The Crimes of Charlotte Bronte (28 page)

Let us take up Charlotte's account of what happened next: ‘We passed the dangerous part – the horse trembled in every limb and slipped once but did not fall – soon after she (it was a mare) started and was unruly for a minute – however I kept my seat – my husband went to her head and led her – suddenly without any apparent cause – she seemed to go mad – reared, plunged – I was thrown on the stones right under her – I saw and felt her kick, plunge, trample round me!'

Despite all that, she escaped serious injury – and a good try by Nicholls came to nothing.

We really should try to analyse this incident, in an effort to imagine what really happened.

The guide was in front, with Nicholls at the rear and Charlotte tucked safely between them. They came to the dangerous part and the guide suggested that Charlotte should dismount. Quick as a flash, Nicholls saw a possible chance and grabbed it: ‘I shouldn't bother dear, it doesn't look that bad to me.' Silly Charlotte stayed put, and the guide shrugged his shoulders and continued on his way. Then her horse slipped but, to Nicholls' disappointment, did not fall. However, it was enough to frighten Charlotte, who made as if to dismount, but Nicholls had already done so and was at her horse's head: ‘Stay where you are my dear, I'll lead her along this stretch.'

We do not know what he then did to the horse, but it seems more likely than not that he did
something,
because it was already past the dangerous part and was being led by the head. Even Charlotte stated that there was no
apparent
cause for the animal's subsequent behaviour, but that it seemed suddenly to go mad.

Picturing the scene as she described it, we then have the mare rearing and plunging while Nicholls, apparently, was trying to control her. Suddenly Charlotte was thrown on the stones directly under the horse. Then the horse was kicking and plunging, and trampling all round Charlotte. If she did not cry out when she was unseated, she would surely have done so when she felt herself under those flailing hooves – yet Nicholls is supposed to have noticed nothing of his wife's predicament. It is beyond belief.

It seems that Nicholls was continuing to torment the mare in some way, in the hope that Charlotte would be killed, or at least badly injured, before the guide returned to see where they were. However, to Nicholls' dismay, he came back too soon.

As was only to be expected, the ‘accident' frightened her very much, and that is borne out by the fact that her recounting of the incident takes up more than a third of her letter. Not only that, if one looks at the actual document, the tension which she experienced in reliving the episode is only too apparent in the deterioration of her handwriting. She must have had her suspicions of what Nicholls had been about. Obviously she felt the need to tell somebody of what had happened, but she was unable even to hint at her fears. The implications terrified her, and she saw quite clearly that her days could be numbered.

Enough was enough, and Charlotte decided that she would be safer at home. The letter to Catherine Winkworth was written at Cork on 27 July but, and in spite of anything which Nicholls may have had to say, on the very next day they were some 150 miles away in Dublin. It was from there, as we know from Martha, that Charlotte wrote to her telling her that they were coming home and would be in Haworth in four days.

The excuse given for their early return was that Mr Brontë was not well. However, he had been indisposed for at least a fortnight and that had not bothered Charlotte in the slightest until the incident with the horse – and she admitted as much to Martha. She told her in the letter that even if she
had
been at Haworth when her father was ill ‘it would not have done much good – and I was sure that you would do your best for him'.

So home they went, one partner more fearful than she had ever been in her whole life – and the other determined to do better.

It would seem that one of the first things which Charlotte did upon her return from her honeymoon was to encourage as many visitors as possible. That, however, left her little time for writing or reading because, as we have seen, her husband expected her to accompany him on long walks across the moors in addition to everything else.

Charlotte was not at all enthusiastic about those expeditions, and that was, I believe, because she was afraid of being alone with Nicholls in that vast wilderness, or anywhere else for that matter, and it was a source of relief to her that so many people were responding to her invitations to come to the Parsonage. More than anything else, however, she longed for Ellen to come to stay.

Nicholls, of course, would have felt very differently. Obviously it was evident to him by then that Charlotte would have to die at Haworth after all, and he needed time to think and privacy to allow him to pursue his plans. Although he had a very good idea, he had not, at that stage, decided for certain how Charlotte was to meet her fate. All he knew was that, this time, he would need to be very, very careful. That was almost certainly one of the reasons for his institution of the custom of the walks on the moors; it was a desolate area, and accidents could happen there – especially if they were given a helping hand!

He knew that with Ellen on the premises he would be restricted in his actions. Nevertheless, he also realized that it would appear most peculiar should he been seen as the one who was keeping the two friends apart indefinitely. It was an awkward dilemma.

However, from what eventually happened, he seems to have found a partial solution to the problem. When a visit could be postponed no longer, Ellen Nussey would be allowed to come but, at the same time, he would invite someone else to stay who would keep her occupied and away from Charlotte as much as possible. He floated the idea to his friend Sutcliffe Sowden, and the latter agreed to make up a foursome should the need arise.

He told Charlotte of the arrangement and she was not at all pleased. Not only would she have resented not having been consulted, she would have realized that there would be none of the long private conversations with her friend which she had anticipated with such eagerness. She would also have known that Ellen would not like the idea of being palmed off on to one of Nicholls' friends. However, any protests which she may have made were ignored and she was forced to put a brave face on the situation. On 9 August, she wrote to Ellen and told her that Sowden was to stay with them the next time she came to visit. The excuse she made was that Arthur had said, ‘he wished us to take sundry long walks – and as he should have his wife to look after – and she was trouble enough – it would be quite necessary to have a guardian for the other lady.' Thus Ellen was put on notice and, as far as Nicholls was concerned, she could like or lump it.

One can well imagine Ellen's feelings upon receiving that letter. She wanted so much to see Charlotte and have a good gossip but that, seemingly, would not now be possible and she would probably have had a good idea why not. Also, she would have resented Nicholls' high-handedness and what, to her, would no doubt have smacked of condescension. Therefore, she decided to make no reply, and not to accept any further invitations to the Parsonage.

