Confession (14 page)

‘Cast away from you all your transgressions,’ continued he, ‘whereby ye have transgressed; and make you a new heart and a new spirit – ’

A new spirit. That is what I sorely lacked. Emily had recognized as much when we were out walking the moors. Even Anne had commented upon how drawn and downcast I looked only she had put this down to the shock of Aunt’s death and I – coward that I was – had neither the heart nor the courage to tell her otherwise.

But where would I find a new spirit here? Where would I find it in this dark, shut-in valley, this place where I felt so constrained?

Only that morning I had sat poring over one of father’s books in his study, looking at all the engravings of far-off places, the distant shores of Greenland and Iceland, dreaming of what they might look like, how their inhabitants fared through the long, dark winters, what phantoms inhabitated such wastelands, what creatures lurked in the forests and how they would have to scavenge for sustenance, fight tooth and claw for even the meanest of leavings. I turned page after page, my mind racing faster and faster for I could not keep it tethered to the here & now, to the room in which I sat.

‘For I have no pleasure in the death of him that dieth, saith the Lord God – ’

Emily, who was sitting next to me, took hold of my hand and squeezed it gently. If only I had her resolve, her temperatment for had she not left Brussels and the Pensionat Heger without a backwards glance? I should endeavour to behave more like my sister for everyone must cut their cloth according to their circumstances and my circumstances were now much narrower than before.

My father’s voice droned on while through one of the large, plain-glass windows a stray beam of sunlight slipped, falling at an angle across the altar. I tried to concentrate on this, watched as the beam skittered and wavered across the starched white cloth, but even this distraction afforded me no respite for suddenly the sunlight caught the edge of one of two
brass candlesticks which glittered prettily like gold.

*

‘Ellen has asked if I would visit her – ’

Anne, Emily and I were standing on the landing placing freshly-laundered sheets into the linen cupboard.

‘Top shelf,’ Anne directed while Emily ticked off the items on her inventory.

‘Pillowcases, eight – ’

‘I asked Ellen to come over to us, but her brother George is ill and she does not feel she can leave him.’

‘Does she say what it is that ails him?’

‘Nothing serious,’ I said, ‘but he needs nursing and she needs to be cheered up. What do you say? Can you spare me for a few days?’

Anne said she thought it a fine idea, Emily too although she was concerned father might believe it too soon after Aunt’s death. After all we were all still in mourning however in the event father thought it a splendid plan.

‘Perhaps you might return to us in better humour,’ he said peering at me over his spectacles while taking hold of my hands. ‘Your Aunt’s death has hit you quite squarely, I can see that – ’

I did not quarrel with him, but told him how much the trip would mean to Ellen who was low in spirits herself.

Nine days later – arrangements having been made – I awoke early for I was feeling excited at the thought of seeing my old friend. Travelling suited me well and as the gig pulled out of
Haworth and followed the road past the cottages and villas of the main town, up through the hills towards Birstall, I felt happy. The weather was cold but pure, there was barely a cloud in the sky. We travelled over the treeless upper reaches of the moors along a track that had been cut deep into the heather. Up above us a kestrel reeled on the wind’s back, keening softly as it scoured the ground for prey. It was an eerie sound, one that had I not felt in such good temper, might well have dampened my spirits.

By mid-day a winter’s moon had appeared in the sky and I drew a rug around me to ward off the chill. The driver, a burly man who wore an even burlier coat said we were not far off our destination and sure enough half-an-hour later the gig pulled up outside Brookroyd where Ellen ran out to greet me.

It had been some time since I had last visited my friend yet I found her exactly as she had looked back then. She on the other hand commented on how different I seemed. I asked what it was she noticed about me - for in myself I knew I felt different. My mind had been broadened since I had been in Brussels. Indeed if such things could be measured by height, I felt sure I had grown ten foot.

