by James Tully
I looked more closely and saw that the papers were thick, such as I had seen only in important letters and the Church papers with seals on that Mr Brontë sometimes had on his table; so I knew that what was in front of me was of some moment. It was no good – I could not sign such a paper without knowing what it was all about and so I told Mr Nicholls that I needed to read it first. That, though, was not at all to his liking. He took up the papers quickly and just looked at me hard with his mouth pursed in such a way that I knew he was cross with me. We just looked at each other for what seemed the longest time, but was probably only a minute or two, then, with a grim smile, he said that it was his wife’s Will. He went on to say that that was all I needed to know, but he would tell me in secret that it got him out of an agreement that he had been made to sign and she was leaving everything to him.
He put the papers before me again and this time I had a close look at where I was supposed to sign and saw that I would be putting my name as a witness to having seen Madam sign the paper. There was what looked like her signature, and I found that Mr Brontë had already signed as a witness, although I knew that he had not seen her sign it. Knowing how Mr Brontë regarded Mr Nicholls, I wondered how he had come to do so, but I thought that if he had felt able to sign then there was no good reason why I should not – so I did, but not without some worries about whether I was doing the right thing.
As soon as I laid the pen down Mr Nicholls took up the papers again and waved them about to dry the ink. Whilst he was doing so, he told me to say naught to anyone about it and he would see to it that I did not suffer for my pains. He kissed me gently, and I knew then that I would do anything for him as long as I was sure that I meant anything to him – and I was. The way he held me, I dare say that the kiss could have led on to other things there and then, but my sisters were waiting and so, much against my feelings, I drew back from him and said that I had to go.
From that moment on things between Mr Nicholls and Madam changed totally.
As far as Mr Nicholls went, he began to act very oddly, and was out of the house more than he was in. I often wondered where he went and what he was about, for he seemed always to have a queer look on his face and spent far less time with Madam than before. Sometimes he left her almost totally alone for days, except for seeing to some of her meals and washing some of her cups and plates. There were no more long talks between them – in fact I never heard even a kind word come out of him to her – and Madam became more and more down. She seemed to live for his visits, and sometimes when I was in her room and he came with her tray I saw her face light up in such a way that I almost felt sorry for her.
I did not, though, because she was slowly wearing me down even more than she had done when she was up and about. At that time I was having to do nearly everything for her, and the washing and cleaning alone was taking up nearly all of my days. It was work that was in no way to my liking, and I told Mr Nicholls so, but his only answer was that I should put up with it for a little while longer and all would be worthwhile.
That, of course, got me to thinking again of what he might be about, and I am sure now that Madam must have felt the same. I had thought the matter of the horse very odd, and I had sensed that she did too. Now I saw that all the talking that had been going on between them must have been about the Will, and surely that must have made her think all the more, especially as he got ready some of the things that she ate and drank. But even with that, and on top of her knowing what had happened to Master Branwell and probably Miss Emily, the silly woman had somehow allowed herself to be talked into leaving everything she had to him, and so giving him a very good reason to get rid of her.
I made up my mind that I would try to keep an eye on him whenever he was in the kitchen and so I started to do things differently. Up till then I had told him when the food was ready, and had then gone elsewhere whilst he fussed with getting the tray just right before taking it up. Now, though, I took to doing jobs in the kitchen whilst he was there.
It was plain that he did not like that, and he would send me on little errands to get me out of the way for a few minutes. That could not go on though, and I was usually there, but working in such a way that it must have seemed to him that I could not see what he was doing all the while. I managed a sly look his way every now and then though, but it was a little while before I saw anything untoward, and even then I could not swear to what was going on.
He always had his back to me, and all I saw was his arm and elbow go up as if to the pocket of his waistcoat. Then they went down again and I saw the elbow move about a bit – as if something was being shaken or stirred – before the same raising of the arm and elbow as there had been at the outset. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him looking at me over his shoulder before he began busying himself with getting the things on the tray to his liking. I witnessed that several times, and even though, as I have said, I could not swear to it in a Court of Law, I knew in my own mind what he was up to and I wondered if I should do anything about it.
I thought and I thought, but always it came back to me that I should do naught. After all, I was not sure of what was going on, and my feelings for him were such that I could never get him into trouble. Even if I had gone to Father and he to the Justices, I doubt whether they would have taken my word against his. In any case, what would there have been in it for me? Mr Nicholls had shown me naught but kindness and affection, whereas Madam had made my life a total misery at times over the years, especially when I was naught but a slip of a girl. I had never liked her, whereas I had been drawn to Mr Nicholls from the moment I first saw him, and I had his promise that I would come out of everything well.
Mind you, I did not know what exactly he meant by that, but I had my dreams and I was not willing to put them to one side, and also open myself up to all kinds of bother by pointing the finger at him. In the end I made up my mind, once and for all, that I would side with him come what may.
