She felt him tremble against her, and felt the skin prickle and rise on the back of her neck, as if the strange, sad melody called to her from very far away. A long-distant dream, something like a memory, filled her with a profound sense of dread.

“And after the singing stops, the boy is taken up and out of the window,” William told her. “The monster spreads its great wings and flies away with the boy to eat him up and chew on his bones.”

“The monster flies away?” Emily repeated.

“Yes, miss,” William said very seriously. “With great black flapping wings.”

“And a boy was taken just two weeks ago?” Emily frowned. Was this a fairy tale after all? For surely if that had been true, Mr. Markham would have been sure to speak about it, if not the duplicitous and guarded Mrs. Poole.

“Yes, miss,” William said. “Only this time it was different.”

“How was it different, William?” Emily asked him.

“The boy—Tom, it was—he got taken, but he got away, miss,” William said. “His name is Tom Hawthorne, and though no one will let him, he lived to tell the tale.”

39

Charlotte

Charlotte, Anne and Branwell found Mrs. Seed alone in the huge kitchen, boiling something grey and unpleasant smelling. Despite its size the kitchen was the only room in the great house that was thoroughly warm, and the heat was welcome, though the stench of rotting vegetables was not.

“You’ve come, then,” Mrs. Seed said, crossing her large arms under her considerable bosom. Though all the inmates were but a wisp away from starvation, it seemed to Charlotte that Cook found the means to feed herself quite well. Round faced and red cheeked, regarding them with suspicion, this formidable-looking woman had already received a visit from Mrs. Poole and almost certainly been briefed on what to say in answer to their enquiries—Charlotte was in no doubt about that.

“Good afternoon to you, madam,” Charlotte said politely. Though Mrs. Seed was an imposing figure, her own small frame could be played to an advantage here. It was almost certain that Mrs. Seed would dismiss her at a glance as being small and inconsequential, as so many had throughout Charlotte’s life. Just like most of those unfortunate souls, Mrs. Seed would soon learn to regret such an error in judgement. “Please, may we beg for a moment of your time?”

Charlotte was deferential, her voice light and feminine.

“Poole told me why you were here, but I don’t know owt that will help you with your enquiries.”

“Are you certain?” Charlotte looked up into Mrs. Seed’s ruddy face, searching out her eyes within the spare fold of flesh that curtained them. “Or is that how Mrs. Poole advised you to reply?”