Brontës (121 page)

Patrick, similarly, had to reply to anxious enquiries from the Rands, the former teachers of the Haworth National School, who had moved to Stalybridge. ‘1 have indeed had my ample share of trouble –', he told Mr Rand. ‘But it has been the Lord's will – and it is my duty, to resign – My Only Son has died, and soon after him, a beloved Daughter, died also – For these things we may weep, since Christ himself wept over his dead freind … Yet, whilst we grieve, it should not be without hope.' He ended
his letter, eloquent in its brevity, with kind regards from ‘All my Family that remain'.
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Towards the end of March Ellen wrote with a kind offer to relieve Charlotte of some of the burden of nursing her sister: Anne was invited to Brookroyd, where she would be looked after by Ellen and her sisters. Anne was touched by the proposal but felt it would not be appropriate to quarter an invalid on the already overcrowded Nussey household. She had, instead, a proposal of her own to make which she relayed through Charlotte: if Patrick could not be persuaded to leave home and Charlotte was obliged to remain with him at Haworth, would Ellen consider accompanying her to the seaside or an inland watering place, whichever the doctor recommended? In putting forward this plan, Charlotte expressed her own, very strong, reservations.

Papa says her state is most precarious – she may be spared for some time – or a sudden alteration might remove her ere we were aware – were such an alteration to take place while She was \far/ from home and alone with you – it would be too terrible – the idea of it distresses me inexpressibly, and I tremble whenever she alludes to the project of a journey. In short I wish we could gain time and see how she gets on –
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In an effort to gain that time, which Anne was all too well aware that she did not have, Charlotte persuaded Ellen to ‘write such an answer to this note as I can shew Anne – you can write any additional remarks to me on a separate piece of paper'. Ellen obliged, expressing her willingness to go with Anne but saying that ‘her friends' were reluctant for her to undertake the responsibility of accompanying an invalid; besides, she added, repeating Charlotte's argument that May was generally a bad month for weather, it would be better to go in June or even July, when they could be assured of warmer, drier days.
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No doubt realizing that Charlotte, torn between wanting to accede to her sister's wish and yet fearing its consequences, was trying to influence Ellen's decision, Anne decided, with characteristically patient perseverance, to write to Ellen herself. It was at least two months since she had last put pen to paper, but seeing the beautifully neat, even handwriting, clear and easy to read despite the fact that each page is crossed, it is easy to forget the physical and mental effort which that letter must have cost Anne. If Charlotte would not act the part of honest broker, Anne must act for
herself. ‘I do not think there would be any great responsibility in the matter', she earnestly informed Ellen, adding, with great dignity,

I know, and everybody knows that you would be as kind and helpful as any one could possibly be; and I hope I should not be very troublesome. It would be as a companion not as a nurse that I should wish for your company; otherwise, I should not venture to ask it.

Laboriously, she countered Ellen's arguments one by one, undoubtedly using the same reasoning she had already used on Charlotte. ‘You say May is a trying month, and so say others', Anne declared, tacitly pointing out that she had recognized her sister's hand in framing Ellen's reply.

The earlier part is often cold enough I acknowledge, but, according to my experience, we are almost certain of some fine warm days in the latter half when the laburnums and lilacs are in bloom; whereas June is often cold and July gener[a]lly wet.

Dismissing Ellen's arguments as the feeble excuses that they were, Anne appealed to her common sense.

But I have a more serious reason than this for my impatience of delay: the doctors say that change of air or removal to a better climate would hardly ever fail of success in consumptive cases if \the remedy were/ taken in time, but the reason why there are so many disappointments is, that it is generally deferred till it is too late. Now I would not commit this error; and to say the truth, though I suffer much less from pain and fever than I did when you were with us, I am decidedly weaker and very much thinner my cough still troubles me a good deal, especially in the night, and, what seems worse than all, I am subject to great shortness of breath on going up stairs or any slight exertion. Under these circumstances I think there is no time to be lost.

Unlike poor Charlotte, who could not even bring herself to mention the word in her letter to Ellen, Anne now faced the prospect of her own death with calm courage.

