Transmigrated as Jane’s Ghostly Godmother - Chapter 4

Chapter 4: The Return of the Deceased—Why Fear Ghosts if You Have a Clear Conscience?

Mrs. Reed was in a foul mood.

Mr. Lloyd, the apothecary, sat on the sofa opposite her. His words were gentle, yet they grated on her taut nerves like a coarse feather. His visit was ostensibly to check on the frightened Jane Eyre, but Mrs. Reed knew her true motive was to have the doctor provide a clean bill of health for her darling son, John.

“Rest assured, Ma’am, Master John’s health is in no real danger,” Mr. Lloyd’s voice pulled her back from her thoughts. “It is merely indigestion and the excess energy common in boys his age. More exercise and a controlled intake of sweets, and he will recover shortly.”

He paused, his gaze drifting toward the stairs leading to Jane Eyre’s room. “As for Miss Jane, I have seen her. The child has not yet woken; it is likely a swoon brought on by mental strain. Perhaps a change of environment would do her good. Sometimes, a good boarding school can teach children the rules they fail to learn at home.”

The word “rules” struck a chord with Mrs. Reed. She loathed Jane Eyre—loathed those eyes that always scrutinized her in silence, and loathed the blood flowing in the girl’s veins, the same blood her husband had fretted over until his dying breath. Send her away, the further the better. The thought grew like wildfire.

“You are right, Mr. Lloyd. I was thinking the same,” she lifted her teacup, taking an elegant sip to mask the eagerness in her voice. “The kindness of Gateshead Hall seems insufficient to teach her gratitude.”

Mr. Lloyd, seemingly oblivious to the malice, nodded in agreement.

“Collective life is indeed beneficial for children. Speaking of which,” he pivoted, as if remembering something, “I recently heard of a newly established public school called ‘Whirlwood.’ It is said to have a rigorous atmosphere, focusing particularly on the character and physical constitution of its students. If Master John finds his current school… unsuitable, perhaps a change would benefit him as well.”

He pulled a beautifully printed brochure from his leather bag and handed it over. “These are the new regulations they sent. They will have stricter management regarding meals and athletic activities in the new term. I believe it would be very good for Master John.”

“Of course,” he added, “as a rising top-tier school, the fees are quite substantial.”

Mrs. Reed’s eyes lingered on the brochure for a moment before moving away. It wasn’t that she was unwilling to spend money on John, but she had noticed the school’s location on the map—it was a full thirty miles from Gateshead! She couldn’t bear to let John go so far.

She accepted it dismissively, placing it on a mahogany side table in the corner of the room. When she looked up again, her face wore a polite smile as she steered the conversation elsewhere.

After seeing the doctor out, silence returned to the parlor, but Mrs. Reed’s internal agitation only intensified. She ordered the servants not to prepare dinner for Jane and then dragged her weary steps upstairs.

As she passed the closed mahogany door at the end of the second-floor corridor, her feet stopped as if possessed.

The Red Room.

In the dining room earlier, she had cut off the maid’s talk of ghosts, but her mood had been inevitably affected. Ghosts? If this mansion were truly haunted, she could only think of one possible candidate…

She stared at the door. Behind it was the place where her husband had died—a forbidden zone where no one in Gateshead dared tread. She hadn’t entered it in a long time, but now, a daring curiosity made it impossible to move. Was it him? But after all these years, why now?

She tried to force the thought away, but a second later, an unrelated memory surfaced. Years ago, shortly after her husband’s death, she had lost a pearl brooch here. It was the first gift he had ever given her—not expensive, but meaningful. She had searched everywhere but never found it. Amidst these old memories, she suddenly felt a desperate urge to find it. This impulse overrode her unspoken fear.

Just a quick look, she told herself.

She found the slightly rusted key on her ring and turned it in the lock. The hinges gave a dull, teeth-gritting creak, revealing a dusty, dim room. She took a deep breath and stepped inside.

Everything was covered in a layer of grey-white dust. The massive four-poster bed looked like a sleeping beast. The heavy crimson velvet curtains were airtight, cutting off all light and sound from the outside world. The air smelled of rotting fabric and old wood.

Her eyelids twitched. She remembered the last time she was here; her husband was still lying on that bed. The room had already begun to smell of medicine and decay. She had sat by the bed, listening to his final wishes…

My God, why did I come in here?

As if suddenly waking up, Mrs. Reed turned to leave, but a weight hit her back—as if someone had shoved her hard. She stumbled into the room.

BANG!

The mahogany door slammed shut with a thunderous crash! Then, a click signaled the bolt falling into place.

She was locked in.