Ellen said I was slimmer. She also commented that I had done my hair differently to how she remembered. She asked after Emily, Anne, and our father and brother and I did likewise about her family. George, she said, was doing much better although he was still quite weak and therefore confined to his bed. Then, as we walked around the small garden, she asked after Mary Taylor, how was she bearing up?

I said that Emily & I had visited Mary in Brussels a few days after Martha had died. She had gone to stay with her cousins, the Dixons who were then living in the city on the rue de la Régence. The three of us had walked out to the Protestant cemetery beyond the Porte de
Louvain. I described how beautiful it was there – the graveyard being surrounded by lime trees and entered through a pair of wrought iron gates on either side of which were inscribed texts from the Bible.

‘Therefore,’ I quoted, ‘I endure all things for the elect’s sakes, that they may also obtain the salvation which is in Christ Jesus with eternal glory.’

‘And the grave?’

‘Martha is buried under the shade of one of the lime trees. It was well tended and very pretty. Mary thinks so too. She bears up well to the loss although she is extremely thin. We stopped at a farmhouse for some food on our way home and Emily tried to make her eat something, but she would not have it. She nursed Martha night and day throughout her illness. It is so unfair, Ellen – ’

‘God sent it - ’

‘Which makes it no easier to bear –’

‘No,’ Ellen whispered and then, ‘Will Mary remain overseas?’

‘She has not made up her mind yet. There was talk of her taking up a teaching post in Germany, but that would mean leaving Martha behind and that takes strength. I don’t know if she is up to it – ’ here my voice trailed off.

‘And what of Brussels?’ Ellen asked teasing me about the lack of details contained in my letters. ‘Is it so very different to London? Did you go out much? How were the ladies dressed?’

To these and countless other questions I answered fully telling Ellen all about the city and the school and how unimpressed Emily had been at being abroad and how little she had been influenced by the experience. I told Ellen about the other students at the school, how frankly
bovine and ridiculous they were, about Vertue Basompierre and the nature of our studies. There was only one subject to which I did not allude. I thought about it, but I said nothing.

III

It took me a month before I could persuade Father to read Monsieur Heger’s letter. His mind was otherwise preoccupied with Aunt’s estate as well as with mourning her loss. Then one morning he came downstairs in a better frame of mind than we had experienced since our return. I found him in his study and made my case saying that Monsieur Heger had treated myself and Emily so kindly while we were at the Pensionnat, I was concerned that if Father did not read and respond to his missive, it might appear rude.

‘And have you it here?’

I drew the letter from my pocket and placed it on the desk in front of him watching all the while as he peered over his eyeglasses, picked up a knife and slit open the envelope. He withdrew the folded sheets from inside their sleeve. Even back then father’s eyesight was not good which meant he read very slowly, squinting all the while and tilting the paper towards the window to catch as much light as he could. Outside it had begun to snow, a few flakes at first but quickly followed by a heavier fall so that the paths and gravestones were covered.

I stood by the bookcase watching father, trying to see if I could catch a word here or there of that familiar handwriting.

Finally father set the letter down on his desk.

‘Well?’ he said raising an eyebrow.

‘Father?’

There was an awful pause during which I began to think the letter might have contained
something defamatory or unkind causing father to think better of speaking to me but finally he smiled.

‘He seems to write well enough about the pair of you.’

‘We tried our best father, Emily in particular.’

‘I am sure that you did. But I cannot for the life of me say I am sorry to see you back here again. You appear to be in better spirits than when you arrived. It has been hard for us all losing your Aunt like this, but it seems to have hit you the hardest. Ellen’s trip did you well – ’

‘Very well – ’

‘Excellent. Excellent. And your French, Mr Heger says it is good enough now to be teaching it to others?’

‘It is father, but – ’

‘I can tell you now – I had my misgivings about your going to Brussels, especially Emily. A Catholic school within a Catholic country but I am glad to see it has turned out for the good. Your aunt missed you, you know. She was a good woman – ’

‘She gave up a lot for us – ’

‘She afforded me a great deal of comfort when your mother died.’

‘She worked hard for us all – ’

Here my father slumped back in his chair as if the air had been punched from his lungs.

