The Mist on Bronte Moor (14 page)

“You don’t really believe that legend, do you?”

“Look at us. You tell me.” His face was etched in pain.

I ached for him. “Give me your ring,” I said.

He looked at me, startled.

“I’ll make sure Clara gets it. Then she’ll know you’re alive.”

“How?” he asked.

“I’m from the parsonage. Harthorn let me in his house once before, and he’ll do it again.” This was total bollocks, but I’d worry about that later.

Hugh’s face brightened a little. He pulled the ring off his finger and held it out to me but hesitated before dropping it in my hand.

“Be careful,” he said. “If Harthorn sees you with it, he will surely kill you.”

W
e arrived home to find Tabby bustling about the kitchen, clanging pots and pans, and sweating profusely.

“There ya are,” she said, hands on hips, as we entered the kitchen through the back door. “A fine time t’ come ’ome now, when I’ve been needin’ ya help fer hours.”

Emily’s forehead creased in confusion. “But Tabby, we helped you peel all those potatoes for dinner. And we told you we were going out for a walk.”

“Aye a walk, not half t’ day!”

“Well, why didn’t you get Charlotte or Anne to help? Anyway, it’s only tea.”

“Aye, but Miss Charlotte has company t’ stay.”

“Company,” Emily said. “Who?”

“A friend from Roe Head’s come t’ stay.”

“Roe Head? You mean Miss Nussey’s here?”

My heart stopped. Miss Nussey! Here to stay!

“Nay.” Tabby shook her head. “’Tis Miss Mary Taylor.”

I breathed a sigh of relief and my heart danced to life again. Not Miss Nussey.

Tabby frowned at my dress, apparently just noticing the state it was in. “Out walkin’ ya say? Then how did ya git in such a muck?”

“I slipped,” I said. “Down a valley. I lost my footing. I’m always doing things like that—really clumsy.”

Tabby squinted at me. “Aye.” She nodded. “Ya’d best git clean ’afore ya go see Miss Taylor.”

Charlotte and the rest of the family sat in the dining room entertaining Mary Taylor, so Emily and I we were able to race upstairs unnoticed.

I pulled off my muddy dress and torn stockings, making sure to take the ring out of the pocket first. I had told Emily my plan, and she’d agreed to help.

“Where should I put the ring?” I asked.

Emily scanned the room. “It’s not safe in here. Charlotte is sure to find it.”

She picked up my dirty dress and stockings and bundled them in a corner. “I’ll have to give these to Tabby to be washed and mended. She’s going to do a fair share of grumbling about it tomorrow.”

I wished I could snap my fingers and produce a washing machine for Tabby. I slipped on a clean dress and put the ring in my pocket. “I’ll keep it on me for now, until we think of a safer place.”

Before we left the room, I combed my wispy fringe with my fingers. It seemed to have gotten a bit longer, and I liked the way it stuck out of my beanie and hung over my forehead.

“What’s Mary Taylor like?” I asked Emily as we went downstairs.

“I’ve never met her, but she’s very dear to Charlotte. They’ve been writing to each other ever since Charlotte returned from Roe Head.”

Tabby backed out of the dining room holding a tea tray as we were about to go inside. “Ya’d best hurry,” she said, “yer tea’s gettin’ cold.”

The whole family, including Aunt Branwell, sat around the table in the dining room having tea. As soon as we stepped into the room, Charlotte jumped up, her face flushed. “Emily, here you are.”

A girl sat between Charlotte and Branwell. Long golden hair tumbled from her head and fell in curls below her shoulders. She’d been talking to Branwell but turned to face us when we entered the room. As soon as she did, I was struck by her beauty. She had a perfect face with features so flawless Michelangelo himself could have spent years sculpting them with precision.

Charlotte linked arms with Mary and pulled her from her chair. “Finally, you meet my sister Emily.” Charlotte beamed.

Mary slipped her arm out of Charlotte’s and walked over to us. She wore a faded and somewhat frayed dark blue dress that told me she didn’t come from a wealthy family. Still, she managed to look stunning in it.

Mary clasped Emily’s hands in hers. “You’re exactly as Charlotte described you. She talked so much of you at Roe Head; I feel I know you already.” Then she looked at me and blinked. I couldn’t help noticing her smoky blue eyes and English rose complexion.

