The Crimes of Charlotte Bronte (16 page)

We do not know how thoroughly he examined her but, almost immediately, he told Anne that she was dying. He called back two or three times, but there was little he could do to save his patient and she died at about two o'clock in the afternoon.

It is worth noting that, apparently, very few people at the guesthouse thought Anne to be particularly ill; ‘Dinner' was actually announced through the half-open door to her room just as she died!

Her death certificate states that she died of ‘Consumption. 6 months. Not certified.' Now that information could have come only from Charlotte. No doctor's name appears on the ‘certificate', obviously because he was not prepared to certify the cause of death, but, yet again, no postmortem examination was held.

Anne's death was actually registered two days after the event, and by Ellen Nussey.

Charlotte must have been both relieved and quite pleased with herself. Her sister had been disposed of neatly, with nobody suspicious; she had an independent witness to the death; and she had even arranged matters so that Ellen's name, and not hers, appeared on the death certificate. Arthur
would
be pleased. Now all that was needed was to tidy up the loose ends.

Nicholls and Charlotte had made their plans carefully. They were determined that there was not going to be another Brontë funeral at Haworth, with all the accompanying publicity. Were too many people to get to know of Anne's death too soon somebody might start putting two and two together, and the dangers of exhumation were very real. They had, therefore, decided that Anne would be buried at Scarborough, quietly and as quickly as possible – and that was what happened.

Anne died on 28 May 1849. Charlotte wrote to their father on the following day, told him the sad news, and
informed
him that his daughter was to be buried so soon that he would hardly be able to arrive in time for the funeral. She did not
consult
him, he was
told.
Now I find that peculiar, by any yardstick. Had everything been above board, what was the rush? There was ample time to consult her father, and to ascertain his wishes, because the mail then was far quicker than it is today. By what right did she take it upon herself to have her sister's remains interred so far from home? The excuse given at the time was that it was felt that it would upset the old man too much to have yet another family funeral at Haworth. That is rubbish. Mr Brontë was a hard old nut and, if Charlotte is to be believed, he had been prepared for Anne's death for some time. Why, it was only two months earlier that he had been quoted as saying that he considered his daughter's situation ‘most precarious'. No, it just will not wash. Anne was buried at Scarborough because that was part of Nicholls' plan, and for no other reason.

The doctor who attended Anne offered to go to the funeral, but Charlotte was not having
that
and his offer was declined, politely but firmly. In the event, the only people present at the church were Charlotte, Ellen, their old headmistress, Miss Margaret Wooler, who lived in Scarborough, and one of Ellen's female neighbours who just happened to be visiting the town and would not be put off.

Charlotte then went through the motions of ordering a headstone for her sister's grave, but she wasted little time on the matter. The inscription reads: ‘Here lie the remains of Anne Brontë, daughter of the Revd. P. Brontë, Incumbent of Haworth Yorkshire. She died, Aged 28, May 28th 1849.' It will be noted that there is not one word of sentiment. Charlotte was quite content to use up four words to inform the world of what her father did for a living, but there is no commendation to the Lord, no ‘beloved daughter', not even a ‘Rest in Peace'. So much for Charlotte's oft-expressed protestations of her affection for her sister.

Charlotte stayed in Scarborough for twelve days after Anne's death. However, she did not bother to ensure that her instructions about her sister's headstone were carried out. Instead, she and Ellen made their way down the East Coast. It was to be three years before she returned to Scarborough, and even then it was only because she happened to be in Filey, and was able to pop over on a day trip. At that time she told Ellen that she wanted to see that the headstone was all right, saying that the matter had long ‘lain heavy on my mind' – so heavy, in fact, that it took three years for her to get round to doing anything about it!

In the event, she discovered that there were no less than five errors in the lettering, and therefore ‘gave the necessary directions'. She never visited her sister's grave again and, to this day, the stone still gives Anne's age at the time of her death as twenty-eight, whereas she was actually twenty-nine. What more can one say?

