The Crimes of Charlotte Bronte (25 page)

One day, though, a doctor came to see him, and for a moment I thought that he really
had
got something up with him. I could not bear not knowing, so I asked Madam outright. After all, and leaving all else to one side, I thought it only right that we should know if there was a sickness in the house which could be passed on to us, and that was how I put it to her.

I had expected to be snapped at, and I had made up my mind that I would stand up to her, but she did not seem at all put out by my question and said that I could calm my fears. With a little smile – the first I had had from her for ages – she told me that he was not ill at all. It was just that he was thinking too much about matters to do with the wedding, and that he would soon be all right again. Then she went on to say that he was really something of a big baby who just needed to be noticed all the time. Well, that did not sound like Mr Nicholls to
me,
and in any case I did not think it proper that she should be talking to me about him behind his back like that.

Later on, I told Father and Mother of what had passed between us, and Father said that he had been told by one of the ladies who helped at the Church that Madam had said as much to some of them as well.

Anyway, there was some kind of meeting in Mr Brontë's room one day, and after that things were a little better in the Parsonage, and Mr Nicholls seemed to be back almost to his old self. I was able to have only one long time together with him though, and for most of that he just went on and on about
her.
It seemed that he had overheard two ladies gossiping in the Church, and so had learned that Madam had been calling him to folk. He was very bitter about that, but when I saw that our time together was being wasted by so much talk I put an end to it in the only way I knew how.

That was to be our last meeting for a while – and so I was glad that we had made the most of it – because, all of a sudden, all the talk was of the wedding taking place as soon as possible! Then it came out that it was to be at the end of June, and I could not understand what all the rush was about, and nor could the village – because they only got betrothed in the April. I had seldom heard of such a thing, save when the lass had found herself with child, and I could but join in all the wondering.

I do not know whether she thought she had told me – but she had not – but Madam seemed to take it that we all knew when the date of the wedding was fixed. In fact, it was Father who told us that it was set for, of all the days of the week, the last Thursday in June, and it was only from him that I learned that Mr Nicholls and her were going to Ireland afterwards.

That bit of news pained me more than I can say. I had come to accept the wedding, but the thought of him and her going across the sea to places that Mr Nicholls had told me such lovely tales about brought tears to my eyes. How I wished that it was
us
getting wed and going off. It just did not seem fair, and the only way I was able to calm myself was with the thought that once they were back Mr Nicholls would see to it that there were changes – though I could not think what they would be.

I had thought that I would have to put up with Madam being all cock-a-hoop as the wedding day came nearer, but she was very quiet and I soon understood why. Somehow I had had a picture in my mind of a great day of merrymaking, with the Church crammed to the rafters with folk, and all of us given time off to go as well, and bells ringing out and then eating and drinking and music – oh, I do not know
what
I thought, but to be sure I did
not
picture what I found was
really
planned. It seemed that Mr Brontë would not be in charge of the service – as we had all taken for granted – and that but 5 people
in all
were to be allowed into the Church! I could not believe it, nor could anyone else at first. It seemed such a hole-and-corner business, and almost as if it was something to be ashamed of.

Of course, I could see Mr Nicholls' hand in all that, and later on he told me that I was right, and that it was his way of getting his own back for all that her and the old man had put him through. I must say, though, that
I
was not put out because I would not be there. I had pictured myself having to watch him at the altar being married to her, and I do not think I could have borne it.

So, in the end, the only way that I was caught up in it was seeing that all was right for the wedding breakfast and then, after that, when we waved them off to Ireland. I must say about
that
that it quite cheered me up, for never had I seen a bride and groom look so unhappy.

Then they were gone – for 6 weeks Madam had told me – and once again I felt an emptiness in my life for a time, especially as it was so quiet at the Parsonage. The only good things were that there was far less work, and the weather that July was so lovely that my spirits were lifted far higher than I could ever have thought. I had pictured myself moping about day after day, wondering where they were and what they were doing, but to my surprise I hardly gave thought to them, and was out and about quite a lot.

The first 2 weeks passed and little of moment took place, and then Mr Brontë was taken quite poorly. As I had expected, he had been very quiet after they had gone away, and I used to feel so sorry for him sitting there alone for most of the time with only goodness knows what thoughts for company. One morning, though, he could not even get out of bed, and he told me that he felt most unwell. I ran across the lane to Father's barn and he came straightaway as he was, dust and all.

Well, to keep a long tale short, we
did
have a time with him for the next week or so. Father told the Church Council, and they saw to it that a doctor came in, and some of their wives came to see Mr Brontë, but all the real and nasty work was left to us servants, and that was not right, for we were not paid to be nursemaids and some of the work was not fit for young girls. Even so we stuck to it, but the old man
was
in a state, and we were kept busy looking after him, and cleaning up after him, and trying to keep the air in his room sweet for visitors. I spent hours with a feeding-cup with him, coaxing him to drink, and wiping his mouth and nightshirt, and I tried to keep his hands and face clean, but right from the start I made it clear that the men had to see to the rest for it was not fitting work for a woman.

In the end, Father told me that one of the Council men had written off to one of the addresses that Madam had left with Mr Brontë telling them that her father was in such a state that he thought they should come back straightaway. It did not seem that the letter had got to them though, because there was no answer and no sign of them until the day when, of all things,
I
got a letter from Madam!

