The World Within (10 page)

Early the next morning Emily’s woken by an unfamiliar noise. Bleary-eyed and puzzled, she listens. Of course! It’s Grasper, shut up downstairs and whining and scratching at the door.

Throwing on her clothes, she goes quietly downstairs. The sky is just becoming light and no one else seems to be stirring, not even Tabby — the house is freezing. She’s glad to get into the kitchen where the fire, left banked up all night, is glowing. She stops to say hello to Tiger, who’s keeping a wary eye on the door to the back kitchen.

When she opens the door, careful not to let the tin bath that’s hanging on it clatter, Grasper jumps up at her and barks a greeting.

“Shush, there’s a good boy,” she murmurs, mindful of Tabby sleeping in her narrow room overhead.

She lets Grasper out at the back and stands watching him, her arms folded tight to stop herself shivering. After racing round a couple of times, he begins a serious investigation of the yard, sniffing at everything and cocking his leg against the privy, to Emily’s delight. “Clever boy,” she says quietly to herself.

“What’s he doing?”

Emily jumps at the sound of Anne’s voice and frowns. She’d wanted to enjoy this moment by herself.

Reluctantly she makes space for Anne beside her in the doorway.

“I heard him bark,” Anne whispers.

“Did he wake Aunt?”

Anne shakes her head. “I don’t think anyone else heard him. Or if they did, they’re not getting up.”

Emily relaxes. Better Anne than Branwell — he’d never be able to keep quiet.

A wild idea springs into her head. “Why don’t we take him up on the moor? I think he’d love it.”

Anne’s eyes widen. “You mean now? By ourselves?”

“Why not? There’ll be no one about at this hour, and anyway, he’ll protect us.”

“But it’s freezing.”

“The sun’s coming up. And we can put warm things on — oh, but you don’t want to alert Aunt. I know, you can have my thick shawl. We’ll be all right as long as we keep moving.”

“Won’t we get into frightful trouble?”

Emily shakes her head decisively. “We’ll be back in time for prayers — they won’t even know we’ve been out. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

For all her bravado, once they’re outside Emily feels rather anxious about the responsibility of bringing Grasper with them, though she’ll never admit it to Anne.

She daren’t let him loose. What if he runs off and they can’t catch him? Papa has made the dog a temporary collar from a strip of canvas, promising to get him a fine brass one as soon as he goes to Keighley. Emily has threaded a longish rope through the canvas to use as a lead, but Grasper keeps pulling on it, wanting to rush ahead.

She calls his name and she’s tremendously pleased when, after a few goes, he finally comes back to her. She makes a fuss of him and gives him a morsel of the cheese she’s secreted in her pocket. When they set off again, she keeps the rope short and he stops pulling and seems content to walk beside her.

Whoever had him before must have taught him to do this, which is a relief to know. She wonders if his old owners are missing him. Well, if they are it’s their own fault — they should have taken better care of him.

Soon they come to the edge of the common; ahead of them lies the broad sweep of the moors. They stop and Emily gazes at the landscape before them, as if she’s never seen it until now.

In a sense she hasn’t, not at daybreak anyway. In this early light everything looks different, fresh and new. She breathes in deeply, expanding her lungs and feeling the cold air course through her, invigorating every part of her.

Smoke is already rising from the chimneys of scattered farms and a crowing cockerel is answered by another farther down the valley. The grass is stiff with frost and icicles glisten in the becks, but the sun is warm on her back.

Emily breaks into a grin of happiness. She’s always enjoyed their walks, though not so much since Charlotte went away, because it’s been strange without her sister.

But this is different.

Tabby usually sticks to well-trodden, familiar paths, warning them away from the “muck,” the marshy places. She also likes to keep her eye on them, so she doesn’t like them to wander far. But today, out here alone for the very first time, and unsupervised, they can do exactly as they like, go wherever they please.

She has never felt so free.

She glances sideways at Anne. Her sister seems to have overcome her doubts and is looking about her.

Gesturing at a rocky outcrop, Emily says, “Do you remember Tabby’s story? About the elves living there and shooting arrows to harm the cows?”

“Oh yes. And we used to put bilberries on a leaf for them, didn’t we? We were sure they would take them.” Anne sounds a little wistful, as if she would still like to think the little people existed.

Emily smiles down at her. Anne is such a baby sometimes.

But Charlotte would never have agreed to this early morning adventure. Perhaps Anne isn’t nearly as timid or law-abiding as they all suppose. And it’s peaceful to be with her like this. Charlotte and Branwell are always full of ideas and arguments, but so far this morning Anne has let her alone to think her own thoughts. It’s part of the wonderful sense of space she’s had from the moment they set foot on the moor.

She looks at her little sister speculatively. It might not be so bad to have Anne for a companion. Just for now, until Charlotte comes back.

The dog stops to sniff at a clump of moor grass and Emily calls him. “Come on, Grasper. If you’re not careful, the elves will get you.”

