The Crimes of Charlotte Bronte (37 page)

It had been in my mind to lead up to things gently, but when it came to it I could not wait and just came out with it and asked where he was going when he left the Parsonage, and if he had given any thought to me.

At that he looked at me straight, drew a long deep breath, and said that he was going back home to Ireland, and that he was so sorry that he had not thought until then of how I must be feeling. He said that he had kept meaning to talk to me but, what with one thing and the other, the days had just slipped past. I waited for him to go on, but he stopped and just looked down and fiddled with a loose thread at his cuff, and so I thought it up to me to say something and I came out with all that I had bottled up inside me.

I told him that I did not want to be parted from him, and of how I had felt about him from the first time I clapped eyes on him – as if he did not know that already. I reminded him of all that we had gone through together and then – I just could not help myself, though it had not been my intent – I told him that it was only out of my love for him that I had kept silent about what I knew of his part in the death of Master Branwell and perhaps Miss Emily's, and what I suspected about the others, and because I trusted him when he said that one day it would all be worthwhile, and that had made me hope that the time would come when we would be wed – or at least living together openly somewhere far from Haworth.

He looked up sharply when I spoke of his part in the deaths and made as if to speak, but I just put two fingers on his lips, gave him a loving look, and asked him to hear me out. Then, at the end, I told him that I had seen Miss Anne's book years before and that I now had it hidden away safely.

I stopped. I had said all that I wanted to say, and now I waited all a-quiver to hear from him.

It was a long time coming, and I began to think that I had gone too far, but then he came over and sat beside me. He put a hand to each side of my face and gave me such a long, loving kiss that I felt myself shaking. Then, in a soft voice, he said that he was so sorry that he had not made time to speak to me before. He asked me to forgive him, and told me that he should have known how worried I would be not knowing what was in his mind. With his arm around my shoulders, and looking straight into my eyes, he then went on to say that he had never thought other than that we should leave together, and he just wished that he had made that quite clear to me sooner – although he had thought that I would take it for granted. As for our being wed, that had
always
been in his mind, but he had thought it best to leave it to one side for a time to see how I got on in Ireland, for he did not intend ever to leave there again and that would cause trouble between us if I wanted to and he did not.

I could not help it – I just burst out sobbing and clung to him tightly with tears streaming down my cheeks. For quite a while I was not able to say a word, for he had been so loving and had done away with all my worries.

When I began to calm down he gave me one of his lovely Irish kerchiefs to dry my eyes and face with, and then I just sat there snuffling and taking great gulps of air whilst trying to smile at him until I could speak. Then I told him how pleased I was that he had taken away all my fears – not only that he did not want me and would leave without me, but of all the gossip, and probably worse, that I would have had to face alone when he was gone. I told him again how much I loved him, and said that, come what may, he could trust me always.

From that moment on I really
was
happy. There had been times before when I had felt that my life could never be better, but now I knew such
deep
contentment that I felt I could bear anything that might lie ahead. Only one thing bothered me, and now I shall never know the truth of it. To this day, I often wonder how he would have answered me had I not told him first that I had Miss Anne's book. How I wish that I had kept my mouth shut about it and let him speak first – I could always have brought up what I knew later. But it is no use crying over spilled milk, then or now, and I just got on with things.

It was just as well, though, that I felt able to deal with other matters after our talk, and that I had nerved myself for one of them, for I had a terrible time with Mother and my Uncle when I told them what was to happen. To write of all that was said would take an age, so I shall just content myself with saying that it all went much as I had feared. Uncle was thunderstruck and Mother burst into tears. Uncle then started to rant on alarmingly, and was so beside himself with anger that at one stage he said I was little more than a common whore and that he had always thought as much. Then Mother said how sad I had made her, and agreed with a lot of what Uncle had said, saying that Father would have said the same. What seemed to bother them most, though, was not my happiness but that there would be a lot of talk in the village.

Well, Mother may have been sad, but that was as naught to how sad
they
made
me
– yes, and angry too at some of the things that Uncle had said against me. Yet it was no more than I had expected, so I was steadfast and just told them that I was sorry for all the trouble that I was bringing to them and asked that we might part without more hard words when the time came.

The thought of telling them had been a great burden on my mind, and so once it was over and done with my spirits rose again and I was able to enjoy getting ready to leave in full. I must say, though, that things between us were never to be the same again.

When it got nearer the time for us to go, Mr Nicholls made sure that there was nothing left in the Parsonage that he wanted to keep or sell, and he let me have my pick of the rest which I gave to my family on the understanding that some of the things were still mine should I ever want them back. After that I wanted to clean the Parsonage from top to bottom for the new people before we left. It would not have been such a big job, for now most of the rooms were quite bare, but Mr Nicholls would not hear of it. Apart from bearing a grudge against the Trustees and the new man, whoever he might be, he said that the world should see what a pigsty the Brontës had lived in, despite the airs and graces that Madam and her father had put on.

As it turned out, though, we were busy enough before leaving without taking on extra work anyway, what with seeing to the plans for moving ourselves and the things to Ireland and all, but I could not help but notice that the talk in Haworth had started already. In fact, several folk had the gall to ask me if it was true that I was going with Mr Nicholls, and then sniffed as if at a bad smell – and there were many such in the village – and walked away with their noses in the air without another word. I did not really mind, though, for it was no more than I had expected from that narrow-minded lot, nor was the silence that I had to bear whenever I popped home. As for Mr Nicholls, he got much pleasure from shocking everybody, saying that it was but a small return for the misery that he had suffered at their hands over the years.