“Who is it?!” The color drained from Mrs. Reed’s face. She lunged for the door, twisting the handle frantically, but the door remained as immovable as a rock. An unseasonal chill seeped from every corner, clutching her heart.

The only answer was her own echo and a suffocating silence. Then, across the room, the armchair her husband had loved most began to rock without warning, making an agonizing creak-creak sound.

Once, then twice.

As if an invisible person were sitting there, staring at her coldly.

Mrs. Reed froze, her blood turning to ice. Her eyes were pinned to the empty rocking chair, her teeth chattering uncontrollably. She remembered the scene years ago more vividly now—her husband’s eyes, full of unfinished business, grabbing her hand and making her swear to treat his sister’s orphan well.

“No… I swore it…” she whispered incoherently to the air, backing away until her spine hit the cold door. “I took care of her… I gave her food and clothes… it’s her… she is the one who is wicked and won’t be managed…”

Her defense was hollow. The creaking of the chair felt like a mocking laugh at her lies. Did he come back for her? Even at the cost of scaring his own son?

She broke down, sliding to the floor against the door, burying her head in her hands and letting out a muffled, animalistic sob. Yes, this is exactly what he would do. This is why I hate that child.

“I will send her away! To a good school with the fine education you wanted! Just leave! Don’t come back! Gateshead doesn’t need you anymore!!” she shrieked.

The promise blurted out because of her conversation with the doctor. Before this, she hadn’t truly decided to send Jane to school. But as the words left her mouth, the terrifying creaking stopped.

The room fell into absolute silence. Mrs. Reed looked up, trembling, and heard a soft click.

The bolt had been unlocked.

She practically crawled out on all fours, scrambling away from the nightmare. However, as she burst into the hallway, the feeling of being watched didn’t vanish. The icy aura followed her like a cold hand on her neck, wordlessly pushing her toward the stairs until she stopped in the center of the parlor.

Before her was the mahogany side table.

On the table, the Whirlwood brochure she had discarded lay quietly. The gold-leaf crest seemed like a watchful eye, staring at her. Mrs. Reed’s eyes widened, her breath nearly stopping. She stared at the brochure, a twisted smile breaking across her face.

“…Is this the specific guarantee you want?”

“Fine. I promise you, I will send her there. Are you satisfied now—”

As her trembling voice trailed off, the brochure was brushed by a light wind, sliding off the table and landing at her feet. At that moment, the chill and the sense of being watched vanished instantly.

Mrs. Reed stood rigid, cold sweat soaking her expensive dress. She bent down with infinite stiffness and picked up the brochure with trembling fingers. Her face no longer held malice or calculation, only a defeated numbness.

In the corner of the parlor, Lin Zhao stood silently, taking it all in.

Excellent. Everything had gone according to plan.

After Jane had fallen back asleep, Lin Zhao had leafed through her copy of the book to find the passage about Mr. Reed’s final wish. Mrs. Reed’s hatred for Jane largely stemmed from her husband’s favoritism. It was one thing for her to be jealous, but taking it out on an innocent niece was another. Lin Zhao had wanted to use Mrs. Reed’s guilt and superstition to give her a lesson she’d never forget.

She had gone downstairs to haunt the woman, only to overhear the meeting with Mr. Lloyd. The “plot” was trying to correct itself—even without Jane speaking to him, the doctor still suggested “boarding school.”

To be honest, Lin Zhao had “PTSD” regarding the term “boarding school.” Lowood was not a fit place for a child. Between the typhus outbreak and the terrible treatment Jane received there, Lin Zhao knew she couldn’t let her go there if she wanted Jane to be happy.

In a flash of inspiration, she upgraded her “revenge plan” into a “destiny-altering plan.” The brochure for Whirlwood became the perfect tool.

So, she had directed the “haunting.” She whispered Mr. Reed’s wishes into the woman’s ear (though Mrs. Reed couldn’t hear her, the intent seemed to land), pushing her into the Red Room. Once inside, Lin Zhao shut the door and held the handle tight so it wouldn’t open. Then she dragged the heavy chair to make the noise, “escorted” the terrified woman downstairs, and finally nudged the brochure to her feet.

Having secured Mrs. Reed’s repeated promises, Lin Zhao finally let her go. She wasn’t worried about the woman breaking her word; if she did, Lin Zhao had plenty of time to play ghost again.

Reviewing her plan, Lin Zhao relaxed, her legs feeling weak. Though glass couldn’t cut her, it seemed her body still reacted to “exercise.” She still had no clue what her state truly was, despite calling herself a fairy godmother to Jane.

But for now, there was no way to get more information. She focused on what she could do.

Jane’s fate will start changing from here, bit by bit.

Lin Zhao looked up at the second floor.

“I wonder if Jane is awake yet?”