“It is a shame when such kindness is taken advantage of,” Charlotte said, taking a seat at one of the benches Mr. Markham pulled out for the sisters. “The children are lucky to have such a kind tutor, Mr. Markham. Having experienced, if only for a short time, the great discomfort and unhappiness of a similar place, I know that your generosity will mean the world to these boys.”

Mr. Markham nodded, blushing deeply once again.

It was time to bring the conversation to the point.

“Mr. Markham, you grew up within these very walls, did you not?” Anne asked, dismayed to see how the question unsettled the young man, putting him ill at ease.

“If you mean to say that because of my unfortunate start in life, I am not worthy of a teaching position here, Miss Brontë, then I regret we must end this conversation at once, for though I have come from the gutter, with no family to speak of, I have worked every day of my life to improve not only my lot, but the lot of the children here.”

“Sir, you misjudge me,” Anne said, leaning towards him, her gaze intense. The gesture only made his cheeks all the hotter. “Our own father came from a farmer’s hut and took himself to Cambridge, then into the church. We don’t condemn you, sir—we applaud you. We are here to ask you about your life here in the year eighteen thirty-two.”

Mr. Markham nodded, straightening his collar and his shoulders in one move.

“I was eleven, and looking for a situation to go to, as my shelter at Crossed Keys was about to come to an end. If you believe this to be a grim establishment today, it was far worse thirteen years since. There was no staff, save for Mrs. Poole and Cook, and twice as many boys. Poole gave lessons, but they were poor and ill managed. Boys were beaten every day, starved and put out in the cold as chastisement, sent to the mill most days. Many died—consumption and typhoid were the main causes, but I believe some were also simply too weak or too harshly treated to survive. Indeed, it was in that year that Crossed Keys gained a new benefactor, and the boys’ situation improved a little—they were no longer sent out to work, or at least they were not supposed to be. It was an unkind childhood: one where I lost so many friends that I soon saw fit not to make any more. But I was educated and fed, and I am grateful even for the cruelty that brought this place into my life. I’m not sure what else I can tell you, Miss Brontë.”

Anne’s expression had softened as she listened to Mr. Markham. He was one of those rarest of creatures, a thoroughly decent human being.