The Triumph of Katie Byrne (18 page)

‘Does Verity think that too?’

‘Sometimes she does, at other times she’s in denial about it. He used to work for army intelligence when he was in the army, and now I believe he’s with MI6. He’s away a lot, he’s very mysterious about his travels, where he goes, and he knows too much about certain things. You know, he lets snippets drop by mistake, then makes an attempt to cover up.’

‘Is he Verity’s boyfriend?’ Katie ventured carefully.

‘Well, they’re not romantically involved, if that’s what you mean. But he’s her closest male friend. I guess you could say they’re chums, you know, best pals. They’ve been friends for donkey’s years, and now that he’s divorced he spends more time at the hall. He lives in Yorkshire part of the time. His mother has a beautiful Georgian house, near York actually, but I think I told you that.’

‘And the rest of the time he’s travelling for MI6?’

Xenia chuckled. ‘I think he is, but he does have a flat in London. In Chesterfield Street. But listen, if you ask Rex what he does he’ll be relatively honest with you, Katie. He’ll tell you he works for the British government, that he’s with the Foreign Office, and that his office is in Whitehall. All true. But as I just said,
I
believe he’s with British intelligence.’

‘Why is Verity uncertain? Why is she in denial sometimes?’

‘Because she doesn’t want anything to happen to him, I suppose. And look, don’t get me wrong, I like Rex enormously, and I don’t give a hoot if he
is
with British intelligence. He’s kind, civilized, good-looking, and charming. And Verity is very fond of him. So am I, for that matter.’

‘Why is he an expert on the Brontës?’

‘I’m not sure. But they’re
the
great Yorkshire writers, and he’s very much a dyed-in-the-wool Yorkshireman.’ She chuckled again. ‘He’s very proud of his Yorkshire heritage. And as it happens, he does have a strong literary bent. But you can ask him about his interest in the Brontës. He’s very forthcoming. Just don’t ask him if he’s a British agent,’ she cautioned.

‘As if I would, Xenia! I’m not
that
dumb.’

Xenia glanced at her and nodded. ‘You’re one of the brightest people I know, Katie.’

The library at Burton Leyburn Hall was a long room, somewhat like a gallery, Tudor in style, with a beamed ceiling and stone fireplace. Bookshelves lined all of the walls from ceiling to floor, and in front of the fireplace a large leather sofa and several comfortable chairs were grouped together.

Katie walked across the floor to the refectory table in front of one of the mullioned windows, and once again looked at the books Verity had previously selected for her. Her gaze lingered on one about Emily Brontë, written by the novelist Muriel Spark, and a collaborator, Derek Stanford.

As she turned away from the window, making for the sofa with the book, she almost jumped out of her skin when Rex Bellamy rose from a wing chair near the fireplace.

Immediately, he smiled apologetically. ‘I’m sorry, Katie, I obviously startled you. Do forgive me, my dear.’

‘It’s all right, Rex,’ she said, smiling back at him. ‘I didn’t know anyone was in here.’

‘Ah, I see you have the Muriel Spark book in your hands. It’s very well done, marvellous stuff. Now tell me, how was your trip to Haworth this morning?’

‘Interesting, and I’m glad Xenia talked me into going. I know a lot more about Emily Brontë than I did yesterday. So it was really worthwhile.’ She hesitated fractionally. ‘Xenia told me you know a great deal about the Brontë family,’ she finally went on. ‘She said you could give me a few insights into them, especially Emily. Would you mind, Rex?’

‘I’d be happy to talk to you. Do you have the time now, Katie? If so, perhaps we can spend a little time chatting before tea is served.’

Katie nodded, and sat down on the sofa; she placed the book on a nearby side table.

Rex lowered himself into a wing chair, and looked across at her expectantly, as if waiting for a question.

Katie asked, ‘If it’s not rude of me to ask, what led you to have such an interest in the Brontës?’

‘It’s not rude, it’s a perfectly normal question. I got interested in them because of my sister, Eleanor. Years ago, when she was still at school, she was making a study of them for a school paper, for an exam. I became…well, I suppose I became
intrigued.
’ Rex leaned forward slightly, his hands on his knees, his dark eyes full of quickening interest. ‘You see, Katie, I love a mystery, and it struck me all those years ago that the Brontës, as a family, were surrounded in mystery. And so I began
to read some of Eleanor’s books, and became even more fascinated. Studying them has been a quiet little hobby of mine off and on over the years.’

‘Are you in the literary field? I mean, are you a professor of literature? Something like that?’ Katie asked, wondering how he would answer. Her eyes were on him intently; Rex was a good-looking man with a narrow but well-defined face. He had high cheekbones, a broad brow, and a full head of dark hair turning grey at the sides, and brushed straight back; his wide-set black eyes sparkled with intelligence and humour. Tall, lean, with long legs, he was an elegantly-turned out man, his clothes casual, but obviously expensive.

After a moment, Rex said, ‘No, I’m not an academic. I work for the British government. I’m with the Foreign Office.’