‘Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth.'

The Song of Solomon 1:2

N
ow I must set down some happenings which are not to my credit, and I would like to leave them out, but they form such a part of what was to come that I cannot do so.

We all noticed the change in Mr Nicholls once Miss Charlotte and Miss Anne had left. He was much more like he had been when he first arrived – light-hearted and full of cheer, and talking to us all when he made his daily visit to the Parsonage to see how Mr Brontë was. Oddly enough, as I thought at that time, he seemed in even higher spirits after the news of Miss Anne's death came, although he put on a different face when he was out.

Of course, he had many chances of speaking to me and knew a lot about me because he was living at our house. Sometimes he would start talking to me about almost anything, and would really get me laughing with his tales of when he was a lad in Ireland. At times he would place his arm around me, seemingly without thinking, and once he even tickled me as he had done in his early days.

I suppose he was about 31 then, and I was 10 years younger. He had always attracted me greatly, and he seemed to have been somewhat drawn to me as well, but I was just a servant and he had given his serious attentions to Miss Emily and Miss Charlotte. However, with Miss Charlotte away, and looking to be so for quite a while, he seemed to take more notice of me and I was quite pleased and flattered.

On my side at least, it was all very innocent, but then came the day, whilst Miss Charlotte was still away, when, for I think the first time ever, we found ourselves completely alone in our house.

It had been a warm and sunny day, and that evening I had some time off from the Parsonage. Father had a Lodge meeting and Mother had told me that her and my sisters would be walking over to my Aunt's cottage for what sounded to me as if it would be a pleasant time. I had said that I would join them if I could. Miss Aykroyd had agreed that I could have some time off and so, as soon as I had finished work I hurried home as quickly as I could, and just as I was.

I had had a busy day, what with all the sympathetic callers about Miss Anne, and I was hot and sweaty and I could barely wait to get home to get washed and changed into some of my best clothes. It was usual for me to wash from the ewer and basin in my sisters' bedroom whenever I was home but, knowing all my family to be out, and Mr Nicholls with Mr Brontë at the Parsonage, I decided to do so in the kitchen rather than have to go through all the bother of emptying the basin and refilling the ewer again afterwards.

As it happened, there was already a bowl of clean water in the sink and so I took off my dress, slipped my shift to the waist, and then bent over and put my hands in the water and splashed my face. It was bliss, but then, in an instance, I was almost turned to stone because I felt two hands cupping my breasts and a body was pressing hard against me from behind. Half-blinded by the water, I swung around in a panic, my hands lashing out, but then I felt my wrists grabbed tightly and heard Mr Nicholls saying softly that it was only him, and that everything was all right.

My senses were still all at odds though, and I pulled and pushed trying to get away, whilst all the time he was holding me tighter and forcing me hard against the sink. Then I felt him pressing a cloth to my face and I thought he was trying to smother me until I found that he was now holding me with but one hand and was trying to dry my face and hair with the other, whilst all the time kissing the back of my neck. I found myself becoming calmer, but I could feel his hardness and then, without a thought on my part, I turned and was returning his kisses with a feeling as wild as his.

As I write this now, I feel all the madness of those moments coming back to me, and my face is becoming warm even at this space of time. I do not wish to set down in full all that happened next – let it be enough to say that we ended up on the stones of the kitchen floor and when, but a few moments later it seemed, we got to our feet again we both knew that things would never be the same between us after that.

I remember that my body seemed to be burning all over, inside and out, and, grabbing up my clothes, I fled up to the bedroom and lay on the bed with so many thoughts rushing through my mind. I must be honest, I was not a virgin at the time for I had let myself go with two lads in the past. Never, though, had I known such fever as at this time and, in between hoping that I would not find myself with child, my mind was awhirl wondering what the future would hold.