“This is Heather.” Charlotte rushed over to us. “Emily’s friend from London.”

“From London?” Mary cocked her head. “You didn’t say Emily had been to London.”

“No. They met here on the moors.” Charlotte pulled Mary back to her seat. “Come let’s finish our tea; it’ll be ice cold soon.”

I slipped into a seat opposite Branwell and Emily sat beside me facing Mary. My eyes met Branwell’s, and we smiled at each other. I longed to reach across the table and touch his hand, but that was impossible. I’d just started to fantasize about everyone else in the room disappearing, so Branwell and I could be alone together, when I became uncomfortably aware of Mary’s eyes on me. I glanced at her.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t mean to stare, but I find your cap fascinating. Is it wool? I’ve never seen anything quite like it before—even in London.”

I could tell by the puzzled look on her face that she really was fascinated and wasn’t trying to be rude. I couldn’t blame her. Of course she’d never seen a beanie before.

“It’s just something I made myself,” I said with a casual wave of my hand.

“Really,” Mary said. “How very clever of you. I imagine it’s warm and good protection in this weather. But why wear it indoors?”

“Did you know Miss Wooler has invited me to return to Roe Head as a teacher? Papa says I may go in a year and a half when I am nineteen,” Charlotte interrupted, saving me from coming up with a reasonable explanation for my unusual attachment to my twenty-first-century beanie.

Aside from Branwell, the Brontës didn’t ask too many personal questions. They accepted my wearing the beanie inside, just as they accepted Aunt Branwell wearing outside protection for her shoes while in the house.

“Has she?” Mary asked Charlotte. “And will you go?”

“I shall have to. I’ll need to work.”

“It’s a fine offer,” Mr. Brontë said.

“You shan’t have to work if you marry,” Aunt Branwell said.

“One cannot count on marriage for everything, Aunt,” Charlotte said. “Besides, I doubt I’ll ever marry. You never did, and you’re quite content with your lot in life.”

Aunt Branwell sighed. “I do miss the days of my youth in Cornwall. I was quite the socialite in Penzance.”

I raised my eyebrows.
Aunt Branwell a socialite?

“Yet you chose not to marry because your papa provided for you after his death,” Charlotte said.

“Exactly,” Mary interrupted. “I don’t understand why women are forced to rely on their male relatives, marriage, or lowly-paid jobs such as governesses and teachers in order to survive. I shan’t live by those rules. I shall have freedom and adventure even if it requires leaving England for good.”

I stared at her. I admired the way she thought, and she was so outspoken—as if she belonged in the twenty-first century instead of the nineteenth.

“You don’t intend to marry then, Mary?” Aunt Branwell asked.

“If I marry, it shall be to a man who treats me as his equal. I don’t intend to spend my life in domestic servitude. Why shouldn’t I have the freedom to travel the world and make my own fortune as any man does?”

“You’d best not get married, Mary,” Charlotte said. “Where do you think you’ll find a man like that?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Mary peeked flirtatiously at Branwell. “Some men are intelligent enough to be enlightened thinkers.”

My breath caught in my throat. She fancied Branwell, and she was making no effort to hide it. Suddenly, I didn’t like her quite as much.

“No man will be worthy of you, Mary,” Charlotte said. “You’re far too clever, but I daresay they’ll be coming after you in droves.” To the rest of us, Charlotte said, “Miss Wooler, our headmistress, once declared Mary ‘too pretty to live.’”

I cringed. Charlotte was right. Mary was too pretty to be real, and she was clever enough to match Branwell’s genius.

Mary grimaced. “Looks fade,” she said, with a hint of disgust in her voice. “They’re not important. Education, intelligence, and character are all that count.” She faced Branwell. “I’ll never forget the day you came to visit Charlotte at Roe Head. You walked twenty miles to see your sister. Now that’s character.”

Outspoken was too mild a word for Mary. She was practically screaming from the rooftops how much she fancied Branwell.

“It was nothing. I enjoy a good walk,” Branwell said flatly.

He didn’t seem to be encouraging her, but that didn’t stop me from being consumed with jealousy. Mary was beautiful and brilliant. It was hard not to be impressed by her. If she hadn’t been boldly flirting with Branwell, I would have wanted her for my own best friend.