Now Charlotte knew Ellen very well, and of how she felt about Nicholls, and she would have anticipated her friend's reactions. However, she had been unable to conjure up a more plausible excuse for why Sowden would have to be present whenever Ellen came. It was no surprise to her, therefore, when her friend did not answer. She wrote again, proposing a particular date, but Ellen replied that it would not be convenient for her.

That, then, was how matters rested for over a month, and the situation seems to have caused Charlotte great concern. She decided to take the initiative.

On 14 September, she wrote once more: ‘Mr Nicholls [no longer ‘Arthur', you will have noticed] and I have a call or two to make in the neighbourhood of Keighley . . .' She went on to say that they would be doing so on the 21st, and that: ‘. . . we wish so to arrange as to meet you there and bring you back with us in the cab.' It was suggested that they should pick her up at the railway station.

The extent of Charlotte's longing to see Ellen again is obvious: ‘We shall be very, very glad to see you, dear Nell, and I want the day to come.' She really was in an impossible predicament. On the one hand she was trying to placate the old friend whom she yearned to see, while on the other attempting to conform with the terms set by her husband, which she knew were unacceptable to Ellen. All that she could do was to try to present those conditions in the best light possible and trust that her friend would read between the lines.

In the event, that last letter did the trick and Ellen went to Haworth – but she was never to see Charlotte after that.

It would be more than interesting to know what took place during that visit of Ellen Nussey to the Parsonage. We know that relationships were strained, to say the least, and there must have been quite an atmosphere. Nicholls had not wanted Ellen there in the first place, and I doubt whether he would have bothered to disguise his feelings. For her part, we know that Ellen distrusted Nicholls and, were such a thing possible, she probably detested him even more. If some sixth sense warned her of the danger which he posed to Charlotte, her intuition would have been strengthened by the marked difference which she noticed in her friend. However, she was unable to discover what was going on because rarely were they left alone, and when they were Charlotte seemed loath to discuss her problems.

Of course, we can only surmise about Charlotte's thoughts, but I think that she now became convinced that Nicholls was merely biding his time for a suitable opportunity to arise in order to try again. She must also have had her own ideas about her recent ‘illnesses', but she did not know what to do to protect herself. After all, she had no real evidence to support her fears, and Nicholls was putting on a good show of affection to the outside world.

She knew that Ellen would have believed her, but she realized that little would be achieved by confiding in her. Her friend would have wanted her to leave Nicholls, but if she did that a reason would have to be given publicly, and that she could not do. Charlotte had declared consistently that she was happy in her marriage, and she and Nicholls presented a public image of wedded bliss. It would have been impossible, therefore, for her to have left him suddenly without causing a great deal of just the sort of gossip and speculation which she had always dreaded. Not only that, she knew her friend very well indeed and was only too aware that Ellen would have had difficulty in keeping any confidences to herself.

One would think, though, that either or both of those consequences would have been a very small price to have paid had it meant saving her life, but things were not as simple as that. Charlotte had always been very jealous of her public image, and she was a proud woman. Then there were the practicalities of life to be considered. Had she left Nicholls she would have been homeless, and any whiff of scandal would have ensured that not many doors remained open to her. Even those who might have been prepared to take her in initially would not have wanted her as a permanent guest. Then there was her father; he would have raised the roof had she left, with unforeseeable consequences.

Had she not been responsible for Anne's death, Charlotte could, of course, have gone straight to the authorities, but she was, and that was the end of the matter. A counter-accusation by Nicholls, who would then have had nothing to lose, would have resulted in the exhumation of Anne's body and the discovery of the poison which, beyond a reasonable doubt, could have been administered only by her sister.

Even had she been completely innocent of any wrongdoing, and with her accusations supported by the evidence of Anne's diary, Charlotte would probably have found it very difficult to interest anyone in what she had to say.

Her thoughts seem to have gone around and around, with her tiredness and depression preventing logical conclusions, until all she felt capable of was to hope against hope that she was mistaken in her suspicions about her husband. From her actions, it is obvious that she wanted to do nothing which might alienate him, and thus provoke the very outcome that she feared.

We, and men in particular, may find it very difficult to understand her confusion and inability to act. However, many women behave similarly in such situations. There are untold numbers of battered wives who stay with their husbands, even when they are in mortal peril. Charlotte was just such a one. She carried on from day to day, fearful but not knowing what to do about it, whilst all the time Nicholls increased his dominance over her.

‘For my soul is full of trouble: and my life draweth nigh unto the grave.'

Psalms 88:3

F
rom now on, little changes began to take place in the Parsonage, but the first only came to my notice when, one day, Madam took me to one side and, almost in a whisper, asked me to take some letters to the post for her and not to tell
anyone
that I had done so. Of course, I said that I would, especially as it got me out of the Parsonage during the day, but I wondered what was going on because up till then she had always made such a big thing of marching off with all her letters in her hand for folk to see.

Then I noticed that Mr Nicholls was always by her as she opened her letters, and he would put out his hand to read them himself when she had done so. One day, in my hearing, she said that there was naught in them to interest him, but he said sternly that
he
would be the best judge of that and took them off with him.

I wondered what was going on all of a sudden, because up till then he had been content to let her read just snippets out to him, and he had even seemed bored by them. Now he not only read every word of the letters coming in but, whilst I was cleaning in the passage, I saw him standing over her as she was writing one of her own and he was telling her, almost word for word, what she was to put. It was evident that she did not like that at all, but she seemed to be putting up with it and I was struck by the change in her. Only then did it come to me, though, that the letters that she had given me to take on the quiet must have been some that she did not wish him to see.