The Crimes of Charlotte Bronte (5 page)

It was only after his death that Charlotte came to realize that he might not have continued his life of dissipation had she not been so harsh with him, and if she and her sisters had taken him into their confidence more fully. She was to feel guilty about her treatment of him for the rest of her life.

Charlotte herself was doing virtually nothing in 1845. She was still distraught at being parted from M. Héger. Her long-suppressed sexual passions had been aroused in Brussels, and she could not come to terms with her celibacy. She did not like Haworth, or the local people, and felt that her world had now come to an end. Day after day she hoped desperately to receive a letter from her former lover, but she suffered constant disappointment.

I suspect that she also felt rather lonely, and somewhat estranged from the rest of the family. Earlier in their lives the four children had tended to separate into two couples, Charlotte and Branwell, and Emily and Anne. Now, however, she was disenchanted with her brother and, following Anne's return, her sisters had taken up where they left off. Charlotte was therefore a rather solitary being in her own home, and was becoming increasingly anxious to do something with her life.

For her part, and quite to the contrary, Emily was more than contented with her lot. Being at home, and near to her beloved moors, was all that she really asked from life, but, between her domestic chores, she was now writing poetry as well as revising and sorting some of her previous works. How she felt as a woman we can but guess. Generally she is regarded as having been more domesticated than her sisters, and there had never been even a hint of a romance. Branwell was the only man whom she had known really well, and he was not a very good example of the species. She knew that her sisters had fallen in love, and she must have experienced sexual stirrings herself. Her poetry from this period reveals a sublimated passionate nature, and is quite different from her earlier love poems. However, any yearnings which she may have felt were concealed from the world by a no-nonsense facade.

As for Anne, she had qualities which were seldom revealed – especially at home. In 1845, after returning from Thorp Green Hall, she was merely living her life quietly, but she was a keen observer of people and events. I have often wondered what went on in that quiet little mind. She must certainly have regretted leaving some of the advantages of working for the Robinsons because, although the Parsonage was home, it must have seemed very drab and squalid after five years in a mansion.

One can but imagine what the atmosphere in the house was like at that time. What a mixture of emotions, mostly repressed, in which fact and fantasy merged and four breasts held secret, and sometimes passionate, longings for they really knew not what.

‘I will write upon him my new name.'

Revelation 3:12

L
ooking back over all those years it seems to me now that, her concern for Master Branwell apart, Miss Emily was the only one in the Parsonage who was happy in 1845. For strange to say, although she was contented and placid by nature, that Summer she was in love for the very first time. Even stranger to tell, she had fallen in love with Mr Nicholls, and she believed that her love was returned. I had noticed that she never made any remark when Miss Charlotte was going on about Mr Nicholls, but I did not find that at all out of place for that was her way. Later, though, I began to think that there might be another reason for her silence because word was getting about that she had been seen on the moors in company with her father's curate.

As soon as I heard that I began to keep my eyes open for signs of anything passing between them, and I found that there was indeed something in the gossip. I would see Mr Nicholls start off up to the moors from our house and then, a little later, Miss Emily would leave the Parsonage. They never took the same paths, nor did they ever come back together, but, even without taking any mind of what else some of the villagers said they had seen, I had but to look at Miss Emily's face when she came back to know that there was something in what was being said.

The talk got to such a pitch that Father took me to one side and asked me what I knew. Well, that made me very ill at ease for I thought much of Miss Emily and did not wish to say anything that might harm her, but also I did not wish to lie to Father. I felt myself going redder and redder as I dithered about what to say and in the end he let me be, but I knew that I had given him an answer by my manner.

Soon, however, Summer was drawing to a close, and everyone began to dread the prospect of another bleak Winter at Haworth – but no one more than me.

In later years, Miss Charlotte was to say that it was at some time during that Autumn that she ‘accidentally' came across Miss Emily's poems. It made me smile when I heard that for I know for certain that she never came across
anything
by chance. She was always snooping about, and many are the times that I have seen her going through her brother's and sisters' things when she thought nobody was about.

After she had found the poems, Miss Charlotte had the idea of bringing out a book with some of each of the sisters' poems in it. That livened things up for a while, and kept Miss Charlotte off my back, but, sadly, she did not ask Master Branwell to take part. I think it was sad because such an interest at that time might have been the making of him.

Anyway, the book was put together, but letter after letter came saying that no one was interested in it, and so I heard Miss Charlotte coaxing her sisters into paying to have it published. She got her way in the end, but not very easily for none of them had much money and I heard 2 or 3 tiffs about it. As it happened it proved to be money ill-spent, and there were more cross words when only 2 of the books were sold. They had enjoyed doing it, though, and I know that Miss Emily in particular had gained pleasure from the making of it, but for a reason very different from those of her sisters.

I have had friends who fancied themselves in love, and it seemed to me that all they wanted to do was talk about whoever had taken their fancy, even if they were only simple village lads we had all known for all our lives, and taking no heed when it was evident that they were boring everyone else beyond belief. Poor Miss Emily was not able to talk about Mr Nicholls though. Although she must have longed to tell someone, even her sisters, of the feelings that were so new to her, her normal quiet nature would not have allowed of it and, in any case, I know now that Mr Nicholls had made her see that their love should be kept secret. What with that and her fears about what would happen if what was going on came to light – especially from Mr Brontë – she had not felt able even to speak her lover's name. That all changed, though, when the book of poems gave her a perfect excuse.

It came about in this wise, and I can vouch for every word, for I was there at the time.

