the meager light I could see the Reverend Grimshaw’s complexion turn pale.

“You can either fulfill your obligations to us,” his adversary said, “or be exposed as a foul sinner.”

The Reverend Grimshaw cast his gaze upward, as though he expected the heavens to rain fire. Defeat settled upon him. His pomposity deflated, he seemed aged and shrunken. I pitied him not. “I’ll fetch her,” he said.

He and his companions left the windmill; I followed, undetected. The Reverend Grimshaw entered the house. The two men walked to the front of the school. I hastened after them, my heart beating fast, my blood racing. In the road stood a carriage and horses. The two men waited beside the carriage, while I hid in the moonlit woods. Presently, down the lane from the school came the Reverend Grimshaw with his lantern. Beside him walked Abigail Weston, once friend to the now-absent Jane Fell. They halted at the carriage. The driver opened its door.

“Where are you taking me?” Abigail asked the men.

Giddy excitement, tinged with fear, inflected her voice. One of the men said, “You’re going to London, to live in Paradise.”

Was she following in the footsteps of Isabel White? I felt certain that both young women had been mistreated in the same manner as had Frances, and both schooled for some evil purpose. Isabel White’s path had led to the criminal she called her master, and a life of sordid intrigue. Alas, I believed that Abigail, Jane, Frances, and other girls at the school were destined for the same.

Abigail and the men rode away in the carriage. The Reverend Grimshaw returned to the school. I trudged along the road until I reached the village.

I write this account as the train carries me homeward. Morning sun now gilds the countryside, but my thoughts dwell in the dark realms of uncertainty. Will my discoveries be of any use to Charlotte and Mr. Slade?

I regret that Emily underwent such distress for my sake. All she told us when Mr. Slade, Anne, and I arrived home was how the girls in the school were beaten and that one had been taken to London by men who promised she would live in Paradise. Mr. Slade received this meager news with profound appreciation.

“Paradise is the name of a London gaming club and house of ill repute,” he told Emily. “Its clients are English and foreign politicians, businessmen, diplomats, and nobility. Your observations suggest that Monsieur LeDuc employs girls from the school to draw prominent men into his schemes. He must have discovered Isabel at the school, used her as a courier between himself and the radical societies, and put her to work in the Paradise, where she met the prime minister. You have done well by giving us a place to investigate his doings. I’ll put the club under surveillance at once.”

Emily seemed indifferent to Slade’s praise. We could not have suspected at the time how important her discovery would turn out to be.

“That a school which purports to be a charity would ruin helpless, innocent girls is an outrage!” I exclaimed.

Papa said, “I shall report the Reverend Grimshaw to the Church so that he may be censured and the school closed.”

“As they should be,” said Slade. “But your taking action against the school will drive Monsieur LeDuc deeper into hiding. I am afraid we must leave it alone until our work is done.”

“He’s right, Papa,” said Anne.

“But the girls will suffer in the meantime,” Emily objected in alarm.

“Therefore, it’s more important than ever that we find Monsieur LeDuc and put a stop to his evildoing as soon as possible,” I said.

“We can catch a train to London tonight and book passage on a ship for Belgium tomorrow,” Mr. Slade said to me.

I was thrilled that he would include me in his journey. He probably wished to avoid another argument, yet I dared to wonder if he might have another, more personal motive.

The thought of traveling again, while I was on the verge of collapse from exhaustion and nervous strain, was appalling; still I jumped at the chance for another venture with Mr. Slade, and I heard the siren song that the thought of Belgium always stirs in my heart.

“I will be ready,” I said.

24

The steam packet labored across the English Channel, the paddle wheels churning noisily, funnels belching smoke, and sails billowing. I stood on the deck, my eyes dazzled by the vast ocean that sparkled with cobalt, emerald, and aquamarine lights. Ships dotted the rolling waves. Seabirds wheeled high against the sky’s blue brilliance and majestic white clouds. I relished the salty wind. Mr. Slade and I had sailed from London on that day of 14 August, then boarded the Channel packet in Dover. Now the Continent came into view. The coast was a line of golden sunshine, touched with viridian green. As the ship bore me toward that coast I marveled that my quest had once again led me into the past.

Twice before had I made this journey. The first time, in 1842, Papa had escorted Emily and me to school in Brussels. There I found the new sights, acquaintances, and knowledge I had longed for. I also gained other experiences that I could never have anticipated.