Her nature proved here too strong for her fortitude.
Chapter Three
Charlotte avoided Emily for a fortnight, trying instead to be the best teacher Miss Wooler had ever employed. To the extent she had considered Emily, she’d been relieved Emily had not caused any more trouble. But this evening, Charlotte had been summoned to the infirmary. Emily had fallen into a feverish sleep and could not be roused.
Emily writhed and moaned on the narrow sickbed. Charlotte placed her hand on Emily’s forehead. The skin was hot, yet her face had a deathlike pallor that terrified Charlotte. She dipped a cloth in a basin of water, wrung it out, and lay it on Emily’s brow.
The door swung open and Miss Wooler peeked inside. “How is she?” she asked.
Charlotte rushed to grasp Miss Wooler’s hands. “She’s burning up,” she whispered.
Miss Wooler glided to Emily’s bed and stared down at her. Her face was kind, but there was a hardness there too. “We mustn’t be precipitous. I’m sure it’s just a mild fever.” The only light in the room came from two candles on a table near Emily’s bed; Miss Wooler’s eyes reflected the twin flickering flames.
“I’m afraid she is truly ill. Emily never does anything by halves. We must call for a physician,” Charlotte insisted. “Or send her home to be cared for by our family doctor.”
The headmistress hesitated. “Are you certain she is really sick? Could this be a stratagem to go home?”
Charlotte froze. She hadn’t considered that. Not even Emily would sink so low . . . would she?
She reached out and took Emily’s hand. Her sister’s skin, dry as parchment, perversely gave her courage to stand up to her employer. “Miss Wooler, what an outrageous accusation!” Charlotte answered, struggling to put assurance into her voice. “Even if Emily would fake her illness, do you believe I would connive at such a plan?”
Miss Wooler, her lips pursed, watched Charlotte’s face. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t.”
“Thank you,” Charlotte said.
“But even if she is not deliberately pretending, I’ve known unhappy students—not many, but a few—who were so unhappy they made themselves sick. They were looking for attention.”
“Trust me, Emily is the last person to show off.” Charlotte shook her head. “She cares nothing for the opinions of others, not even her family.”
“How singular,” Miss Wooler said with raised eyebrows. “But can we rule out a malady of the mind?” Her voice dropped to a whisper and her eyes darted to the door as if she feared eavesdroppers.
“Emily’s illness may have started in her mind,” Charlotte said firmly, “but she is physically ill now.”
The wavering light cast a series of fantastic shadows on the whitewashed walls as Miss Wooler paced around the room. “If this is simply homesickness, sending her back would be doing her a great disservice; she might never leave home again.”
Charlotte took a deep breath. It was time to use her strongest and most painful argument. “Please, Miss Wooler. I’ve lost two sisters already. I cannot lose another.”
Miss Wooler stopped pacing. “How did they die?”
“Ten years ago they contracted consumption . . . while away at school.”
Miss Wooler paled, no doubt considering the effect an outbreak of consumption would have on the reputation of her precious school. What parent would send their daughter to a school where she was likely to waste away of graveyard fever? “She doesn’t have any of the symptoms . . . does she?”
