The Crimes of Charlotte Bronte (21 page)

Charlotte
must
have had her suspicions of Nicholls, as she knew that if he disposed of her he would be a free man, but apart from being very careful about what she ate or drank, what could she do? Eventually, and very wisely, she decided to get away from him and the Parsonage. At the end of January she went to stay with Ellen Nussey for a fortnight and, probably as she had anticipated, made a complete – and somewhat miraculous – recovery. Then it was back to Haworth and
Villette
for four months. She could be very single-minded when money was in prospect!

At the end of May she had another break, and crept off quietly and apparently alone to Filey for a whole month. That has often made me wonder whether she
was
there – well for the
whole
period anyway, in view of Martha's statement that Nicholls disappeared mysteriously for three days during that time. It would have been an ideal opportunity for her and Nicholls to have spent some time together away from prying eyes, and would explain why she went without telling Ellen. Certainly it was unusual for Charlotte to be staying away completely on her own and, equally certainly, Nicholls was very much in her thoughts during that first week.

In a letter to her father, and in the full knowledge of how much he disliked his assistant, she mentioned Nicholls no less than three times! That, I consider, is a clear indication of how full of him her mind was. She went on and on about him, telling Mr Brontë how she would like Mr Nicholls to see a church which she had visited – and that Mr Nicholls would have ‘laughed out' at the behaviour of the singers and the congregation – and ended by asking him to give Mr Nicholls her ‘kind regards'.

One can but imagine the unholy thoughts which Mr Brontë may have had about that request, but surely it must have occurred to him that his daughter seemed rather obsessed with his assistant?

We shall never know whether the pair of them did, in fact, meet at Filey, but it would have been a good opportunity for them to sort out their differences, because there can be no doubt but that their relationship was at a crucial stage. As Martha has told us, Nicholls did not seem at all contented with his lot. He was idle, and not at all ambitious, and in normal circumstances he would have jogged along, from curacy to curacy, until he acquired his own living and a suitable wife. However, things had not been normal for him since he had set foot in Haworth: he had murdered two people, but had gained nothing – not even peace of mind. The years were slipping away, and he was trapped in a miserable place, at the beck and call of an unattractive little woman – and unable to pursue any other. He would not be able to take up any better post that might become available, and was therefore condemned to a life of near penury. On the other hand, however, Charlotte had a great deal of money. She was able to gad about at will, whilst he was left as nursemaid to her father, in addition to carrying out many of the parochial duties for which the old man, not he, was paid.

Nicholls could see no way out except one, but he did not really want another death on his conscience if it could be avoided.

For her part, Charlotte wanted little more than for the situation to continue unchanged, but she realized that something was amiss with her lover and was probably rather fearful of him, especially if she suspected that he had poisoned her. She still had lingering hopes of marrying ‘well', but until that time Nicholls was convenient. One thing had surprised her though; she had discovered that she was just a little jealous when he disappeared to Ireland, and now, despite the hold which she had over him, she felt a pressing need to discover what was wrong and how he could be placated.

Another major source of contention was her friendship with Ellen Nussey. I have no doubt that Ellen had long suspected what was going on between Charlotte and Nicholls. She had visited the Parsonage on many occasions, and it would have been impossible for her not to have noticed the little signs which betrayed their intimacy.

She had already begun to hint at the possibility that someone other than Charlotte – and she could only have been making a veiled reference to Nicholls – was reading the letters which she sent to the Parsonage, and immediately a nerve was touched. Charlotte was
most
indignant. On 25 August, she wrote to Ellen and assured her that ‘there is certainly no one in this house or elsewhere to whom I should show your notes.' She went on to say that if she appeared to write with restraint it was because she had nothing to say. Ellen would not have been deceived by that, however. She knew that Charlotte
always
had something to ramble on about.

On 5 October, Charlotte wrote to Ellen refusing yet another invitation to stay with her, and expressing the vague hope that when they met next it would be at Haworth. Then, and within only four days, there was an incredible volte-face and Charlotte was literally begging her friend to come.

We can but speculate upon what brought about that abrupt change of mind. Charlotte was a very determined lady who rarely changed her mind about anything. I have the feeling that the whole business is symptomatic of the emotional volcano which was concealed from the world by the seemingly placid facade of Parsonage life.

‘I have chosen thee in the furnace of affliction.'

Isaiah 48:10

M
r Nicholls seemed to get worse the longer Madam was away and so, for the first time ever, I was almost pleased when she came back. Oddly enough, though, they seemed to want nothing to do with each other, and I was driven to wonder what was going on.

I knew that Mr Nicholls was not happy about her keeping on going away, leaving him to, as he put it, ‘wet nurse' her father, but I just could not fathom what else was wrong between them.

Since Miss Anne's death he had become quite a regular visitor to the Parsonage, especially when
she
was away – which came to be more and more often. At those times it had become his custom to spend an hour with the old man each evening just before Mr Brontë went to bed, and slowly it became his habit even when she was at home. The only difference then was that he sometimes joined her once her father was tucked up and out of the way – but I did not know that for certain until much later.

Neither did I know then what I am able to set down now – all this came to light only when Mr Nicholls felt sure of me, and told me no end of things.

It seems that he had been very unhappy with his life for a long time, but could do nothing to change things because of the hold that Madam had over him. When she was away he was spending night after night without sleep for worrying what she was up to. He was not at all sure that she would not let something out to somebody, if only by chance, and seemingly he was always fearful that her money might gain her a husband, and the money would then go to him, whereas Mr Nicholls would have had naught but her silence – if that – in spite of all he had gone through to please her.