I have no horror of death: if I thought it inevitable I think I could quietly resign myself to the prospect, in the hope that you, dear Miss Nussy, would give much> as much of your company as you possibly could to Charlotte and be a sister to her in my stead. But I wish it would please God to spare me not only for Papa's and Charlotte's sakes, but because I long to do some good in the world before I leave it. I have many schemes in my head for future practise – humble and limited indeed – but still I should not like them all to come to nothing, and myself to have lived to so little purpose. But God's will be done.
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Anne's schemes, which remain shrouded in mystery, would indeed come to nothing, as would her attempt to foil her sister's conspiracy. Ellen enclosed her letter in one of her own to Charlotte: having read it Charlotte's only comment was ‘it was touching enough – as you say. Just as obdurate in her own way as Emily, Charlotte chose to ignore Anne's own wishes and persisted in doing what she herself considered best, confessing to Ellen that she was glad her mother and sisters had also objected to Anne's plan, and that, even if they had consented, she never could: ‘it would never do'.
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In the battle to prevent Anne going away, Charlotte had tried to enlist the support of Mr Teale, but, contrary to her expectation, he had no objections to the scheme and actually recommended Scarborough, which was Anne's own first choice of destination. His advice, carefully recorded by Patrick in the margins of his Graham's
Modern Domestic Medicine
, only confirmed what Anne herself had said: ‘change of place & climate, could prove beneficial, only in the early stage of consumption – that afterwards, the excitement caused by change of scenes, and beds, and strange company, did harm –'. Though Anne could hardly be said to be in the early stages of consumption, Mr Teale was also quite happy for Anne to go in May, as she wished.
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Charlotte's last defence against the plan, her often-stated comment that her father would not leave home and could not be left alone, finally gave way when Patrick himself intervened: it was his express wish that Charlotte should accompany Anne – he would be perfectly satisfied to be left in the care of their two faithful servants, Tabby Aykroyd and Martha Brown.
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In all conscience, Charlotte could not now oppose Anne's wishes and, dragging her heels in the process, she began to make the necessary arrangements.

Though one may sympathize with her predicament, it is not easy to understand Charlotte's reluctance to take Anne to Scarborough. It was certainly not the fear that the journey would be too much for her sister because the advice had always been the earlier the better, and the longer it was put
off, the greater the risk to the invalid. The likeliest explanation seems to be that Charlotte, watching her last remaining sister fade before her eyes, could not bring herself to face the idea that she was about to die. At this time, Charlotte was increasingly haunted by her memories of Emily's shocking death. ‘I cannot forget Emily's death-day;' she told Ellen on 12 April, ‘it becomes a more fixed – a darker, a more frequently recurring idea in my mind than ever: it was very terrible; she was torn conscious, panting, reluctant though resolute out of a happy life. But it
will not do
to dwell on these things.'
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To add to the terror of facing yet another death scene, which, like Branwell's and Emily's, might fall suddenly and unexpectedly, Charlotte was undoubtedly afraid that this would occur among strangers. At least if it happened at home she would have the comfort of supporting and being supported by her father.

By 1 May, Charlotte was still hoping to put off the journey for another two or three weeks. Writing to Ellen, whose offer to accompany them to Scarborough had been gratefully accepted, Charlotte found further cause for delay in Anne's sudden relapse.

The change to finer weather has not proved beneficial so far; she has sometimes been so weak and suffered so much from pain in her side during the last few days – that I have not known what to think. It may however be only a
temporary
aggravation of symptoms; she may rally again and be much better – but there must be
some
improvement before I can feel justified in taking her away from home.

Not surprisingly, as Charlotte was aware, Anne was feeling increasingly resentful of the delay, though she did not voice her reproaches.

Yet to delay is painful – for as is
always
the case I believe under her circumstances – she seems herself but half conscious of the necessity for such delay: she wonders I believe why I do not talk more about the journey: it grieves me to think she may even be hurt by my seeming tardiness.