‘It will be different now that she is no longer here. She ran the house excellently. Up at six, downstairs by – ’

‘Father, I want to go back to Brussels.’

Silence. The only thing I could hear was the sound of my heart beating louder and louder. Anxiety washed over me.

‘I want to go back to Brussels,’ I said, more quietly this time but nevertheless firm.

‘I heard you – ’

‘You are pleased to have us home again – I know – but Emily will not want to return abroad. She is happier than ever to be back at home. And I am also only…only – ’

‘Only?’

A short silence. How could I explain why I needed to go back? Why the thought that I might never see Brussels again was too much to bear. Yes, my French had improved and no doubt I could scrape by teaching it even to the dullest of students. And yes, I could stretch out what little I had learnt
apropos
the writing of essays and how best to use language but I was greedy for more. More teaching, more revelations. Words were now only as Monsieur made me see them. Powerful, persuasive, sinuous – Every pulse of my blood told me this was true.

‘Madame Heger said I might return to a teaching post if I wished. She wrote a very kind letter which I received only a few days ago.’

‘The Hegers are both very fond of you. That much is certain. But so is your poor old father – would you deny me the pleasure of your company back home again? You know how my eyesight is failing me, Emily does not have the patience to read to me as you do – ’

‘She would try – ’

‘But the house is empty without you. Perhaps you could find a teaching post closer to us, leastways in England. You might write to the Miss Woolers? I could try asking a few of my acquaintances in Bradford or Leeds. There must be establishments where you could learn French here in England. You are so dear to me – ’

This last was said with so much affection it almost broke my spirit.

I stuttered. I said, ‘Father I would miss you dearly too, but you have always said – you have always insisted we make our own way in the world. Madame Heger has offered me £16 per annum – ’

‘How would you get there? You have never travelled alone before? Your Aunt would certainly not have sanctioned your undertaking such a long journey. Not unaccompanied – ’

‘There is nothing to fear from it.’

‘My daughters are not cowards, I more than most know that – but I cannot stress enough how dark the path is towards…I am not an intolerant man but….it is a
Catholic
country, Popish…distant… have you not spent long enough away from us already?’

‘It is to my advantage, father. To
all
our advantages that I receive the best education. Yes, the Pensionat Heger is a Catholic establishment but you sent me there once and I came back to you unaffected did I not? On a second visit I will be twice as wary, twice as much on my guard – ’

‘You might still be caught out. Even the most sure-footed amongst us can be tripped up. It has happened before, do not be fooled by their pleasantries, their easy-seeming manners – ’

‘But father, you have brought us up within a much stronger faith than any I might find abroad. Indeed I was
made
for this faith, I was
crafted
for it by God himself and by you. What they call their religion is too flamboyant for me, too extravagant to hold any authority over your daughter – ’

‘You always did argue handsomely…’

‘It will be an adventure – ’

‘If I could I would want to accompany you but I fear it is a long way and my health is not what it once was – ’

‘You will give me permission?’

‘When do you plan to return?’

‘Before the end of January,’ I said. ‘As soon as I can arrange passage.’

PART THREE

I

Brussels, January 30
^th
1843

Dear Ellen – I left Leeds for London last Friday at nine o’clock; owing to delay we did not reach London till ten at night – two hours after time. I took a cab the moment I arrived at Euston Square, and went forthwith to London Bridge Wharf. The packet lay off that wharf, and I went on board the same night. Next morning we sailed. We had a prosperous and speedy voyage, and landed at Ostend at seven o’clock next morning. I took the train at twelve and reached the Rue D’Isabelle at seven in the evening.

It was not the dark that had frightened me, nor yet the river across which the waterman begrudgingly – due to the lateness of the hour – rowed me. Lights were strewn across the surface, rose-coloured reflections that rolled and twisted like flames at a fairground, but when we reached the packet the man who met us refused to allow me on board shouting down at us gruffly that it was too late to accept passengers and that I should return at first light.