All the time I was lying there I was wondering if Mr Nicholls would come upstairs, but he did not. I heard the splashing of water from the kitchen, and then the back door went and, creeping to the window, I saw him striding up to the moor as if he had not a care in the world.

When I had collected myself, I went down to the kitchen and, after emptying and refilling the bowl, I washed myself all over – but this time with the doors bolted and the curtains drawn, and all the time with my ears cocked for the smallest sound. Then I dressed and did my hair, and walked across the village to my Aunt's cottage, feeling all the while that folk had but to look at me to tell what I had been up to.

I do not know how I got through that evening, and Mother must have had her thoughts because she said I was flushed and asked if I had a fever. Ever since, I have wondered whether she sensed what I had been about, and whether she ever spoke of it to Father.

The next time I saw Mr Nicholls I felt my face burning like fire, but he made no mention of what had passed between us. Only later in the day, as he came out of Mr Brontë's room, did he take me to one side and ask me if I was all right, and we arranged to meet that very night.

After work that night I went home, washed and did my hair most carefully, with one of my best ribbons holding it back. I even dabbed on a little perfumed water that one of my sisters had given me for my birthday. I looked at myself in the little glass and, though I say it myself, and even though my face was so flushed that it seemed as if I had painted it, I thought I had never looked prettier. Of course, one of my sisters had been watching through the door and, having seen what I was about, she wasted no time in running down to Mother and telling her that I was off to meet a lad. Thank goodness Father was out when I came down, because he would have wanted to know more, but all Mother said was to enjoy myself but be careful – and I knew what she meant.

Just as he and Miss Emily had done, Mr Nicholls and me made our own ways up to the moor and there, by a little waterfall, he took me in his arms very gently and said all the things that I had been hoping he would say. It ended with us making love again.

We had several more meetings like that before Miss Charlotte came back – and then they stopped. This saddened me, but it did not surprise me, as he had warned me that they would have to. When I pressed him to say why, he said there was a lot he could not tell me, but that I should trust him and all would be well.

I had to be content with that, but I was very puzzled, until something happened that explained a lot of things, and later led me to think of what might be the truth of the matter.

It all began like this. Me and Mr Nicholls had been trying to make the most of it before Miss Charlotte came back, and 2 nights before she was due we went to the moors a bit earlier. Little did I know, though, that that evening would stay in my mind for ever, because we were to make love in a way such as I have never known.

At first Mr Nicholls was so gentle, for we were both sad that our times together were to end. Slowly, though, our other feelings got the better of us and we ended up with not a stitch on and touching and kissing each other all over until I was beside myself with wanting him. Afterwards we lay together quite out of breath, and with me feeling all drained, but I had never been so at ease.

That night I slept more sweetly than for a long while, and was up even earlier than was my custom, and started work feeling very different from how I normally did. I was content with the world, and so full of good spirits that I took it upon myself to undertake a chore that I had been dreading ever since I got over the news of Miss Anne's death. I went to her room, stripped off all the bedding – even though I had put clean on when she left – and took it downstairs for washing. Then I went back and set about tidying up and putting her things in some semblance of order. Everything was higgledy-piggledy after all the excitement of her getting off for her holiday, and I did not really know where to start, but start I did and, being inquisitive, I quite enjoyed rootling around amongst her things.

I looked at some of her old writings, and then poked around in the chest where I knew she had some keepsakes and other things dear to her heart. On top were some things of only passing interest to me but, just underneath them, I found her writing-desk. I got it out carefully, because it was a lovely box, and then set about having a closer look. I had never been able to do so before because Miss Anne always locked it and put it away carefully when she was not using it, and so I knew little about it and I was filled with curiosity.

To my great surprise, I saw that its tiny key was still in the lock. Now that was indeed unusual because, as I have said, Miss Anne was always so careful about locking it, especially of late, that I had often wondered what was inside to be guarded so well. All that I could think of was that she had hidden it away in a hurry in the last-minute rush to be off, and had quite forgotten to take the key.