At long last the day of our leaving came, and it was one of mixed feelings for me. I was sad to leave my family, especially as Mother and Uncle were so nice to me after all the hard words, although they said nothing at all to Mr Nicholls and acted as if he was not there. On the other hand, I cannot tell you how happy I was to be off at last, and how much I was looking forward to seeing Ireland and making a new life with Mr Nicholls. The only so-called friend who bothered to see me off though was Milly Oldfield, and I promised her that I would pay for her to come and see me in Ireland when we were settled in, which made me feel very grand. On top of everything else, and for the very first time, I was able to wear the Forget-Me-Nots brooch that Mr Nicholls had given me all those years before. He noticed it straightaway, and gave me a little peck on the cheek saying that those days seemed such a long time ago now.

[
] From what Martha tells us, it would appear that Nicholls was greatly surprised when the Church Trustees did not offer him the living of Haworth following Mr Brontë's death, and this surprise is shared by most of the Brontë biographers. He had been running the parish, virtually single-handedly, for years, and there had never been any question of his ability to do so.

However, and despite the ‘testimonial of respect' that Charlotte said the people of Haworth had presented him with in 1853, the Trustees had their very own good reasons for not preferring him. Not only did they know of his general unpopularity, but they were not at all pleased about his relationship with Martha. It may well have been that one or two of them were also perceptive enough to have their suspicions about the Brontë deaths.

We do not know whether the Trustees gave him any reasons for not wanting him as their Minister but, all in all, Nicholls decided that the sooner he was out of Haworth the better for all concerned. He rampaged through the Parsonage, and then sold most of the furniture and other possessions. Within four months he was back in Ireland.

Ellen Nussey wrote to George Smith: ‘It was a shock to me discovering that he had been ransacking his wife's things, so speedily after losing her – unfavourable impressions deepened still more, afterwards, by what seemed a most selfish appropriation of everything to himself, and when there were near relations living both of Mr and Mrs Brontë's side.' One suspects, however, that Ellen's sentiments were not entirely altruistic. Doubtless she, too, would have welcomed a few mementoes!

In her deposition, Martha makes it quite clear that she hoped that Nicholls would marry her once Charlotte was out of the way, and certainly she was not prepared to allow him to disappear from her life just like that. She wanted some form of confirmation that he was actually going to where he had
said
he was going, because she had no intention of losing the goose and the golden eggs. It seems, also, that she had an additional incentive for wanting to leave Haworth. In such a small community it was inevitable that there should have been rumours about what was going on between her and Nicholls, and the villagers had not approved. There was not much that they could have done about it before, but now circumstances had changed. They had seen to it that Nicholls was not offered the living, and now that he was about to depart Martha was not prepared to be left behind to face the music alone. Had she allowed him to go without her she would have been jobless and with no guarantees for the future. As she tells us, even her own mother and uncle would not have been very sympathetic.

As for Nicholls, he must have wondered whether there would ever come a time when he would be free from ties with Haworth and the Brontës. Whatever his feelings about his lover – and she had been a good companion and a faithful ally – I do not think that he ever had any intention of marrying her. However, he did not want to tell her that just then because he realized just how dangerous it might be to have an embittered Martha at large. Reluctantly, therefore, but putting a brave face on it, he decided to take her to Banagher with him.

‘My days are past, my purposes are broken off, even the thoughts of my heart.'

Job 17:11

J
ust as Madam had done, I found the journey to Ireland both exciting and tiring. Never in my life had I been so far from Haworth, or been on a boat, or seen so many new things. I could not help but remember how I had wished it was me when Mr Nicholls took Madam on the same journey, and now I could not believe that it was really happening to me. Indeed it
all
passed like a dream – and seems so even now – from which I did not awake until we came at last to the home of Mr Nicholls' family at Banagher.

This was something I had been dreading. As it happened, though, everybody was very nice to me – much nicer, Mr Nicholls told me, than they had been to Madam. On the way over, I had asked him what he had told them about me and how he was going to pass me off, but he told me not to worry. They already knew of me from his mention of me over the years, and now he had told them that I was a good friend who was coming with him to help him set up his new home. They had asked no questions, and he had said no more.

It was a grand house where the family lived, and I was given a bedroom the like of which I had never seen before – or, indeed, since. I was so glad that I had talked Mr Nicholls into taking me over to Keighley before we left, where I had spent some of my sovereigns on buying new clothes and other bits and pieces that he helped me to choose, for I did not feel at all out of place. Indeed, Mr Nicholls told me that I settled in with his family, and they with me, far easier than Madam had done. Seemingly she had also bought new clothes, but she had not asked for any help from him and so she had looked very much out of place there and all the time seemed bent upon making folk believe that she was far grander than she was.

We stayed at the house for just over 2 months, and during that time Mr Nicholls showed me lots of places and we had many long talks. First of all, we spoke about what he was going to do for a living, and he told me that he had already made up his mind that he
was
going to leave the Church, which he had never really liked. He said that he had talked it over with his family and friends, and they had all said he could do worse than become, of all things, a farmer!