The three sisters were in the sitting room one evening when I went in to lay the table and make up the fire. I heard Miss Charlotte going on about how it was not fair that men writers seemed to get their books published more easily than women did, and she said that
they
might have more of a chance with
their
book if they were to let it be thought that they were brothers and not sisters. I think that at first she was speaking only in jest, but Miss Anne took it in serious fashion and asked why they should not think of something of the sort. Miss Emily thought that a good idea, but said that if they took on different names they should at least keep their true initials – and the others agreed.

It was evident that the surname would have to begin with a ‘B', but whilst her sisters puzzled over which one to choose Miss Emily had no such problem. She saw her chance and snatched at it by suggesting the middle name of the man most on her mind, Arthur Bell Nicholls.

For a little while there was total silence from the others; in fact it was so quiet that I put down the coal-scuttle and turned around, thinking that I had been making too much noise and they were all looking at me. At that moment, though, Miss Charlotte and Miss Anne both burst out laughing. Miss Emily went red, but soon saw that they were not laughing at her, but were just amused at the idea. They told her that it was a very good choice, and it was agreed.

Then came the question of which Christian names they could use that would
sound
as if they were men's, but without of necessity being so. Again they all thought, but once more it was Miss Emily who came up with the answer. She said that if they were going to use Mr Nicholls' middle name, why not use the letters of all of his names and see what they could think of? She was not certain that it could be done, but the others thought that it was another amusing notion and they decided to try it.

Of course, it was Miss Charlotte who, as usual, decided to go first, and she wrote all the letters of Mr Nicholls' names on a piece of paper and studied it:

It was at that moment that I just had to speak out. In the usual way of things I always laid the table before making up the fire and tidying the hearth, but as they were using the table I had seen to the fire first. Now, having washed my hands in the kitchen, I came back to find that I was late in setting the table and would be even later in popping home for a minute the way Miss Charlotte was taking her time about things. I just could not waste my off-time standing about whilst she thought, so I nerved myself and then, in a whisper, I asked Miss Emily if they were going to be much longer.

Well, a whisper it may have been, but I should have known that Miss Charlotte missed nothing. She gave Miss Emily no chance to answer me but, with her face set, just snapped at me that I should hold my tongue and wait.

In my usual way, I went red, but this time it was out of great anger at their selfishness and at having been spoken to like a piece of dirt and put in my place. Still, I could do naught about it, so I just flounced away and sat myself down on a little chair in the corner.

It seemed to me that Miss Charlotte then seemed bent upon making me wait even longer than would otherwise have been the case. She looked at the piece of paper for an age, and then broke off from her thinking to ask if she might use the same letter more times than it came up in the names. For my part I could have told her what she could do with them all, and it would not have been very ladylike, but instead I was made to sit mute whilst her sisters told her that she could, and then to watch, in temper, as she went back to her thinking.

There was a long, long silence and, if the truth be told, I was at the stage of walking out of the Parsonage there and then never to return – in spite of what Father might have to say – when, at last, my tormentor, as I often thought of her, said in a loud voice that she had chosen ‘CURRER'. Her sisters asked her where she had got that from, and I must say that
I
wanted to know as well and so I pricked up my ears to hear her remind Miss Emily that it had been the surname of one of the founders of the first school they had gone to. She then turned to Miss Anne and told her that it was her turn – which did not seem to please Miss Emily who was, after all, the next in age – and said that, if possible she should use only those letters that were left after what
she
had taken out.

Miss Anne took Miss Charlotte's piece of paper and, on a piece of her own, she wrote the letters that were left:

She gazed at them as if transfixed.

It was fortunate for me that she took nowhere near as long as Miss Charlotte had done, and she very soon gave
her
name as ‘ACTON'.

From what they all said then, and from what I have learned since, that was the name of a lady poet of the time, and so they all thought it was a very good choice for a book of poems. The only trouble was that it could be used only if the ‘C' that Miss Charlotte had taken could be used again, but nobody spoke against that, especially as Miss Charlotte had already done the same with an ‘R', so ‘ACTON' it was.

Then it was Miss Emily's turn and, in spite of the time ticking away, I could hardly wait to hear what she would choose. Mind you, there was not much left to go on, and I remember thinking at the time that Miss Charlotte probably told Miss Anne to go before Miss Emily so as to make the last turn harder. What was left was:

Miss Emily copied those letters down very carefully, but seemed to be thinking all the time she was writing, and indeed she must have been because, in barely any time at all, she said that she had chosen ‘ELLIS'. The name seemed to please her very much, and I was dying to know why, but I did not get the chance to find out that night for, all of a sudden, time seemed to be important to Miss Charlotte and she said briskly that they should not dally any longer but should get ready for the meal. It was probably spite on my part, out of the mood I was in, but it seemed to me that she was not very pleased that Miss Emily had managed a name so quickly.

The next day I bided my time until she was doing some ironing and then asked Miss Emily who ‘ELLIS' was. At first she seemed a little taken aback that I knew anything about it, but then she remembered that I had been there and seemed pleased that I wanted to know. She said that she very much admired a Sarah Ellis, who was not only a writer and a poet but had also started a school for young ladies called Rawdon House. ‘We'll have to see about getting
you
in there one day, Martha,' she joked, and then, smiling away to herself, she put away her ironing and left for the moors – and Mr Nicholls.

I should say that on the evening when the names were chosen what the sisters were on about was of little interest to me. I listened carefully enough, for I had naught else to do, but all I could really think about was that I was going to miss my break at home through being so late.

When they at last left the room I gave a long sigh of relief and had the table set quicker than ever before. They had left behind them the scraps of paper that they had worked out the names on and, rather than take them and lay them somewhere, I just poked them into my apron pocket for the time being so that I could get on the faster. It was only when I got home that I found them still there, and so I put them to one side meaning to take them back, but I forgot to pick them up again. Nobody ever asked after them, and somehow they finally found themselves into one of my old exercise books.