The Crimes of Charlotte Bronte (13 page)

It was two days after her momentous meeting with Nicholls that Charlotte sent the list of symptoms to Dr Epps, yet for nearly three weeks Mr Williams had been anxiously advising action on Emily's illness, and suggesting that she be introduced to homeopathy. In her letters of 22 November and 7 December, Charlotte had told him that she had discussed his suggestion with Emily, but that it had been rejected. Personally, I doubt whether the subject was ever mentioned between the sisters.

Only after the meeting with Nicholls did Charlotte's self-defence mechanism click into action, and she decided to continue the correspondence and send the list. Beyond all reasonable doubt, her reasoning must have been that should Nicholls, in fact, poison Emily to death and then, somehow, be discovered in his crime, she would be able to show that, despite anything he might say,
she
knew nothing of what he had done but, on the contrary, had tried to help her sister. Therefore, I submit, it was for that reason, and that reason alone, that the list was sent but, because she did not wish to queer Nicholls' pitch, she omitted any mention of diarrhoea.

‘Their feet run to evil, and they make haste to shed innocent blood.'

Isaiah 59:7

T
he year 1849 arrived, but the New Year did not seem to make much difference to anyone. There was never any especial regard paid to a New Year during my time at the Parsonage, and in any case the weather carried on as cold as ever, with folk seeming to have little on their minds but keeping warm.

For my part, I must say that I was more taken up with my own matters than perhaps I should have been. I realize now that I was being selfish and unfair but, because of Miss Emily's death and all, Mr Brontë had not given us our usual Christmas gifts and it did not look as if we were going to get them. It was Mr Brontë's custom to hand each of us an envelope with some money in, which I knew that Miss Emily used to get ready for him, and I had been counting on it for a linsey-woolsey skirt that had taken my fancy. I had given Mr Whitehead a few pence deposit on it just before Christmas, and had promised him that I would pay the rest and collect it by New Year. Now I could not, and I did not know what to do.

So things at the Parsonage went on much the same as ever, but I must say that it was strange to start a New Year with two of the family gone. Mind you, there seemed to be less work, although Miss Charlotte did her best to keep us slaving away at this and that. She did not seem to miss Miss Emily though, and hardly ever mentioned her unless someone from outside the family was about, and then I wondered how she could make up such tales about how sad she was. I thought it odd at the time, though, that she seemed to take to me more. Now I began to get smiles, and indeed she was altogether less dour than usual. She also took to talking to me, and sometimes she would quiz me about the lads in the village I had walked out with from time to time, and quite often I found that I was becoming a little red at some of the things she asked me. Of course, I know now why that was: she thought she had Mr Nicholls where she wanted him and was allowing him hardly any peace.

He has told me that he tried to put on as good an act as possible of returning the advances that she made whenever she could do so safely, but that he never felt anything for her at all. Any interest that he may have had was only of the body, and there was very little of that, with him doing only what he felt was expected of him. All the time, though, he wondered what she had in mind for the future, and dreaded it lest she was set on marriage.

That is not to say that he was not fairly content with his lot. As he has often told me, with Miss Emily's death he felt that he was no longer under threat, and he could put up with her sister's attentions, although sometimes they were a bit too much. He knew that as long as he did not upset her she was now no danger to him, and he began to sense – much to his relief, he said – that she did not have wedlock in mind. Of course, it was always possible that something might happen to change her mind about that, and he knew that then he would be unable to refuse her, but he began to think that even that might not be too bad. He knew that she had quite a lot of money by then, and there was another book on the way. Not only that, when the old man – as Mr Nicholls always called Mr Brontë to me – died, and that surely could not be too far off, he would expect to step into his shoes. As he said to me with quite a laugh, money and his own parish and a quiet life was not at all a bad prospect should the worst have happened, and even Miss Charlotte would have had to keep her mouth shut then.

Both of them were therefore quite at ease with their understanding and, indeed, their lives in general, but then, as is so often the way, something came along to put an end to their contentment.

