The Triumph of Katie Byrne

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  ‘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. Th
is 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.

  Katie loved the little sandwiches, which Xenia had told her were invented here in the British nursery years before, but limited herself to one of egg salad, another of smoked salmon, and a third of potted meat. Even though Rex urged her to make it a round figure of six at least, she resisted the temptation.

  She then sat back, munching on the sandwiches, enjoying the marvellous warmth of the big roaring fire, the comfort and cosiness of this lovely old room. And it was cosy, despite its grand size. Her thoughts jumped around in her head as she reviewed the last couple of days, and she realized that she had been busy every minute. Today had probably been her most fruitful, in regards to her work, because of the visit to Haworth and then her discussion of the Brontës with Rex.

  She stole a quick look at him. Katie thought Rex Bellamy was a nice man, and she liked him a lot. Just as she liked everyone in this room, even though they were all a bit odd, in their own way. It seemed to Katie that each of them had some kind of secret. She laughed inwardly. Didn’t everyone have secrets of some sort? Skeletons in the closet?

  Katie brought her attention back to Xenia, and her ears pricked up when she heard her friend say, ‘I’ve no idea where it is, Rex. I looked for it last night, actually. I wish we could run it. Laurence Olivier is great as Heathcliff and Merle Oberon is a most beautiful Cathy Earnshaw. Odd, but she didn’t look chichi, which she was, of course.’

  ‘What’s chichi?’ Lavinia asked.

  ‘Anglo-Indian,’ Rex answered.

  Xenia went on, ‘At times one has the feeling bits of it were shot on the Hollywood backlot, but for the most part it has great authenticity.’

  ‘Are you talking about the film of Wuthering Heights?’ Katie asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Verity replied. ‘We have a video of it, but apparently it’s been lost. Anyway, why watch it, since Xenia just put the kibosh on it.’

  ‘No, I didn’t!’ Xenia exclaimed. ‘And it’s a classic now. Certainly it’s a hundred times better than those awful remakes of the last few years. Nobody ever gets it right, you know.’

  ‘I would’ve loved to have seen it,’ Katie murmured, sounding disappointed.

  ‘I think I know where the video is,’ Lavinia announced, standing up as she spoke. ‘I’m sure I saw it on a shelf in the library, and not long ago either.’

  ‘The library! What on earth is it doing there? I always keep the videos in the study off my office,’ Verity said, sounding puzzled.

  ‘I know I saw it in the library,’ Lavinia cried, and went out. She was obviously intent on retrieving it, not listening to Verity, who was telling her to look for it later.

  ‘Have you never seen the film, Katie?’ Rex asked. ‘Not ever?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, I haven’t, but I’m a big Olivier fan. He was the greatest, wasn’t he?’

  ‘A most superb actor,’ Rex agreed, and offered Katie a plate of pastries.

  Against her better judgement, she took a piece of cream sponge, and reminded herself to go on a diet the moment they got back to London. All of this wonderful home cooking was definitely going to her hips.

  Within minutes of her rushed departure, Lavinia came racing back into the room, excitedly waving the video in her hand. She handed it to Xenia, and went back to her seat by the fire, murmuring to Verity, ‘I just knew I’d seen it in the library.’

  ‘What a cast!’ Xenia looked up from the video and stared at Katie. ‘Just listen to this list of actors. Laurence Olivier, Merle Oberon, David Niven, Flora Robson, Geraldine Fitzgerald, and Donald Crisp. It was directed by William Wyler, produced by Sam Goldwyn and written by Ben Hecht and Charles MacArthur. Gee whiz, I’d forgotten what an illustrious crew was involved with it! Smashing that you found it, Lavinia.’ Xenia looked across at Verity, and said, ‘Shall we watch it after dinner tonight?’

  Verity smiled at her. ‘I think that’s a grand idea. It’ll be a treat for Katie. And by the way, talking of all these wonderful old actors reminds me of the Wainrights’ party in November, Rex. You are going to escort me, aren’t you?’

  ‘Of course, although I’m damned if I know who I’ll go as. Movie stars of the past. What a theme! I do detest these fancy dress things.’

  ‘But you promised,’ Verity said, throwing him a reproachful look.

  ‘You could go as Harry Lime in The Third Man,’ Xenia suggested. ‘I don’t mean as played by Orson Welles in the movie, but as played by Michael Rennie in the British television series. You do look a bit like him, you know.’

