by James Tully
All I knew at the time though was that something was amiss between them, and that Miss Nussey seemed out of favour. None of that touched me though. I was out and about as much as possible that Summer, and Mr Nicholls was always all right with me – although some times more than others. We did not meet that often, but when we did it pleased me greatly, especially when he told me of things that were going on in the Parsonage that I should not otherwise have known of.
I never knew what Father or Mother knew or suspected at that time, or indeed later, but I well remember Father saying that I seemed very well informed about certain matters, and he asked me how I knew one particular thing. I cannot recall what it was, but I know I felt myself going red, and wondered whether I had been prattling overmuch. I told him that Miss Charlotte and Mr Brontë talked to me at times, but I do not think that he was deceived because, with a queer little smile, he asked me: ‘And does Mr Nicholls talk to you as well?’ In spite of myself, I felt my whole face and neck come afire – which was always my giveaway – but all I answered was ‘Sometimes’, and the matter passed off.
Then, yet again, the Summer was gone, and the leaves were blowing every whichway. There was the smell of Winter in the air, and soon we would be busy making plans for Christmas. There was never any reckoning Miss Charlotte though with the way she was, and so I should not have been so surprised when she said that she was off to Miss Nussey’s for a week – but I was. It was not that I minded – very much the other way – it was just that it came so sudden.
So off she went, and then Mr Brontë gave me word that she was going on to somewhere else from Miss Nussey’s and would not be back for at least another week. That left me in charge for longer than I had expected, and I made the most of it in more ways than one. What I could not understand, though, was why Mr Nicholls was in such a bad mood again, and there was no talking to him when he was like that.
I tried to get round him on the very few times we were alone, but his mind seemed elsewhere and he would have none of it and I really did not know what to think, or what he was talking about when once he snapped that he was not putting up with it any longer. I thought he was getting at me in some way, and I recall the tears filling up in my eyes, but he said that it was her that he was on about. He would say no more, but somehow I knew that there was going to be trouble before Christmas. What I never dreamed of, though, was how bad it would be, nor how much I would be affected.
[] The ‘young man’ who, Martha tells us, proposed to Charlotte was James Taylor, one of George Smith’s employees.
Charlotte had met Taylor first when he called at the Parsonage to collect the manuscript of Shirley, back in 1849. She did not trust the post, she said, and had asked if it could be collected. Perhaps she had the notion that George Smith would come in person, but it was obviously a prospect which did not appeal to him. All other considerations apart, a journey from London to the West Riding of Yorkshire was not something to be undertaken lightly. Taylor, therefore, was nominated for the chore, which was to be carried out on his way back to London from holiday.
He could not have been too enamoured with the idea either, and the thought of changing trains, and then having to hire some form of transport for the last four miles to Haworth, must have cast something of a cloud over his vacation. It would have been some consolation, I suppose, had he been able to look forward to a break at Haworth before resuming his journey, but Charlotte made it quite clear that that was out of the question. In her letter to Mr Williams dated 24 August, she told him that she ‘would with pleasure offer him [Taylor] the homely hospitalities of the Parsonage for a few days’ – and then went on to make every excuse under the sun for why that would not be possible. So poor Taylor arrived at the house, was given not only the manuscript but a great pile of books to add to his luggage, and was then bundled back on his tracks. It would no doubt have been an entirely different story had it been George Smith, but Charlotte was not having an employee stay at the Parsonage!
In the light of subsequent events, it is apparent that Taylor, an ambitious young man, very quickly summed up what he thought to be the situation. He saw a frustrated female, living in a frightful place miles from anywhere, and lacking congenial male company. Charlotte was Smith’s most successful female novelist, unattached, with more money than he was ever likely to make, and the potential for making more. In addition, he was very well aware that she was thirty-three years of age and, if the medical history of the family was anything to go by, unlikely to make old bones. All in all, he decided that she would be a good catch, and he entered into correspondence with her upon his return to London.
I find it rather amusing to note that one of the excuses which Charlotte made for not replying to his letter sooner was that she had ‘been kept more than usually engaged by the presence of a clergyman in the house.’ What had Arthur been up to?
Now, some two-and-a-half years later, a situation had arisen which caused James Taylor to act. Messrs Smith, Elder and Company had decided to send him to India for five years and apparently he asked Charlotte to marry and accompany him but, as Martha says, she declined. She evidently still had her matrimonial sights set on his employer, and her immediate sexual demands were satisfied by an apparently subservient Nicholls.
In view of this, she was clearly shaken when Nicholls went off to Ireland, because she actually mentioned him in a letter to Ellen, stating that he had asked himself to tea on the eve of his departure! In the normal course of events, one would never have expected her to waste time in writing about a mere curate – we have seen what she thought of the breed. Is it also not a little surprising that her father’s assistant could feel so sure of a welcome that he had no misgivings about inviting himself? Had there not been something between him and Charlotte he would have received very short shrift from her for his temerity. I find this little slip of hers quite revealing. Normally she kept Nicholls out of her correspondence completely, and misled everyone with her flirtations with Smith and Taylor. Now, however, the thought of Arthur leaving was so traumatic that she allowed the veil to slip a little. She had detected that all was not well with him, and wondered what he had in mind.