This time, seemingly, it was Miss Anne who was the problem. I know for a fact that she was nearly out of her mind with grief when Miss Emily died, and I can well understand that because she had not only lost her sister but her lifelong best friend as well. I do not suppose that the fact that she was not feeling well herself helped either. She had been saying just before Miss Emily died that she had pains in her side, and then she had a very bad cold and fever. Dr Wheelhouse came to see her, but he seemed to me to be as doddery as ever. He said that she should be blistered, but Miss Emily told me that, if anything, that had made her sister feel worse.

Over and above everything else though, I sensed that something was bothering her, and in the light of what happened later I now have a good idea of what it was. She seems to have stayed longer in her jobs than her sisters did, and I suppose that that had given her a better insight into how folk behaved behind their own closed doors, and she had probably seen a great deal more of the wickedness of the world than they had. That, I feel, was why she began to think how well it must have suited Mr Nicholls to have Miss Emily die and, knowing that he had poisoned Master Branwell, she kept wondering if he had done the same to her sister.

Later, Miss Charlotte told Mr Nicholls that Miss Anne had said to her that she tried to put such thoughts from her, but they kept coming back, and the time came when she felt that she just had to do something about them.

She went to Miss Charlotte with her fears but she, of course, pooh-poohed them, but underneath she became very alarmed when Miss Anne said that she was thinking of telling their father everything now that Miss Emily was dead and could no longer be hurt by what she had to say.

Mr Nicholls has told me that Miss Charlotte hardly knew what to say to her sister, and she ran straight to him to see what he thought. They had a long talk, and then she went back to Miss Anne. She pointed out to her that if she
did
go to their father, and he reported Mr Nicholls, Miss Emily's memory would suffer when the story got out. Not only that, the whole sorry tale would be bound to leave a stain on the name of Brontë, and the whole family, but especially their father, would suffer.

It seems that Miss Anne was affected by what Miss Charlotte said, but it was evident that she was not happy with matters and Mr Nicholls has confessed to me that he became very disturbed. His words to me were: ‘I wondered if the whole nightmare would never end.' Miss Charlotte was making constant demands upon him, and he was then having to make calls to the Parsonage almost every night, which is something I can vouch for because I saw him when he called and all of the family at home had seen him going to the Parsonage, and one night he was so late in coming back that Father, just in from the Black Bull, asked him whether something was amiss with Mr Brontë. What we did not know at the time, though, was that that was just about when Mr Nicholls had decided that he could put up with Miss Charlotte, but was worried to death about what he was going to do about her sister and her worries.

Miss Charlotte seems to have done her best to console him, and told him that she did not want him to worry. She said that she would see to it that Miss Anne kept quiet and that, in any case, the way things were going it did not seem that she was long for this world anyway. It took some time to calm him, but in the end it was agreed that Miss Charlotte would keep a close watch on Miss Anne, and would tell him if anything arose that he should know about.

According to Mr Nicholls, he and Miss Charlotte became a little easier in their minds as the weeks wore on, because it did indeed seem as if Miss Anne was following in Miss Emily's footsteps to the grave. Even so, they felt the need to stay watchful, because there always seemed to be something which looked as if it would cause bother – and it was not long in coming!

When Miss Emily was ill, I heard Miss Charlotte say several times that the weather at Haworth was ‘unfavourable for invalids'. Well Miss Anne must have remembered that because soon, and quite without warning, she said that she thought that a visit to somewhere warmer might be better for
her
health. I remember thinking that a move to somewhere warmer would be better for
all
of us, and when she started to go on about visiting her relations in mild Penzance, in Cornwall, I was very envious, although the thought of journeying so far – Father said it was well over 300 miles – was not to my liking.

I heard Miss Anne talking about going to Cornwall, and I could not, for the life of me, understand why Miss Charlotte was struck so pale. Now, of course, I know that she and Mr Nicholls did not want Miss Anne out of their sight
at all
lest she told someone of what she knew, and that danger would have been even greater were she with kindly relations and all that far away. Mr Nicholls has told me that the notion really bothered them – but then they were given a helping hand.

