Jane Bites Back_ A Novel - Michael Thomas Ford [78]
A moment later Violet entered the room. “I’m back,” she said. “And I believe our plan has worked.”
None of the others answered her, but Violet didn’t seem to notice. She moved about the kitchen, taking items from the refrigerator and putting them on the table, pouring wine into four glasses and setting one at each place. When she was done she took the final seat, across from the man. She lifted her glass.
“To revenge,” she said. She laughed and took a sip of her wine. She closed her eyes for a moment. “Isn’t it delicious?” she asked.
No reply came from the other three diners, none of whom moved even a finger. Their glasses sat untouched before them. Still seemingly unaffected by their silence, Violet picked up a platter of meat and lifted a piece from it.
“Anne?” she said, looking to her right. “Oh, of course. You prefer the end cut. I’m sorry.” She turned to her left and laid the meat on the plate there. “It’s Emily who prefers it rare.”
Anne and Emily seem to be keeping their opinions to themselves, Jane thought as she watched Violet load the plates with food. The strange tableau made less and less sense.
“Will you say the blessing?” Violet said, appearing to address the man across from her. She bowed her head. Jane heard no voice come from the man’s mouth, but after a few moments Violet raised her head. “Thank you, Branwell,” she said.
Branwell? Jane thought. Anne? Emily? Realization dawned on her. She looked at Violet, who was talking animatedly as she ate. They’re dolls, thought Jane. Mannequins or something. She’s dressed them up and thinks they’re the Brontës.
Suddenly it all made sense. Violet wasn’t just a Brontëite; she was obsessed with them. No wonder she wanted to believe that Jane’s manuscript had been written by Charlotte. She even pretends that she is Charlotte, Jane thought. That’s why the others were called Anne and Emily. Of course she picked the most successful one for herself, thought Jane. She may be nuts, but she’s at least clever.
Jane had met any number of Brontë fanatics, but Violet took the cake. Not only had she created her own little family, she had somehow managed to unearth Jane’s manuscript and convince herself it was really Charlotte who had penned it. It was actually kind of sad, and Jane felt a little bit bad for the girl.
Then again, she’s trying to blackmail me, she reminded herself. The question was what to do about it. She could deny Violet’s claims, but as long as Violet was in possession of the manuscript there would always be evidence that Jane had copied someone’s work. Whether it was deemed by experts to be Charlotte’s or not, Jane would be charged with plagiarism.
I have to get it back, Jane thought. It’s the only way.
But how? She couldn’t just walk in and demand that Violet give it to her. You could always drain her, a voice in her head suggested.
It wasn’t a bad idea. She could easily do that, then look for the manuscript while the girl was out cold. With a bit of luck Violet wouldn’t remember any of it the next day. But she would still remember the manuscript, which would defeat the whole point. The only sure way to handle her was to drain her completely. To kill her.
Jane was tempted. After all, Violet was threatening her. Worse, she was accusing her of stealing her own work. She really does sort of deserve it, Jane thought. But what if she’d told someone else? A friend, perhaps? Or the manuscript expert she’d mentioned. Who was he? Jane had no idea. If she took out Violet, there were still people who could implicate her.
No, the only solution was to get the manuscript itself. Hopefully, Violet had only the one copy. If Jane could get it back, then Violet could make any accusations she wanted to,