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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?

“Well, we do too, brother dear,” Anne replied tentatively. “Is there something you wish to tell us now?”

“Is there something I wish to tell you?” Branwell said. “For heaven’s sake, let us go and see this witch, and perhaps she can magic me a new set of feet.”

32

Charlotte

Liston was already in the yard as they arrived, perhaps having glimpsed the team of horses coming into view when they were still some way down the track. It was, after all, a very unusual sight to see such a very fine carriage progressing up and over the moors, and Charlotte imagined that the stark black of the horses must have been visible against the white-blanketed hills from some distance away.

Someone certainly had alerted the occupants of the hall, for as the carriage came to a halt, Bess, Molly and Clifton Bradshaw himself all emerged from within, standing in the frozen mud, bundled in an assortment of mufflers and blankets. At the sight of Clifton Bradshaw, Charlotte shuddered as if a shadow had passed over her and with it, a terrible, fleeting sense of danger, like a warning borne upon the wind.

Charlotte waited for Lady Hartley to make her exit as the coachman, a tall, silent gentleman called Hemming, came around to hand them down. As she waited, her gaze sought out Clifton Bradshaw’s face, intrigued to see how he reacted to the unexpected arrival of such a great lady. Charlotte wasn’t sure what sort of expression she might have expected to find on his face—perhaps one of disdain or contempt at the prospect of yet more interference—but it was neither of those. Clifton Bradshaw looked utterly stunned at the sight of Lady Hartley, as if he had just received a powerful clout about the head and had yet to come to his senses. His gaze followed Lady Hartley in disbelief; his jaw fell open. He was aghast and, yes, afraid to see such an eminent person.

Such was the power of wealth and status, Charlotte thought to herself, the ability to knock flat any beneath you. Even one as proud and unruly as Clifton Bradshaw was cowed by Lady Hartley’s regal presence. How wonderful it must have been to believe that wherever you trod upon this earth, the very seas would defer to your superiority. And yet Catherine had come from a place lower than her own. Perhaps it was possible, even now, that Charlotte might learn to occupy the world as if she were entitled to it, just as Lady Catherine Hartley did. She would watch very closely and learn.

“You must be Mr. Clifton Bradshaw?” Lady Hartley held out her hand to him and Charlotte watched as he simply nodded, almost as if he were in a trance.

“I am, for my sins,” he said. Taking her gloved hand, he bowed over it, refraining—only just—from kissing the back of her hand.