  ‘I take that as a compliment,’ Rex said, bowing. ‘And I have an idea for you, Verity.’ Looking across at her, he said, ‘Try this one on for size, darling. Ann Todd, the way she was in The Seventh Veil.’

  ‘A bit before my time,’ Verity said, laughing. ‘But I vaguely remember Ann Todd. She was a favourite of Daddy’s, and he was always watching her old movies. I bet if we look through the videos later we’ll find some of hers.’

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Even though the heating system was turned on, the sudden cold spell had brought a distinct chill to her room. Katie noticed it the moment she returned to her bedroom after tea.

  Shivering slightly, she ran over to the fireplace. Kneeling down in front of it, she brought a match to the newspaper and chips of wood which had been placed in the grate. Once these were burning fiercely, she added several logs, then hurried into the adjoining bathroom.

  A long soak in a hot bubble bath brought a tingle of warmth to her body; after towelling herself dry and putting on her robe, she returned to the bedroom.

  Katie now took her diary out of her carryall and sat down at the bûreau plat in the corner. The fireplace was quite close to the little French desk, and Katie felt the warmth, enjoyed the flare of the flames, the crackle of the logs as the fire leapt up the chimney.

  Reaching for a pen, she opened her Five Year Diary and found a new page. She sat back for a moment, endeavouring to marshal her thoughts, and eventually began to write.

  October 23rd, 1999

  Burton Leyburn Hall

  Yorkshire

  I have to put a few things down here because I don’t want to forget this weekend in Yorkshire. I can’t remember when I had such a nice time. A lot of it has to do with my own frame of mind…I have been much more relaxed than I usually am in this old house with some very nice people.

  They’re all highly individualistic, certainly different from anybody I’ve ever met. Even a bit odd, if I’m honest. And mysteries seem to abound. Still, I do love it here.

  I’d love to know the truth about various relationships, but I don’t suppose I ever will. To begin with, there’s Lavinia. She’s treated like a beloved member of the family, but she isn’t even related to Verity or Xenia. She’s the daughter of the cook and an employee herself. She does secretarial work for Verity, runs errands, picks up guests at the station, things like that. And yet Verity treats her like her own daughter.

  I mentioned this to Xenia yesterday, but she threw me such a peculiar look I clammed up. Then a bit later on she obviously felt she had to say something, so she told me Verity was extremely democratic in the way she did things here, that she didn’t even want to use her title, play the lady of the manor. But, in fact, she is the lady of the manor, in her father’s absence. When I was at the studio yesterday, Lavinia explained that Verity was born Lady Verity Leyburn, because as the daughter of an earl she had her own honorary title. Then she married Lord Hawes, and became Lady Hawes, so she’s a lady twice, according to Lavinia. When she was married to Geoffrey Hawes she was called Lady Verity Hawes, though, because being the daughter of an earl entitles her to use her first name. If she had been just a plain Miss when she married Lord Ha
wes, she would have been known as Lady Hawes. No first name allowed in the title when you’re a simple Miss before marriage to a lord.

  Lavinia took ages to explain this, but as an American I find it all a bit complicated. Not Lavinia though. She seems to put great store by it. But then she’s half English and grew up here at the hall.

  Then there’s Rex. He’s very nice, kind, and charming, and I’m really grateful that he’s going to make notes for me about Emily Brontë. But he’s a true mystery. Xenia says he’s a spy, he says he isn’t, but would he admit that? Who knows. Still, he did tell me of his own accord that he worked in intelligence. Also, I think he’s in love with Verity, and she with him, no matter what Xenia thinks. They look at each other in a very intimate way.

  I am sure that they are having a thing. That they’re lovers. Something I noticed at tea today was Rex’s behaviour with Lavinia. He seems to be very paternal and loving, and Verity was looking on adoringly. If I hadn’t known differently I would have thought they were her parents.

  Lavinia confided that the Earl, Verity’s father, stayed away because of his grief, and she sounded a bit strange when she said this. It seems odd to me, sort of neglecting his duties here on the estate. I saw a photograph of him in the library; Xenia told me it was her Uncle Thomas. He was in a Royal Air Force uniform, and she said it was taken during the Second World War and that he was quite a hero, one of the young flyers who did so much in the Battle of Britain. He was also very handsome when he was young. Xenia told me he still is; Lavinia says he’s having an affair with this woman in France called Veronique.