And as they press on up the path, she begins to whistle a loud, cheery tune.

They are late for prayers and Aunt is very cross with Emily.

“What on earth possessed you to take your little sister out into the cold? You know how susceptible to asthma she is. Do you want to make her ill?”

Emily, who hadn’t given a thought to Anne’s asthma, is stricken with guilt. How could she have forgotten? The nights she’s heard Anne wheezing across the hall, fighting to get her breath; the severe attacks that bring Dr. Andrew with his leech jar; Anne’s patient endurance when the leeches fasten themselves onto her bare arms and suck until they’re fat with her blood.

Emily studies Anne. She doesn’t look ill this morning — her cheeks are pink and her eyes are bright.

Putting his finger under Anne’s chin, Papa tilts her face up so he can see it properly. He smiles. “I don’t think she’s come to any harm.”

Emily breathes again.

Aunt sets off on another tack, scolding her for leading Anne into danger by going off without a chaperone, especially out onto the moors, “where anything might happen.”

Papa shakes his head. “They put me in mind of myself as a lad. I delighted in going off alone to ramble in the Mountains of Mourne. It’s in their blood, the love of nature” — he nods at Emily and Anne — “so there’s no denying it. I know.”

“But you were a
boy
,” Aunt protests. “It’s different for girls.”

Papa shrugs. “With the dog, they’re safe enough.”

Emily and Anne look at each other with secret delight. However much Aunt may huff and puff about it, they take this as Papa giving them permission to go out on their own if they want.

“And if you happen to find yourselves over Ponden Hall way,” adds Papa, “Mr. Heaton was saying only the other day that you’re welcome to borrow books from his library at any time.”

“His library! Have you seen it, Papa?” asks Emily.

“That I have not, but seeing as he’s so proud of it, it
might
be worth seeing.” There’s a twinkle in Papa’s eye as he says this. Several times he’s told them of libraries he’s been invited to admire on his parish visits, which turn out to consist of a few dog-eared volumes on a windowsill.

Emily’s not sure about this invitation. Mr. Heaton, a mill owner and a trustee of the church, is a wealthy man, so he can easily afford books. If his collection really amounts to a library, it could be wonderful to be able to borrow books from it. But what if his taste runs to volumes about manufacturing or field sports? Besides, to visit the library would mean encountering the Heaton family. She knows them from church, of course, but she wouldn’t want to have to
speak
to them.

On the whole, she’s inclined not to accept Mr. Heaton’s offer.

As spring advances and the weather improves, Emily and Anne take every opportunity to slip away together with Grasper, either very early in the morning, taking care to be back in time for prayers, or after tea when Aunt is safely out of the way in her room and the mild evenings lure them farther afield.

Emily is enormously grateful to Grasper for this unexpected change in her life.

For a while now she’s been finding some aspects of their daily routine stultifying — always the same chores to be done, meals to be eaten at the appointed time, and the deadly hours of sewing. She likes to blame Aunt for the rigid schedule, though, to be fair, she knows that Papa, for all his sense of fun and adventure, prefers a quiet and regular life, and since his illness this has been even more true. If Emily and Branwell start one of their arguments, at once Aunt emerges from her room to shush them.

Even when they are left to their own devices, which happens a lot, especially in the mornings or the evenings when Papa has parish work to attend to, Branwell and Charlotte (before she went away) have always been in charge, deciding what they would do.

Grasper’s arrival has given her the freedom to roam the moors, and out here, she realizes, she feels more able to be herself. Without Aunt forever badgering her to be ladylike or Tabby warning her to mind herself, she can stride up rocky knolls, leap across becks, and whistle to her heart’s content.

She loves Grasper for giving her this and, as she gets to know him better, she begins to love him for himself as well. He’s always so good-humored and has such a zest for life. And he seems to relish being out of doors as much as she does. Now that she’s confident about letting him off the lead, she enjoys watching him chase after birds or snuffing about eagerly in the heather, and when she calls him he always comes running back with his tail wagging and a great grin on his face, as if he’s really pleased to see her.

It warms her heart to know that she is loved so simply and completely.

On their expeditions, Emily also gets to know Anne, learning things about her sister that she never knew.

For instance, she discovers that Anne is very observant. Whereas Charlotte admires distant vistas and sweeping views, Anne notices what is close at hand and might be overlooked. It’s Anne who spots the first primroses growing in the shelter of an overhanging bank. It’s Anne who suddenly stoops and stands up again, triumphantly waving a pheasant’s long tail feather. And it’s Anne who one evening comes to an abrupt halt and lays a restraining hand on Emily’s arm.

Without a word she creeps off into the heather, removing her shawl as she goes. She crouches down and Emily can’t see what she’s doing, but very soon she returns carrying something carefully in both hands.

“Oh,” Emily breathes. “A kestrel.”

Wrapped up in Anne’s shawl, it stares at them with unblinking eyes.

Emily admires its gleaming beak — a perfect cruel curve.