If my memory serves me right, Mr Brontë was 71 then, and very, very odd at times. Still he was no fool, and like all of us he knew that Dr Wheelhouse was not a very good doctor. One day I was working in the hall and I heard him talking to Miss Charlotte about Miss Anne. He said that he was not satisfied with what Dr Wheelhouse was doing, and that he thought that half the time he did not know what he was talking about. After much thought he had decided to bring in another doctor, and so he was writing to a Dr Teale who, it seems, was the surgeon to Leeds General Infirmary, to ask him to come and see her. Miss Charlotte wondered what that would cost, but Mr Brontë said that his mind was made up and the letter would go that day.

We had to get the Parsonage really spick and span for when the great doctor came, and then, when he did, Miss Charlotte told all of us to keep out of sight and be as quiet as possible. Afterwards she gave it out that the doctor had said that Miss Anne was suffering from consumption, but that it had not gone too far and could be stopped. She said also that he had forbidden ‘the excitement of travelling'.

By the end of March Miss Anne did not seem much altered – in fact, if anything, to my mind she was a little better – and one day she told me she was very happy because Miss Charlotte's friend, Miss Nussey, had asked her to go and stay with her for a while. I do not think Miss Charlotte was very pleased about it though, because when I said to her that it might do Miss Anne good she just grunted and said it was far too soon for her to think of such gadding about. I could not understand that, nor why Miss Charlotte was always telling folk that Miss Anne was worse than seemed to be the case. Sometimes she made out that her sister was almost bedridden, and I know that Miss Anne was none too pleased about it when she found out.

Then there was the time when Miss Anne found out that Miss Charlotte had been reading her letters when she was out of the room, and had said that she would answer them for her if Miss Anne wished. I was cleaning the stairs, and they did not know I was there, and I heard Miss Anne tell Miss Charlotte, very sharp like, that she was quite able to take care of her own affairs and that she wished that Miss Charlotte would stop poking her nose into them. Miss Charlotte made no reply that I heard, but the next moment she just bustled out of the bedroom. She brushed past me without a word, and I could see that her face was even redder than usual, and her lips were pursed shut very tight.

I think that Miss Anne must have felt well in herself because she was always saying to me that she felt like going off to Scarborough after Easter, when it was a little warmer, and once I heard her say the same thing to Miss Charlotte and ask if she would go with her when the time came. All that Miss Charlotte had to say was: ‘We'll see,' and I could tell how that damped Miss Anne's spirits. Next thing I heard was when, a week or two later, Miss Anne told me that she was thinking of asking Miss Nussey to go with her instead.

She must have done so, because one day I went in to make the bed and Miss Anne was sitting on it, and it was clear to me that she had been shedding a tear or two. I thought that she must be feeling unwell. I asked her if I could bring her anything, but she said that it was all right, it was just that she had had some disappointing news, and it was then that I noticed that she had a letter beside her on the bed. A moment later she said that Miss Nussey had written to say that she could not go away with her before June and so, as she had set her heart upon going before that, she did not know what to do. I nearly said that if she wanted someone with her she could take me! I had never been more than 15 miles from Haworth in my life, and had certainly never seen the sea.

The next thing I knew was that Miss Charlotte had said that she would go with her after all, but the weeks went by and it did not happen.

In the meantime Miss Anne gradually grew worse, and I think that the disappointment and being made to stay in Haworth had a lot to do with it. She was very down all the time, and I watched her grow thinner and thinner almost by the minute, but still she managed to keep going and she went out every day.

Mr Nicholls has told me that he and Miss Charlotte were very concerned about her at that time. They knew she was in an odd state of mind, and they had become more and more worried as to how much longer she could be expected to hold her tongue, but things seemed to come to a head when she told Miss Charlotte that for some weeks she had believed herself to be near death, and that the awful things that she knew had become a burden that she could no longer bear. She felt a great need to confess to someone before it was too late, but she was unsure of what to do. She did not know whether to tell their father everything, or whether it would relieve her state of mind if she made her confession to a clergyman outside the parish.