‘Oh really, what do you do there?’

‘I’m in the information business…intelligence, you might call it.’

‘
Oh
,’ Katie exclaimed, wondering if she sounded as startled as she felt.

Rex began to laugh, his expression amused, those dark eyes more humorous than ever. ‘I’m quite certain that Xenia told you I’m a spy…a British agent. But that’s not true. I have an office job, I’m tied to a desk shuffling papers, not playing the trade of spy out in the field. Although Xenia loves the idea that I am. Anyway, in some ways, it’s a very boring job really.’

Katie laughed with him, and not wishing to betray her friend, she lied. ‘Oh no, Xenia didn’t discuss your work. She just told me you have a lot of knowledge about the Brontës. I think she hoped you might enlighten me a bit. I told you last night that I’m considering taking the role of Emily in the hit play
Charlotte and Her Sisters
, and you did say you’d seen it.’

Rex nodded, ‘Oh yes, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. And whilst I don’t want to influence you, I think I can say I enjoyed the play but wasn’t entirely satisfied with the way Emily was interpreted.’

‘What do you mean?’

Rex hesitated. After a moment’s careful reflection, he replied, ’Later I’ll give you a critique about the part of Emily as she is being re-created on the stage at the moment. But right now I think I ought to tell you a little about the Brontës, as
I
see them.’

She nodded. ‘I’m very grateful that you’re talking to me about them.’

He leaned back in the wing chair, and said, ‘From our talk last night, I realize you know a few things about them already.’

‘Yes, and Xenia filled me in a bit today.’

‘Then let me give you a quick summary of them as a family. The four children were close, yet also divided into two pairs. Charlotte and Branwell, and Emily and Anne. Although later, in their adult lives, Charlotte became truly awed by Emily’s immense gifts.
All four were extraordinarily talented writers and had the most vivid imaginations. Branwell was also a painter. In fact, he studied painting. He was a drunk, as no doubt you know, and eventually a drug addict. He took laudanum. He wasted his life and he died far too young. His three sisters had mixed feelings about him. They loved him, of course, but they were also awed, enraged, frightened, fascinated, and thrilled by him as his escapades kept coming to light, and latterly when debt-collectors gathered on their doorstep in Haworth they were fearful.’ Rex paused, cleared his throat, and finished. ‘To sum up, he was the proverbial black sheep of the family.’

‘And spoiled by his sisters, no doubt,’ Katie volunteered.

‘At times, yes. But not always. Their mother had died young, of tuberculosis, and the Rev. Brontë was somewhat of an absentee father, in that he was always in his church, writing his sermons or lost in his own thoughts. There was only Aunt Branwell to keep an eye on them when they were young. And Charlotte, but she was only a year older than Branwell. There wasn’t much difference in any of their ages, as a matter of fact, they were just over a year apart. Oh, except for Anne, who was almost two years younger than Emily.’

‘Charlotte was their…
promoter
I guess you could call it,’ Katie said. ‘The one who was out hustling, getting their work published.’

‘Yes, indeed. Charlotte was the eldest and by far the best novelist of the four of them, and the most prolific. However, Emily was the true genius, with six great epic poems and that one extraordinary novel to her credit. But Anne was also a good novelist and poet, and emotionally close to Emily. But getting back to Charlotte, she did act as their agent, in a sense, and she did get them published by first paying for a book of their poems to be printed. Only two copies were sold. But there was one review, a good one, and it was of Emily’s poetry, who was otherwise known as Ellis Bell. Anne being Acton Bell, and Charlotte was Currer Bell. You see, they did not want the world to know they were three sisters called Brontë.’

‘Yes, I knew about that.’

‘Charlotte pushed them all to write books which would sell, i.e. novels. She was very ambitious for them, wanted them all to do well in the world.’

‘But Emily didn’t care about that, did she?’

‘No. She herself made no effort to get her work published, or to gain public recognition.
Her
genuine anxiety was about
perfecting
her work. She was very committed to her writing, and in that way she was professional,’ Rex explained. ‘I believe she destroyed a lot of her writing for that reason. She was not satisfied with it. Especially after
Wuthering Heights
was published. And possibly Charlotte destroyed some of it after her death, protecting her sister’s privacy.’

‘What do you think of
Wuthering Heights
?’

‘Not what the world thinks, that’s a certainty!’ he exclaimed.

‘Would you tell me your opinion?’

‘The world sees it as a great love story. But it’s not that at all,’ Rex said. ‘Basically it’s a very violent book about revenge and hatred, about a Byronic hero, Heathcliff, getting his revenge on Cathy Earnshaw and the Earnshaws.’

‘I understand what you’re saying, but surely it’s a love story in a certain sense, isn’t it?’ Katie asserted, a brow lifting quizzically.