Nicholls left Haworth during the last week in July, and spent almost six weeks away. Charlotte continued to be affected by his absence, so much so that she could not prevent herself from telling Ellen when he was due back. It was a lip-gnawing time for her, because she could not be sure about what he was doing in Ireland, nor indeed whether he intended to return. If he did not, she had no idea what she would do, because without him she faced a very bleak future. In her heart of hearts, she feared that George Smith would never marry her – especially as his mother did not think very highly of her – and Taylor was in India for five years. No, without Nicholls all she would have to look forward to was a dreary existence at the Parsonage, enlivened only by holidays and the occasional visitor.
However, and to her great relief, Nicholls did come back, and things continued as before, although if he was discontented when he left he was positively querulous about returning to the old routine. Ireland had made him more unsettled than ever.
During October and November 1851, and just as Martha recorded, the entire household was affected by illness and Charlotte was tied to the Parsonage. She began to write her novel Villette, but became quite ill with what the doctor was said to have diagnosed, mysteriously, as a ‘highly sensitive and irritable condition of the liver’. There is good reason to suppose that Nicholls may have been to blame for that – maybe even trying out a poison that he had obtained in Ireland, and was new to him. There are many accounts of habitual poisoners employing this practice in order to discover the effects of different doses of fresh substances.
In the New Year of 1852 she was very ill, and told Ellen that she had been ‘brought to a sad state’. She blamed her indisposition on the pills prescribed by the doctor which, she said, contained mercury. Be that as it may, her mouth and tongue were ulcerated. The doctor, a Dr Ruddock, stat
ed that ‘he never in his whole practice knew the same effect produced by the same dose on man – woman or child . . .’ – but then he had never had a patient who was receiving additional ‘treatment’ from Nicholls!
Charlotte must have had her suspicions of Nicholls, as she knew that if he disposed of her he would be a free man, but apart from being very careful about what she ate or drank, what could she do? Eventually, and very wisely, she decided to get away from him and the Parsonage. At the end of January she went to stay with Ellen Nussey for a fortnight and, probably as she had anticipated, made a complete – and somewhat miraculous – recovery. Then it was back to Haworth and Villette for four months. She could be very single-minded when money was in prospect!
At the end of May she had another break, and crept off quietly and apparently alone to Filey for a whole month. That has often made me wonder whether she was there – well for the whole period anyway, in view of Martha’s statement that Nicholls disappeared mysteriously for three days during that time. It would have been an ideal opportunity for her and Nicholls to have spent some time together away from prying eyes, and would explain why she went without telling Ellen. Certainly it was unusual for Charlotte to be staying away completely on her own and, equally certainly, Nicholls was very much in her thoughts during that first week.
In a letter to her father, and in the full knowledge of how much he disliked his assistant, she mentioned Nicholls no less than three times! That, I consider, is a clear indication of how full of him her mind was. She went on and on about him, telling Mr Brontë how she would like Mr Nicholls to see a church which she had visited – and that Mr Nicholls would have ‘laughed out’ at the behaviour of the singers and the congregation – and ended by asking him to give Mr Nicholls her ‘kind regards’.
One can but imagine the unholy thoughts which Mr Brontë may have had about that request, but surely it must have occurred to him that his daughter seemed rather obsessed with his assistant?
We shall never know whether the pair of them did, in fact, meet at Filey, but it would have been a good opportunity for them to sort out their differences, because there can be no doubt but that their relationship was at a crucial stage. As Martha has told us, Nicholls did not seem at all contented with his lot. He was idle, and not at all ambitious, and in normal circumstances he would have jogged along, from curacy to curacy, until he acquired his own living and a suitable wife. However, things had not been normal for him since he had set foot in Haworth: he had murdered two people, but had gained nothing – not even peace of mind. The years were slipping away, and he was trapped in a miserable place, at the beck and call of an unattractive little woman – and unable to pursue any other. He would not be able to take up any better post that might become available, and was therefore condemned to a life of near penury. On the other hand, however, Charlotte had a great deal of money. She was able to gad about at will, whilst he was left as nursemaid to her father, in addition to carrying out many of the parochial duties for which the old man, not he, was paid.
Nicholls could see no way out except one, but he did not really want another death on his conscience if it could be avoided.
For her part, Charlotte wanted little more than for the situation to continue unchanged, but she realized that something was amiss with her lover and was probably rather fearful of him, especially if she suspected that he had poisoned her. She still had lingering hopes of marrying ‘well’, but until that time Nicholls was convenient. One thing had surprised her though; she had discovered that she was just a little jealous when he disappeared to Ireland, and now, despite the hold which she had over him, she felt a pressing need to discover what was wrong and how he could be placated.