“Don’t be so modest, Branwell,” Mary said. “You made Charlotte’s day. And you provided a week’s worth of pleasure for the rest of the girls. You know you charmed the lot of them. They couldn’t stop talking about you after you left.”

Branwell blushed and gave Mary one of his winning smiles.

That did it for me. I sprang out of my chair, anger bubbling in my veins. Everyone in the room stared in surprise.

“I have a terrible headache,” I said through gritted teeth. “I think I’ll go to bed.”

“Are you all right?” Emily asked.

“I’ll be fine,” I said keeping my head down. I could feel Branwell’s eyes on me, and it took all my strength not to glance at him. “I need to lie down, that’s all.” I hurried toward the door, desperate to leave the room before I burst into furious tears.

“Heather,” Charlotte said. I stopped. “Will you sleep with Emily tonight? We need the extra cot for Mary.”

So she’s spending the night. How long is she staying?

“Of course,” I managed to say before marching out of the dining room.

I rushed up the stairs, trying to remain calm. I was furious with Branwell, seething that he hadn’t done more to discourage Mary and her flirting. I felt like screaming and smashing something—anything. I longed for the familiarity and comfort of my own bedroom, but that was impossible. Instead, I sank onto Emily’s bed and stewed, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm myself and fight back my tears. I’d almost managed to calm down when Branwell appeared in the doorway.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I said.

He came into the room and sat next to me on the bed.

“You shouldn’t be here. They’ll be wondering where you are. Besides, you’re being rude to Charlotte’s guest. It’s blatant she enjoys your company.”

“I don’t want to talk to her; I want to talk to you.”

“Don’t lie,” I said. “She’s gorgeous and brilliant and you know it.”

“Of course she’s beautiful, but—”

All my insecurities flared up again. “So you do fancy her, then?” I hissed, careful not to raise my voice.

“I admit I was attracted to her when I first met her at Roe Head, but—”

“God,” I said, “first Miss Nussey, now Miss Taylor. Is there any girl you don’t fancy?”

Branwell clenched his jaw. I’d made him angry. “I didn’t say I fancied them. You asked me if I thought they were pretty, and I told you the honest truth—that’s all.”

“No, you said Miss Nussey was pretty and Miss Taylor was beautiful,” I corrected him.

“I don’t understand why you’re upset. I don’t even care about—”

I pushed him away. “Just go.”

He grabbed hold of my arm. I struggled to get free, but he pulled me toward him and clutched my face tightly between his hands. Then he kissed me. I struggled for a minute, but then I lost the will to resist and gave into the kiss, letting all my anger and insecurities out through my tears which streamed down my cheeks. He relaxed his grip on my face and his kiss became gentler.

In the distance, I heard footsteps on the stairs. Branwell pulled his lips away from mine and ran his thumb across my cheek to wipe away my tears.

“Someone’s coming.”

“I know,” I said.

He leaned his forehead against mine. “You’ll come back downstairs in a few minutes, won’t you?”

“I can’t,” I whispered.

He sighed. “I wish I could stay with you all night.”

The footsteps grew louder. “You’d better go.” I gave him a little push. The last thing I needed was Charlotte or Emily walking in to find me and Branwell together.

Branwell pressed his lips against mine once more, then he pulled away and darted out of the room. I listened as he stopped and talked to Tabby who must have been the one on the stairs. I heard his footsteps as he hurried back down the stairs to his sisters and Mary. Jealousy flared up in my chest again.

I flopped onto Emily’s thin mattress, my mind in a turmoil and my body still tingling from the kiss.

I
awoke early the next morning, jolted out of my sleep by the sound of Mr. Brontë’s pistol. Another thing I’d never get used to.

Mary bolted upright and gasped. “What in heaven’s—”

I stifled a giggle.

Charlotte threw back her covers and gave a little laugh. “Papa’s pistol. I told you about it, remember?”

“And you were serious? I thought you were joking.”

“I’m afraid not,” Charlotte said.

Mary climbed out of bed. “How did Ellen react to that?”

“Not very well. She almost died of fright. I believe she thinks my papa very strange.”

Mary laughed.

I lay in the bed beside Emily and pretended to sleep while Charlotte and Mary dressed. The room was too cramped for four people to be dressing at the same time. Emily must have been thinking the same thing as me because she lay motionless, even though I knew she never slept through the sound of her father’s gunshot.