‘Not in the way we think of love stories, no,’ Rex answered. ‘It is so very violent, almost demonic, and sombre, dark. The so-called lovers are never united in physical passion. They are always celibate, although, to be honest, they are passionate in other ways. I believe it is a paean to death, as only Emily Brontë could write it, and a book of some complexity. It has energy, enormous narrative drive, and the most unique narrators in Nelly Dean and Mr Lockwood. I never tire of reading it again. It always gets to me.’

‘And Emily? What do you make of her?’

‘She was a relatively normal young woman,’ Rex said. ‘By that I mean she was fairly down to earth, practical. Her family and her friends said she was always homesick when she was away from Haworth. And this may well be true. But the truth is, she liked being at home doing the
housekeeping, because it
enabled her to make her own rules
, and she was able to slip away to write whenever she wanted. And that’s what
she
was all about, Katie. Homesick? Maybe. But in my opinion, she wanted to be in Haworth running the parsonage, instructing the domestic help in their duties, and
doing as she pleased.
You see, when Charlotte and Anne were away being governesses, and Branwell was working for the railway in Luddenden Foot, she was in charge of everything. She was the boss, and the boss spent most of her time writing.’

Katie smiled. ‘The selfish artist, is that what you’re saying?’

‘In a way, yes,’ Rex acceded. ‘To be successful as an artist, whether as a painter, writer or actor, there has to be dedication. And if that means being selfish, so be it. I came to these conclusions about Emily after reading Charlotte’s letters to her girlfriends Ellen Nussey and Mary Taylor, also Charlotte’s letters to Emily, and vice versa.’

‘Why do you think Emily was normal? What I mean is, she is always depicted as being odd, certainly enigmatic and mystical.’

‘I think she was those things, Katie,’ Rex was swift to assert. ‘But she was a normal young woman in that she could write a very matter-of-fact letter about her daily doings, sounding ordinary and happy, and yet earlier that same day she had spent hours writing high drama.
In other words, she got into the head and heart of a character, became that character during the time she was writing. But when she put down her pen and left her desk she became herself again, became Emily Jane Brontë, vicar’s daughter, running a house and looking after her father.’

‘I think perhaps I might have to reassess my ideas about Emily. For the play I mean.
If
I take the part.’

‘Oh you mustn’t turn it down, Katie. It’s perfect for you, I feel quite positive about that. I will make a few notes for you later,’ Rex said. ‘They will cut down on your reading, although I think you ought to read the Muriel Spark book about Emily. My notes will be something of a short cut, perhaps.’ He leaned forward, stared at her intently, and finished, ‘Please don’t turn down the part of Emily Brontë. I’ve only just met you, but I do have strong feelings about you playing her.’

He sounded so fervent as he said this that Katie said, ‘I did tell the producer I would do it. I just want to be sure of myself, sure I can portray Emily.’

‘You can, my dear.’

The door of the library opened and Rex jumped up at once as Verity came rushing into the room. ‘There you are, darling,’ he said as she hurried to his side. Embracing her, he hugged her to him tightly, and kissed the top of her silver-gilt hair.

Katie saw the look of love on his face, the warmth
and tenderness in those dark eyes, and she knew without question that these two were very close, extremely attached to each other, whatever Xenia thought.

Verity pulled away from Rex’s loving embrace, and smiling, she turned to Katie. ‘I hope Rex has been able to give you a few tips about Emily. He’s the great expert on the Brontës, you know.’

‘Not exactly!’ Rex laughed and shook his head.

‘Around these parts you are,’ Verity shot back, and said to Katie, ‘Xenia tells me you had a grand trip to Haworth but got rained out. Never mind, you probably saw more than enough to help you. Now, shall we all go up for tea?’

The cold spell that Pell, the gardener, had been predicting finally came to pass. Katie felt the terrible coldness in the front entrance hall when they went up the grand staircase together for tea.

Verity remarked about the sudden chilliness in the house as she pushed open the double doors and went into the Great High Chamber. ‘Cool on the outer fringes, but it’ll be warm enough by the fireplace, thank goodness,’ she said. ‘I’m quite certain of that. Pell’s promise of early frost has been fulfilled finally. I must say, that man’s usually right.’

‘Of course he is. He’s a dyed-in-the-wool countryman, ’ Rex responded. ‘You can always rely on them to pinpoint the weather every time. Harold, my mother’s
gardener at Great Longwood, is exactly the same way. I keep teasing him, suggesting he should be on the telly doing the weather spot.’

The big silver tea tray, and another tray of delicious sandwiches and pastries, had already been brought up by Jarvis, and placed on the big square coffee table in front of the fire. Verity took up her position near the teapot, and Rex sat down next to her, while Katie settled in an armchair immediately opposite them.

A moment later, Xenia came whirling into the room, and within seconds of her arrival Lavinia appeared in the doorway, looking as pretty as always. This afternoon she was dressed in a fire-engine-red wool jump suit and red ballerina slippers.

Verity poured the tea as usual, and Lavinia and Xenia passed the cups; they then offered around the tiny nursery sandwiches which were all different, filled with egg salad, potted meat, smoked salmon, cucumber or sliced tomatoes.