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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?

“Other than myself only our cook, Mrs. Seed, and one of our tutors, Mr. Markham, were at Crossed Keys in the year you speak of. He was an inmate here as a boy and returned to us last year to tutor the boys after making a great account of himself at school and university, thanks to this establishment.”

“That is most inspirational,” Emily said. “I believe it would suit us to talk to Mr. Markham first, and then to Mrs. Seed. We shall find them ourselves and return to question you last, by which time you will have all the records we require ready for us.”

“That is out of the question. I shall accompany you at all times,” Mrs. Poole said, affronted, her death mask of composure slipping a little more as she stood up with a scrape of her chair. “I cannot allow strangers to wander about amongst the children, speaking to anyone, saying anything they like. I cannot allow the boys to be frightened and surprised. Why, they might say anything, for they are always lying. And then where would we be?”

“You may not come, Mrs. Poole,” Emily told her with a tone of authority that surprised even her. “We cannot do our work properly or thoroughly unless we can talk to those concerned separately and in confidence. You will know our findings soon. As for your children, they have nothing to fear from me or my junior assistants.”

Emily turned to her siblings. “Come along, staff. We have much to do, and time is running out.”

37

Anne

“Junior assistants?” Charlotte questioned once they were a few yards safely down a corridor, heading towards the sound of children chanting their times tables.

“Inspired, I thought,” Emily said. “And now we have free run of the place. Do try not to get into trouble, Branwell.”

Uncharacteristically, Branwell simply ignored Emily, too lost in melancholy to respond—which only begged the question of why he was here with them. Usually when this kind of mood descended on him, he was straight to the apothecary or the pub, but on this day, he had risen early and been ready for the trip even before Anne. There was something brewing, a storm gathering behind his eyes, but for now they did not have time for one of their brother’s tantrums. Whatever it was that was currently breaking his heart would have to wait.

“Why question her last, though, Emily,” Anne asked, “when she is almost certainly the woman who sold child labourers to Clifton Bradshaw that fateful summer? I, for one, did not like her at all.”