In the end it came to him that he should wed her himself. He told me that when the notion first came to his mind he almost laughed out loud at it, but then, as he thought about it, he saw that he had much to gain and little to lose if he did so. Not only would he have her silence for as long as she lived, but all her money would become his. Also he would no longer have to put up with hole-and-corner meetings, and he would be the one in charge which would leave him nicely placed to take over the parish when old Mr Brontë popped his clogs.

The more he thought on it the more he liked the idea. Although it would not be as he had hoped his life would turn out, nor would she be the bride he had pictured for himself, nevertheless beggars could not be choosers. All in all, he made up his mind that he would do it.

When he told me what his thoughts had been all those years before, I asked him if he had ever had a mind to the chance that she would turn him down. He said that he had given much thought to that as well, and had then made up his mind that if she did – and just wanted things to stay as they were – he would have none of it and she would have had to have done her worst.

Seemingly his reasoning went something like this – if she
did
make up her mind to tell on him it would be only her word against his, and he would have to take his chance. If things looked black for him he would go to Australia – which was something he had often considered anyway, and long before his troubles came upon him – or go back to Ireland and take ship from there to America.

Anyway, he made up his mind to have it out with her when she came back – but then he could not get to speak to her when she did. He told me that all he could think was that she must have known he was angry with her when she went away, and then when she decided to stay longer she must have had it in her mind that that would make him worse. Whatever the reason, when she came back she had tried to keep out of his way and that
had
displeased him. He tried to speak to her to arrange a meeting, but she always said that they would do that later – and then there was always an excuse.

In the end, after 3 days of being put off in such a manner, he made up his mind that he
would
see her, by her leave or no, and so he invited himself when he knew that she would be at tea and on her own.

After he told me that, I cast my mind back and then I knew why she had been so put out at that time. I recalled him coming to the Parsonage and asking me if she was having her tea. When I said that she was he did not say another word, but almost pushed past me and went in and slammed the door. I heard her say something out loud, and then she came out so quickly that I had not had time to get back to the kitchen. Without so much as a ‘Please' or ‘Thank you', she just snapped at me that Mr Nicholls would be joining her, and that I should bring extra things for him, and then she was back in the room and the door slammed again.

When I had made up a little tray for him I tapped on the door and went in. They were both sitting with faces set and saying not a word, and I got no reply when I said something or other, and not even a ‘Thank you', so I just went out again – giving the door a little slam of my own.

On purpose, I made a loud noise on the flagstones as I went back to the kitchen – but I did not go all the way. Instead I took off my clogs, crept back and put my ear close up to the door. It was all in vain though because I could not make out the words.

Mr Nicholls has told me that he tried to tell her that he wanted a quiet word on a certain subject. However, she made a pretence of not knowing what he meant, and kept prattling on about one thing and another whilst giving him his tea, and put him off until the time when she knew he had a meeting with her father and would have to go.

I heard a chair scrape and so I rushed around the corner out of the way. Then the door was opened and Mr Nicholls came out and bang went the poor door again. He did not look my way, but I could see that his face was angry as he went across the passage to Mr Brontë's room.

After a while, I went in to see if I could clear away and, for something to say, I asked her if the tea had been all right – but she just snapped ‘Yes', and so I was none the wiser as to what was going on.

Mr Nicholls was still with Mr Brontë after I had washed up and put the things away, and then I was so busy with this and that that I did not notice how the time was passing.

As far as I can gather, what happened that day was that when Mr Nicholls went in to see Mr Brontë he fretted and fumed until he could get away from the old man, and he was almost beside himself with anger when he did and was able to go in search of Madam.

He could not find her and so – and I remember this
very
well – he came to me in the kitchen and I told him that I had heard her go upstairs. I thought that would be the end of it, but I was wrong. Without another word, he stormed off and, to my great surprise, he almost ran up to her bedroom and, before the door was closed, I could hear him nearly shouting at her. I had never heard of such a thing. Of course, I wasted no time in hurrying up there myself, but I dared not go too close to the door; so I hid just round the corner and tried to hear what was going on.

As it happened, I could hear very little, but he has since told me that he let loose with all that had been on his mind – some of it for years. Much to his surprise, though, she just sat there and said naught for quite a long time. When she did finally open her mouth she spoke quietly and steadily, but what she had to say was very much to the point. He has told me that she shocked him to his marrow by telling him of Miss Anne's book, and that she had it hidden away for use against him if need be.

He said he was so taken aback that for a few moments he could think of nothing to say, but then he recovered himself and recalled his plan. Without any more ado, he told her that if
that
was how she felt, he would be out of the country as soon as he could, and she would then be free to do her worst.

That, as he tells it, stopped her in her tracks, much as she had done to him. They just sat there looking at each other, because they knew that neither had the edge on the other, and each wanted to hear what the other had to say.

For my part, I just heard it all go quiet, and wondered what they were about – and in her bedroom and all – and I must say that what I pictured made me so angry that I could have spit. Slowly, and as quietly as I could, I inched along to the door with my heart beating 13 to the dozen lest I stepped on a creaking board. I pressed my ear close up to the door, and I could hear them speaking very quietly, and that made me feel even worse as I could not hear what they were saying and all manner of thoughts came to me in the darkness there.

They went on and on, and in the end I just had to go because there were so many things still waiting to be done downstairs. Only years later – as I keep saying – when Mr Nicholls told me the full story did I learn that once they had cooled down they had a long sensible talk. Each of them was as honest as they could afford to be, and in the end Mr Nicholls came out with his proposal of marriage. She did not answer him straightaway though, and it was only when Mr Nicholls began to get cross that she said ‘Yes'.