Another major source of contention was her friendship with Ellen Nussey. I have no doubt that Ellen had long suspected what was going on between Charlotte and Nicholls. She had visited the Parsonage on many occasions, and it would have been impossible for her not to have noticed the little signs which betrayed their intimacy.
She had already begun to hint at the possibility that someone other than Charlotte – and she could only have been making a veiled reference to Nicholls – was reading the letters which she sent to the Parsonage, and immediately a nerve was touched. Charlotte was most indignant. On 25 August, she wrote to Ellen and assured her that ‘there is certainly no one in this house or elsewhere to whom I should show your notes.’ She went on to say that if she appeared to write with restraint it was because she had nothing to say. Ellen would not have been deceived by that, however. She knew that Charlotte always had something to ramble on about.
On 5 October, Charlotte wrote to Ellen refusing yet another invitation to stay with her, and expressing the vague hope that when they met next it would be at Haworth. Then, and within only four days, there was an incredible volte-face and Charlotte was literally begging her friend to come.
We can but speculate upon what brought about that abrupt change of mind. Charlotte was a very determined lady who rarely changed her mind about anything. I have the feeling that the whole business is symptomatic of the emotional volcano which was concealed from the world by the seemingly placid facade of Parsonage life.
Chapter Twelve
‘I have chosen thee in the furnace of affliction.’
Isaiah 48:10
Mr Nicholls seemed to get worse the longer Madam was away and so, for the first time ever, I was almost pleased when she came back. Oddly enough, though, they seemed to want nothing to do with each other, and I was driven to wonder what was going on.
I knew that Mr Nicholls was not happy about her keeping on going away, leaving him to, as he put it, ‘wet nurse’ her father, but I just could not fathom what else was wrong between them.
Since Miss Anne’s death he had become quite a regular visitor to the Parsonage, especially when she was away – which came to be more and more often. At those times it had become his custom to spend an hour with the old man each evening just before Mr Brontë went to bed, and slowly it became his habit even when she was at home. The only difference then was that he sometimes joined her once her father was tucked up and out of the way – but I did not know that for certain until much later.
Neither did I know then what I am able to set down now – all this came to light only when Mr Nicholls felt sure of me, and told me no end of things.
It seems that he had been very unhappy with his life for a long time, but could do nothing to change things because of the hold that Madam had over him. When she was away he was spending night after night without sleep for worrying what she was up to. He was not at all sure that she would not let something out to somebody, if only by chance, and seemingly he was always fearful that her money might gain her a husband, and the money would then go to him, whereas Mr Nicholls would have had naught but her silence – if that – in spite of all he had gone through to please her.
In the end it came to him that he should wed her himself. He told me that when the notion first came to his mind he almost laughed out loud at it, but then, as he thought about it, he saw that he had much to gain and little to lose if he did so. Not only would he have her silence for as long as she lived, but all her money would become his. Also he would no longer have to put up with hole-and-corner meetings, and he would be the one in charge which would leave him nicely placed to take over the parish when old Mr Brontë popped his clogs.
The more he thought on it the more he liked the idea. Although it would not be as he had hoped his life would turn out, nor would she be the bride he had pictured for himself, nevertheless beggars could not be choosers. All in all, he made up his mind that he would do it.
When he told me what his thoughts had been all those years before, I asked him if he had ever had a mind to the chance that she would turn him down. He said that he had given much thought to that as well, and had then made up his mind that if she did – and just wanted things to stay as they were – he would have none of it and she would have had to have done her worst.
/> Seemingly his reasoning went something like this – if she did make up her mind to tell on him it would be only her word against his, and he would have to take his chance. If things looked black for him he would go to Australia – which was something he had often considered anyway, and long before his troubles came upon him – or go back to Ireland and take ship from there to America.
Anyway, he made up his mind to have it out with her when she came back – but then he could not get to speak to her when she did. He told me that all he could think was that she must have known he was angry with her when she went away, and then when she decided to stay longer she must have had it in her mind that that would make him worse. Whatever the reason, when she came back she had tried to keep out of his way and that had displeased him. He tried to speak to her to arrange a meeting, but she always said that they would do that later – and then there was always an excuse.
In the end, after 3 days of being put off in such a manner, he made up his mind that he would see her, by her leave or no, and so he invited himself when he knew that she would be at tea and on her own.
After he told me that, I cast my mind back and then I knew why she had been so put out at that time. I recalled him coming to the Parsonage and asking me if she was having her tea. When I said that she was he did not say another word, but almost pushed past me and went in and slammed the door. I heard her say something out loud, and then she came out so quickly that I had not had time to get back to the kitchen. Without so much as a ‘Please’ or ‘Thank you’, she just snapped at me that Mr Nicholls would be joining her, and that I should bring extra things for him, and then she was back in the room and the door slammed again.
When I had made up a little tray for him I tapped on the door and went in. They were both sitting with faces set and saying not a word, and I got no reply when I said something or other, and not even a ‘Thank you’, so I just went out again – giving the door a little slam of my own.