Free My Mr. Rochester by L. K. Rigel Page A

my independence. The Board Ladies had descended upon Lowood in all their benignity to supervise the girls and dispense the largesse of their latest fundraiser. Playing Lady Bountiful, they made their carriages available to take us into Lowton for the day.
    “Miss Eyre, come with us, won’t you?” Miss Miller had collected Miss Scatcherd and Miss Roy, the teacher of homely arts. “This one has room for four.”
    We were off for a day of self-indulgence. After depositing our checks at the bank, we moved on to the champagne brunch waiting for us at the inn, compliments of the Board Ladies.
    “Take warning.” Miss Roy covered her champagne flute as a waiter tried to refill it. “The so-called complimentary champagne is a ruse. The shopkeepers of Lowton are in cahoots with the innkeeper to loosen our self-control and thereby our purse strings.”
    “But Miss Roy, we want loosening,” Miss Miller said.
    “It’s what we came for.” I laughed with the others and nodded my ascent to the waiter.
    Miss Scatcherd said, “We all know what you came for, Miss Roy. Canning jars and pectin.”
    “And a new boiling pot besides,” Miss Roy said good-naturedly.
    “Is this yours?” I held up the hot scone I’d spread with a wonderful raspberry lime marmalade. Miss Roy not only taught homely arts, she made fabulous jams and jellies and sauces. The inn and the grocer bought such a steady supply from her that she had a good side business going.
    “It is,” she answered with pride. She never spent but on her business and on good things for her beloved pet birds. I suspected Miss Roy would retire with an enviable nest egg.
    “What are you after today, Miss Eyre? Paints, caramels?” Miss Scatcherd looked pointedly at my exposed collarbones. “Lace?”
    I blushed. My hand flew protectively to my uncovered throat, and I fingered the gold cross pendant Miss Miller had given me upon passing my licensing exams.
    Miss Scatcherd moved on to Miss Miller. “I suppose you’ll visit the heathen bookshop.”
    The clinking of knives and forks halted with the conversation. She’d do it, too, I thought. In taking Miss Temple’s administrative place, Miss Miller had adopted her courage as well.
    “What would be wrong in that?” she said. “Mrs. Dean has books her grandfather didn’t carry, and I want to see them. Lord knows it would be a pleasure to read something new.”
    “I wouldn’t patronize that foreigner with one penny,” Miss Scatcherd said. “She has an entire section devoted to witchcraft, you know.”
    “I didn’t know, Miss Scatcherd. How do you?”
    “I believe I heard something from the kitchen.” Miss Scatcherd turned red and looked down at her plate. “Cook said she has the Harry Potter books.”
    “Oh, those are wonderful,” I said.
    All heads jerked in my direction, as if I’d admitted to a deviant crime.
    “What?” I said. “They are. People who denigrate those books haven’t read them. My uncle had a complete set, and he was an Anointed Elder. The Arabian Nights also.”
    I didn’t mention his secret books kept in the Red Room behind a locked glass door. If only I’d had the courage to look for the key when I had the chance! I never missed Gateshead, but I did miss Uncle Reed’s library.
    “Harry Potter is all about love of others and self-sacrifice,” I said. “Christian themes, if I’m not mistaken. I’m surprised Lowood doesn’t teach them.”
    At that Miss Scatcherd spilled a little of her champagne.
    “That shall be our guide,” Miss Miller said. “An Anointed Elder! I want to see what this American has done with her grandfather’s store, and I don’t think the Gytrash will get me for having a look.”
    “Maybe your Gytrash will in fact be your fairy godfather,” I said.
    Sadly, as no one else had read The Prisoner of Azkaban, none understood my reference to the mysterious great black dog, a shapeshifter who turned out to be Harry’s guardian.
    A sense of claustrophobia came over