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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?

“I suppose sometimes silence can protect others from hurt,” Charlotte said. “For example, I wouldn’t have minded Branwell keeping silent about some of his adventures. And I rather like it, as a state of being. But when it comes to the inner workings of my mind, it is full of noisome thoughts and ideas, each demanding to be heard. Fortunately for me, my papa has never been of the mind that a young woman should be raised to be quiet and insignificant—rather the opposite, in fact.”

Catherine nodded, her eyes drifting towards the view of the rolling countryside. “Would that I’d had a papa more like yours. Most assume my childhood was very grand, but I began life in a lowly position and have come to be a person of consequence only through the machinations of fate, rather than breeding.”

“Oh?” Charlotte enquired, doing her best not to look too intrigued. “Was your father strict?”

Catherine winced, telling Charlotte that the word “strict” might have been something of an understatement.

“Papa was the younger brother of his family and the headmaster of a small school for boys. My mama died soon after my birth, and I was brought up his only child, the only girl at the school, where I was regarded as a curiosity or a pest much of the time. Papa was not a warm man, so when he died just after I turned ten, I found it hard to mourn him, though everyone expected me to. Then I was transported to live with my uncle, Papa’s older brother, at Oakhope Hall close by to Haworth, as you know, and—well, I expect you are familiar with the family history thereafter.”

“I knew that there had been more tragedy than seemed fair at Oakhope,” Charlotte said, not wishing to elaborate. “I’ve always thought what a fascinating house it is. Is it true that it is built upon a network of man-made caves?”

“It is.” Lady Hartley nodded. “My ancestor was a strange man with a passion for follies and grottoes. There are at least two temples on the grounds and all manner of passageways and secret rooms.”

“Your childhood there must have been wonderful,” Charlotte said, “so much opportunity for adventure.”