“I offer you my felicitations,” Branwell said. “I will just go and die in a ditch over here, and you can forget I ever existed.”

“Branwell”—Anne grabbed her brother’s hand, but he snatched it away—“we did not mean to leave you out. It is more that we never considered that you, accomplished as you are, would want to be associated with our little efforts.”

“No,” Emily said. “No, Anne. I know you want to soothe Branwell’s hurt, but don’t do that. Our work is not small or unimportant. We are very fine poets, as that letter proves. Whatever we write has equal merit, equal worth to any words written by any man. Don’t make yourself less to make him feel greater.”

“Thank you, Emily, dear—you always know exactly how to ease my soul,” Branwell replied.

“Branwell, you are your own man,” Emily told him furiously. “Why, have you not just published two poems, and were you not talking of writing a novel and telling us all how it would make your fortune? You have within you the means to triumph, to succeed—and a much greater chance at both than us mere women. We did not think of you, not to exclude you, but because you have a great future ahead if you will only put away your gin and self-pity long enough to grasp it.”

“Well, as you do not require me for your collection, Messrs. Bell, then presumably you do not require me to escort you any further this night.”

“Branwell, please,” Charlotte said, “we meant no harm or hurt to you. We know only that you will find greatness—that you were born for it. And that we three must support ourselves somehow. That is all. Please understand that.”

“But I don’t,” Branwell said. “And yes, I know a child is missing, and you three are doing your best to save the day; I know that my pain and suffering matter very little compared to the fate of that boy. I am not proud of my anguish, Charlotte, but it torments me, every waking moment—and now this? To have you cut me out as though I am a tumour? It is too much. I am going home to join the search parties as I should have done this morning, for I am clearly no use to you.”

Branwell was lost in the night within a few more strides, his three sisters standing in the road, looking after him.

“We should follow,” Charlotte said.

“We should not,” Emily countered. “He is nothing but a spoilt child.”