Such a thing had never happened before in all my time at the Parsonage, and I thought that at last she was owning up to it that I was in charge there. The letter is by my hand as I write this, and I see that it is dated 28 July 1854, and was posted in Dublin. In it she told me that they would be back in Haworth in 4 days, and I did not know whether to laugh or cry.

I was pleased that I would be seeing Mr Nicholls again, and that
she
would then be there to look after her father, but I felt that she would probably be worse than ever now that they were married, and I did not look forward to being bossed about by her in front of him. On top of that, I still had a strong feeling that there was trouble in store and I wanted no part in it.

[
] In November 1853 Charlotte received a shattering blow to her last hope of a stylish marriage, when George Smith's mother wrote to tell her that her son was engaged to be married. How much Charlotte was hurt can be seen from her extraordinary letter of ‘congratulation'. ‘My dear Sir, In great happiness, as in great grief – words of sympathy should be few. Accept my meed of congratulation – and believe me Sincerely yours, C. Brontë.'

It was surely this blow that finally prompted Charlotte to take decisive action. Enough was enough; time was not on her side, and her father just had to be made to see her point of view – which was that he would
have
to agree to the marriage
and
to reinstate Nicholls. So she finally nerved herself for the fray and confronted Mr Brontë, but here again, although the outcome is a matter of fact, we can only conjecture about the actual words which were spoken. However, on all the evidence available, it would seem that she told him that she had been seeing and writing to Nicholls, and that she was determined to marry him. The ultimate threat was probably that if her father did not agree to her demands she would marry Nicholls anyway and leave Haworth.

It must have been a difficult encounter for both of them, but whereas Charlotte would have had the consolation of feeling better after having had her say, her father must have been aghast at her manner and what he had heard. Bad enough to learn that his daughter had been defying and deceiving him, but to be threatened by her would have been intolerable, especially as he had neither forgotten nor forgiven the way in which Nicholls had treated him in public. It would appear that he refused, angrily, to change his mind, but this time Charlotte was determined to stand her ground, even at the risk of provoking the old man into another seizure.

Once he saw that her mind was made up, I have little doubt that Mr Brontë was brought up short by the prospect which he faced if he remained obdurate. He had suffered two strokes, his sight was poor, and he was a man very jealous of his home comforts. Therefore the idea of being left alone and totally dependent upon village servants would not have appealed to him at all. So, although he huffed and puffed, there was never any really doubt about the final outcome and he was forced to admit defeat. Grudgingly, he agreed that Charlotte could ‘continue the communication', and gave notice to the assistant curate who had replaced Nicholls, with the latter taking up his old post as soon as possible.

Mr Brontë was not alone in his doubts about Nicholls' motives for marrying his daughter. Ellen Nussey had voiced her disapproval openly, and others had also made their reservations known – albeit more circumspectly. At first, Charlotte took their innuendoes very badly, but gradually she came to appreciate that they had only her best interests at heart and listened to them when they came to her with a proposal to safeguard her capital.

Under normal circumstances, the law decreed that upon marriage everything which a woman possessed passed to her husband, and she would own nothing in her own right. Now Charlotte had some £1,700 invested, which would be worth approximately £60,000 in present-day values, and her well-wishers had been anxious that Nicholls should not get his hands on it. They therefore suggested to Charlotte that a marriage settlement be drawn up to protect her assets and discovered, somewhat to their surprise, that they were pushing at an open door.

The idea was that everything should be paid into a trust, and that Joe Taylor, the brother of her old schoolfriend Mary Taylor, would be the sole trustee. All the investments would be transferred into Taylor's name, and he would receive all the proceeds arising therefrom. Those dividends, et cetera, would be paid only to Charlotte, unless she nominated somebody else in writing.

There would be a clause specifically forbidding Nicholls to meddle in those arrangements, and no money was to be made available to his creditors. Should Charlotte predecease him, the capital would remain in trust for any children or grandchildren, unless Charlotte had left written instructions to the contrary. If there were no children or written instructions, all the trust funds were to be paid out as if Charlotte had died intestate and
unmarried
(my italics), and therefore, should he still be alive, her father and not Nicholls would be the beneficiary. Were Charlotte to be left a childless widow all the trust funds would revert to her.

Those proposed conditions made it quite clear that it was not intended that Nicholls should ever get his hands on his wife's money, and are evidence, should it be needed, of how little he was trusted by anyone concerned.

There was one potential drawback to such an unusual settlement, however. It would have been quite possible for Nicholls to have disputed it after the marriage, and there was a fair chance – in the male-dominated society of those days – that he would have won the day. Such a possibility could be avoided only by obtaining his written agreement to the proposed arrangements. One can imagine the trepidation with which Charlotte raised the subject with him and, according to Martha, her fears were well founded because the most frightful row ensued. Nicholls was livid with rage at what he termed the conspiracy against him, and vowed that he would call off the marriage rather than put his name to such an insulting document. He stormed off, leaving Charlotte to wonder what would happen next.

For days he sulked and brooded upon the options open to him, but once his anger had subsided, he saw that it was essential to ensure Charlotte's continuing silence, and that he could do this only by marrying her. In any case, his own financial situation had been improved considerably recently owing to some scheming by Mrs Gaskell. Upon learning that a rich patron of writers, Richard Monkton Milnes, intended to provide Charlotte with an annuity of £100, she somehow persuaded him to pay it to Nicholls instead.