Jane Vows Vengeance

and rolled down his nose as his fingertips scratched anxiously at his thighs.

“Why don’t you call her and ask her?” Jane suggested.

Bergen looked at her.

“On your phone,” Jane prodded. “Why don’t you call and ask her where she wants to meet?”

Bergen nodded. “A fine idea,” he said. “Just a moment.” He took the phone from his pocket and walked off a few feet, turning his back so that they couldn’t hear his conversation.

“Did you know they were here?” Walter asked Jane.

Jane shook her head. “I just happened to run into him,” she said. “Why are you out here, anyway?”

“After you left I remembered that I needed shampoo,” said Walter. “I went looking for you but couldn’t find you. I was on my way back to the hotel when I saw you standing here.”

“And I’m so glad you did,” Jane remarked.

Walter bent down and picked up Lilith. “Hey, little girl,” he said. “Did you have fun with your mother and her new boyfriend?”

“Seriously?” Lilith said to Jane. “Is he really this stupid?”

“Look how happy she is to see you!” Jane said brightly.

Bergen turned back to them and walked forward. “Miriam says we’re to meet her at Boswell’s grave. She said Brian will know where it is.”

“Brian?” said Walter. “But where is he?”

“Did someone say my name?”

Smiling as if he’d just been strolling along and happened to stumble upon his friends, Byron walked up. He nodded at Bergen. “Good to see you again. I trust Ms. Ellenberg is well?”

“The last I saw her she was,” Bergen replied.

“Do you know where Boswell’s grave is?” Walter asked. “I have no idea why my mother would want to meet us there, but it seems she does.”

“Boswell was buried in Scotland, wasn’t he?” Jane said.

Byron shook his head. “I believe this is a different Boswell.”

They walked to a busier street, where Byron hailed a black cab and gave the driver instructions to take them to Hyde Park. Once there, he directed him to Victoria Gate, where they all piled out as Byron paid the fare.

“This way,” he said, walking through the gate and past the lodge. “It’s just round here.”

They passed through a garden gate that, although it seemingly was locked, Byron opened with ease, and found themselves in a spacious clearing filled with hundreds of tiny tombstones. Jane peered at one of the nearest ones and read aloud the words engraved upon it. “ ‘Dear Pupsey, September twelfth, 1894.’ Pupsey? What an odd name.”

“Not for a dog,” said Byron.

“A dog?” Walter said.

“Mmm,” said Byron, looking around. “This is a pet cemetery. Begun by the lodge keeper, a Mr. Winbridge, back in, oh, the 1880s, I think. One of London’s hidden treasures. Not many know of it.”

“Why would my mother want to meet us here?” Walter wondered.

“I’m afraid it’s not your mother,” said Byron.

“Then who—” Walter began.

“It would be she,” Byron said, pointing.

Suzu stood among the graves. She was dressed in black, as if she were preparing to attend a funeral. She walked toward them slowly, wending her way through the tightly packed stones.

“I’m really confused here,” Walter said.

“Wait a few moments, my friend,” said Byron, clapping Walter on the shoulder. “You’re going to be even more confused.”

Walter looked at Jane, bewilderment furrowing his brow. She took his hand and held it tightly, terrified of what was coming. But she trusted that Byron knew what he was doing. At least, she hoped he did, because she certainly didn’t.

“I knew you would figure it out,” Suzu said to Byron.

Byron smiled. “How could anyone forget Boswell?”

“Indeed,” Suzu said. She knelt and ran her finger lightly over a gravestone. “My dear Boswell,” she said with a sigh. “Taken too soon.”

Byron turned to Jane and Walter. “A cat,” he said. “Gray, as I recall. Excellent mouser.”

“Boswell is a cat?” Walter said.

“Not just a cat,” said Suzu. “The most wonderful cat in all the world. I miss him terribly.”

Walter, looking at the dates on the surrounding stones, said, “When did he die?”

“You don’t really want to know that,” Byron warned him.

Suzu turned her gaze to Walter and smiled tightly. “Eighteen ninety-two,” she said. “August the second. He fell from a tree while trying to catch a robin.”

“You mean nineteen ninety-two,” Walter said.

“No, she doesn’t,” said Byron.

“But that’s impossible,” Walter argued. “That would mean she was over a hundred years old.”

“I told you that you were going to be even more confused,” said Byron. To Suzu he said, “Where’s Miriam?”

“All in good time,” Suzu answered. “Where is the Needle?”

Jane held up the bundle she’d been carrying. “Right here.”

“Take it,” Suzu ordered Bergen. “Bring it to me.”

Jane looked at Byron.

“Give it to him,” he said.

Walter watched as Bergen took the parcel from Jane.

“What’s going on here?” he asked.

“I’ll explain later,” Jane said. “If I can.”

Bergen carried the Needle to Suzu and presented it as if it were an offering. She took it and unrolled the canvas. Holding up the Needle, she ran her fingers lightly along its length.

“If you don’t mind my asking, how did you know who Boswell was?” Jane asked Byron as they waited for Suzu to say something.

“Sorry,” Byron said. “I forgot to mention that. See, she isn’t Suzu. I mean, she is the person you’ve known as Suzu. But she’s not who she says she is.”

“Then who is she?” Jane asked.

“Charlotte?” Byron called.

Suzu looked up. “What?”

“There you go,” Byron said to Jane.

Jane looked at Suzu. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Suzu smiled tightly. “How did you know, dear heart?” she asked Byron.

“Well, I confess that it wasn’t I who figured it out. It was William.” He looked around. “William? Are you here?”

William materialized behind them.

“Where did he come from?” Walter said. “And how did he do that?”

“It wasn’t that difficult, really,” William said. “First I checked with the university. No one there had ever heard of someone called Suzu. Then I asked around among our people and no one had ever heard of you.”

“His people?” said Walter. “What people? Is he with the Secret Service or something?”

“Shh,” Jane said. “I want to hear this.”

“Of course, that still didn’t tell me who you were,” William continued. “But then a friend I asked about you—a fellow who works in the Asian antiquities department of the British Museum—remarked upon your name. Suzu, as you undoubtedly know, means ‘little bell’ in Japanese. What better alias for the author once known to the world as Currer Bell?”

“Currer Bell?” Walter said. “Isn’t that the name Charlotte Bro—”

“Try not to say her name,” Jane interrupted. “It’s bad luck.”