At times, though, that was easier said than done, because she really was sinking fast and there were times when it was nigh impossible not to feel sorry for her and for me to harden myself against her. By the end of February she was just skin and bone, and being sick all the while and with her bowels very loose. There was blood mixed in with whatever came away from her and I knew that she could not go on much longer like that. As I have said, sometimes her looks were so piteous that I could have taken her in my arms and comforted her, but I just thought on and let her be.
It was about that time that Mr Nicholls took to sleeping in the little room next door that had been Miss Emily’s, and I could not blame him for that because it sometimes made me feel sick just to go into the big bedroom. He explained it away by saying that he was getting no sleep with her tossing and turning and moaning. That meant, though, that there was no one with her all night, and on some mornings I just dreaded what I would find when I went in to her.
Mr Nicholls, for his part, seemed to go near her as little as possible now, and to my mind it was evident that things could not go on like that for much longer. I said as much to him, and told him that I thought that she should have a night nurse, but he would have none of it and turned to go, but I was set on having it out.
What I had said was not out of concern for her but for me. It did not bother me if she was on her own all night, but what did upset me was having to wash her, be at her beck and call for the smallest thing and clean up that awful stinking room in the mornings. He had said that he was not willing to take on a nurse, so I asked him why, then, could he not get me another girl to help me with the bedroom work? I looked at him straight and wondered what he would say, but I did not have to wait more than an instant for his answer. Straightaway he said that he would see to it, and with that he was off.
The girl that he got was such a little mite though that I could not give her such work to do. Instead I took an older girl from downstairs and started the new one in much the same way as Miss Aykroyd had taught me.
Life no
w became a little more bearable for me but, as the weeks dragged on, Madam just got worse and worse. Mr Nicholls hardly went near her and nor did I. Apart from doing what had to be done first thing in the morning, I kept away as much as possible and took no heed of any shouts or banging down. What was going on was none of my business.
What got me to thinking, though, was why there were no letters or callers for her. I would have thought that, surely, if only for the looks of it – because I do not think that anybody really liked her – folk would have been asking how she was, and certainly I had expected Miss Nussey to come over long before this, even though her and Mr Nicholls did not get on. But no one came, not even a doctor by then, and she just lay there day after day, mostly on her own except for when Mr Nicholls took her food and Mr Brontë was able to get up to see her.
I was not at all surprised, then, when early on a Saturday morning – that was the last day in March as I recall – I was shaken by Mr Nicholls who told me that she had died in the night. He looked tired and grim, but not put out, if you know what I mean, and we exchanged no words of sadness at her passing – for the truth of the matter was that we were both glad she was gone. Instead, he put his arm around my shoulders and gave me a little hug, and then went off on some errand. For my part, I was up and into her room as fast as my legs could carry me. I knew that Miss Anne’s book must be in that room somewhere, and I had made up my mind to have it.
When I got to the door, though, I must say that I stopped for a moment before going in because I did not really want to see her dead, but then I nerved myself and opened the door. However, the sight that met me was not at all what I was prepared for. There was no body there, the windows were wide open, all the bed-sheets and coverings and the palliasse were tossed in a pile in the corner, and the rest of the room looked as if a gale had swept through it. All her clothes were higgledy-piggledy, her boxes were open with things hanging over the sides, and her writing-desk had been brought up from downstairs and now lay unfolded on the floor with her papers strewn about and a secret drawer open and empty.
It was as plain as the nose on my face that somebody – and it could only have been Mr Nicholls – had been looking for something and I wondered what it was. As far as I knew, he did not know of Miss Anne’s book and so it could not have been that, but I wondered if he had found it by chance during his search.
I did not really know where to start looking for it myself, for everything was in such a mess, but before I began I went to the little room where Mr Nicholls had been sleeping and there, on his bed – and as I had expected – was what I took to be her body, covered with a sheet. Then, although it was not something that I really wanted to do, I felt that I just had to have a last look at the woman who had given me so many hard times over the years. I drew the sheet down from her face very slowly, and even though I had been afeared at what I would see I was really taken aback at the sight that met my eyes, because there was none of the peace of death that I had heard so much about. Her head was little more than a skull with very little hair on it, her eyes were wide open and staring at me, and her lips were drawn back as if she was ready to leap up and bite me. Never do I wish to see such a sight again, but it still comes back to me from time to time.
Quickly I pulled the sheet back up. I found that I was shaking, and my first thought was to get out of there as soon as I could – but I did not. Instead, I had a good look through Mr Nicholls’ things – very carefully, and putting them back as I had found them. Mainly I wanted to see if Miss Anne’s book was there, but I was always inquisitive and also going through his things gave me much pleasure. As it happened, I found little of moment although I was very pleased to find the pocket-book that I had given him years before wrapped in a silk kerchief at the bottom of a trunk.
