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Back The Diabolical Bones Save as PDF
Chapters (63)
  1. Cover
  2. BRONTË SISTERS MYSTERIES
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. Haworth Parsonage, April 1852
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. "Music on Christmas Morning"
  60. Author’s Note
  61. Acknowledgements
  62. About the Author
  63. What’s next onyour reading list?

Emily followed the small party out into the lane, walking to the horses, resting her hands on their necks as she looked at them.

“These are very fine animals,” she told Lady Hartley, “maybe too fine for the rough roads up to Top Withens. Take it gently. As for me, I will walk and ease their burden a little. Besides, I must keep an eye out for my dog.”

“Then I will accompany Emily, and so shall Branwell,” Anne said at once. “We need him for our journey today.”

“Well, hang on,” Branwell began, but Anne had already secured her arm through his.

Charlotte felt a little pang of uncertainty as she saw her three siblings walk away without her, as if she was losing them somehow. And then Catherine opened her carriage door, and all such misgivings evaporated with the morning mist.

30

Charlotte

Though the sisters seldom used it, there was a broad track that led up and across the moors all the way to Top Withens and beyond. Charlotte did her very best to enjoy the slow and rather sedate journey, as the carriage trundled back down to the bottom of Main Street, then picked up the lane that took a gentle incline following the spine of the hills, rather than the steep and rocky paths that Branwell, Emily and Anne would take. Framed by a carriage window, the scenery seemed tamed somehow, as if she were viewing it framed and hanging on the wall of a fine house. And then there was the whole business of trying to think of interesting things to say. Making friends came so much more easily to her than it did to her sisters, but even so, the casual chatter of a fond acquaintance was not one that Charlotte was practised at. It wasn’t until she had found true common ground with either Ellen Nussey or Mary Taylor that Charlotte had really felt able to share her deepest thoughts and feelings with them. She hoped that such a bond might grow between her and Catherine. There was certainly early promise in their interactions. Nevertheless, without her family flanking her, she felt desperately shy and inadequate.

“Oh, please don’t be shy of me, Charlotte, dear,” Catherine said, as if she were somehow able to read Charlotte’s mind. “For I myself feel leaden of tongue and vacant of thought, and if neither one of us can begin a conversation, we shall be in a pretty pickle.”

“Forgive me,” Charlotte said with a small smile. “But I refuse to believe that you have been vacant of thought in your whole existence.”

“Then you know me better than I could have hoped for,” Catherine replied, laughing as the carriage rattled on. “Whether or not one should speak one’s thoughts is another matter. My dear husband is always imploring me to keep mine to myself, but I ask you, Charlotte, what good has ever come of silence?”