She is very much emaciated – far more so than when you were here – her arms are no thicker than a little child's. The least exertion brings on shortness of breath – She goes out a little every day – but we creep rather than walk.
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By the middle of May, Anne's persistence paid off and Charlotte at last capitulated. They booked rooms in Wood's Lodgings at No. 2, The Cliff,
where Anne had previously stayed with the Robinsons and which she declared to be one of the best situations in the town. They were to have a good-sized sitting room and an airy, double-bedded lodging room overlooking the sea, all for thirty shillings a week. The money was to come from a luckily timed legacy of £200 from Anne's godmother, Fanny Outhwaite, who had died in February; as Charlotte pointed out, it could not be better employed than in an attempt to prolong if not restore Anne's life.
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Margaret Wooler, who had a house in the bleaker North Bay at Scarborough, wrote to offer her assistance, but everything was in hand. The journey was finally fixed for Wednesday, 23 May, though in the event it was put off to the following day. Even up to the last minute Charlotte had her misgivings about the wisdom of going, but she could no longer gainsay her sister who had ‘a fixed impression that the sea-air will give her a chance of regaining strength – that chance therefore she must have'.
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Ellen Nussey came to stay the night before so that they could all set off together, Charlotte having warned her not to be shocked – or rather, not to betray her shock – at Anne's appearance.
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Around noon on the Thursday, Patrick, Tabby and Martha gathered to say goodbye to Anne: there was little that could be said so the farewells were doubtless fairly muted. Another painful ceremony had also to be undergone before she could depart: she had to give a last caress to Emily's dog, Keeper, and her own faithful spaniel, Flossy, neither of whom would comprehend the finality of this parting.

Patrick had firmly rejected all Charlotte's attempts to organize him in her absence and had refused even the solace of Mr Nicholls' company. One can only guess his feelings as he watched his youngest child being carried away from home. He and the servants were resigned to the knowledge that this was likely to be the last time they would ever see her on earth.
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Anne, Charlotte and Ellen travelled down to Keighley where they caught the 1.30 p.m. train to Leeds. There they readily found assistance in helping the invalid across the lines and in and out of carriages.
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They journeyed on by rail as far as York that day, staying overnight at the George Hotel, a coaching inn in Coney Street. After a rest and dinner there, Anne was so far revived as to be able to go out in a bathchair. Like most tourists and holidaymakers, they had some shopping to do. Neither Anne nor Charlotte had a wardrobe appropriate to a fashionable seaside resort, so Charlotte had drawn up a list of the things they needed to purchase in York – bonnets, combs, black silk stockings, dresses, gloves and a ribbon for the neck. They
then had to go through the ‘dreary mockery of wandering round the shops to find the items, a task that evidently proved too much for Anne, as they only bought the essential bonnets and gloves.
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Before they left York the next day, at Anne's especial request, they paid a visit to York Minster, which had always impressed her as it had Branwell: gazing up at its fluid heights, the massive stonework contrasting with the delicacy of the tracery and sculpture, Anne was moved to say, ‘If finite power can do this what is the …', before emotion stayed further speech. Anne's happy mood sustained her throughout the train journey to Scarborough during which she delightedly pointed out all the best views to her companions. Arriving in Scarborough itself, she was again revived by her joy at seeing the sweeping sandy bay and the glorious stretch of sea once more.
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Anne was determined not to lose a single moment of her stay; equally, she had decided that Charlotte and Ellen should not be held back by her weakness but should explore the place for themselves. The morning after their arrival, Saturday, Anne insisted on going to the baths and being left there with only the attendant in charge. She later paid for her stubbornness in walking back alone to their lodgings when, overcome with exhaustion, she fell at the garden gate. Typically, Anne kept her accident from Charlotte and Ellen, who only heard about it some time afterwards. In the afternoon, she drove herself in a donkey cart on the beach for an hour. She had taken over the reins herself, fearing that the boy would force the donkey to go faster than she or it wished. Like all her family, Anne had always been fond of animals and could not bear to see them ill treated. When Ellen joined her she was just giving the boy a lecture on treating the animal well.
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