I did not find Miss Anne’s book though, and so I left and after having a quick splash and getting dressed I hurried downstairs for a cup of tea to settle my mind after what I had seen. Then I went back upstairs and started to put the big bedroom to rights. First I took all the bedclothes downstairs and emptied the palliasse out the back for the straw to be burned. Then I set about hanging her clothes where they should have been and tidying up generally – but all the while I was keeping an eye out for Miss Anne’s book, not knowing whether or not I was on a fool’s errand and Mr Nicholls had it already.
It took a long time, but I did find it, though it was simply by chance, and when I came across it I knew why Mr Nicholls had not – if, indeed, that was what he had been looking for.
My find came about like this. When I had put everything away, I began to sweep the room – moving things as I went. I must say that I did so quickly and not very gently because I was so vexed at not finding the book, and also I wanted the job over and done with as soon as I could so that I could have a little breakfast before seeing what else was to be done and how Mr Brontë was. So I knocked the broom very hard into corners, without heeding the paintwork as I usually did – not that that mattered very much anyway as it was so bad – but when I came to a corner from where I had pulled the bed out a small part of the board that skirted the room came away – and out fell the book!
That bedroom had been made a little bigger a few years before, and Mr Brontë had gone on about the shoddy workmanship of the men who did it – in fact he had had them back twice at least to put some things right. Because of that, I was not at all surprised to see that this small bit of board seemed not to have as many nails as there were holes for them, so it came away easily. It had covered a lovely little hiding place that Madam must have found at the time, for there was the book. I had a look and a bit of a feel round in the space to see if anything else was hidden there. There was not, so I just picked up the book, hid it under my apron and took it to my room. Later, when I popped home, I went out the back and wrapped it in an old bit of canvas and then hid it in the little shed where the kindling was kept – Madam was not the only one to have her own little hidey-hole!
Having the book made a great deal of difference to how I felt. Even though I thought such a lot of him, I did not really know what Mr Nicholls’ true feelings for me were, nor what he had in mind for me, but now I had the means to bend him to my will if need be.
After her death there was a great deal of talk in the village, and I was really surprised to find how few folk had known how bad she was. It seemed that Mr Nicholls had told no one, and Father in particular was very much up in arms about it for, although I had told him, I do not think that it had sunk in as to how poorly she really was.
He said to us, and others, that in his post as Sexton he would have thought that he would have been told by Mr Nicholls or Mr Brontë how bad things were. He also went on and on about there being no postmortem examination by the doctors, and said that too many folk to do with the Parsonage had died in such a short while that he could not, for the life of him, understand why nobody else could see that something was amiss. Mother told him to hush, lest he found himself in trouble, but he did not listen to her and only stopped when someone at the Lodge warned him in like fashion. When Mother told us of that I was pleased, for I did not wish to see Mr Nicholls harmed in any way, and by then it was all water under the bridge anyway and no one could bring them back.
I did not go to the funeral. Even had I been asked I could not have brought myself to have done so, and I must say I wondered how Mr Nicholls, a so-called man of God, could have gone into the Church with so much blood on his hands, so to speak. He did though – well I do not suppose he could have stayed away really – and I was told that he moved many folk to tears by what he said to them – but that did not surprise me at all because he always was such a lovely talker. For my part, I stayed at the Parsonage and saw to it that the food and drink was all in order for the Wake.
It was so quiet and peaceful in the house once the funeral was over and done with. Mr Brontë hardly moved out of his room anyway, and with only him and Mr Nicholls to look after my days were much easier and more pleasing than they had
ever been – especially with not having her sharp tongue going on and on, and her poking and prying with her eyes everywhere. The weather was getting better by the day as well, and so I started the Spring cleaning a bit earlier than usual. I had all the windows opened, except those in Mr Brontë’s rooms, and saw to it that the house was cleaned, scrubbed and polished from top to bottom until it smelled sweeter than ever it had.
As for me and Mr Nicholls, I find it very hard to put into words how happy we were with her gone. Now we could make love more or less whenever and wherever we liked, and I found out how much better it was in a bed. We were even able to have some meals together, and I felt quite the lady of the house – it was almost as if we were wed.
All the while, though, I wondered what he had it in mind to do now that he was free of her and had her money. I half-expected that he would up and go back to Ireland and so, after a couple of weeks, I asked him straight out what he was going to do.
He must have been waiting for me to say something, for he did not seem a bit surprised and said that he had been going to tell me anyway. With a smile, he said that the way things were now suited him well, and that he saw no reason to leave unless I wanted him out of the way. That made me burst out laughing, which I suppose was not really right in the light of all that had happened in that house, but I was so happy that I was like to have died with joy.
Of course, I still had my secret dream that some day he and I would wed, but for the time being I was more than content to leave things be and see what would happen next.
[] As there is no evidence of a pregnancy, and having disposed of that myth, we may now attempt to discover what really ailed Charlotte.