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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?

“Blast them!” Lady Hartley moved away to investigate, and seeing her chance, Charlotte tore herself free from the thorns, refusing to feel the burning pain of her shredded skin and ripped-out hair. On she ran as fast as she could, gathering up her skirts around her, and suddenly there it was—a great, yawning mouth, solid black against the glinting trees: the entrance to the caves.

50

Charlotte

For a moment all was pitch-black, and yet Charlotte could not risk standing still. Reaching out to find a rough stonelike wall, she used it as a guide and kept moving forward as quickly and as quietly as she could. She heard movement behind her and quickened her pace still more. As her eyes became accustomed to the dark, she saw a flicker of light ahead: lamplight. Somewhere not very far ahead, parts of the cave were in use. Charlotte longed to run towards the light, like a moth to a flame, but she stopped herself. Instead, as Catherine’s footsteps drew closer behind, she ducked into a narrow, entirely dark passage, pressing herself against the walls. She held her breath as Lady Hartley stalked past.

There wasn’t a moment to lose. As soon as Lady Hartley passed the bend, Charlotte began to follow her. The sensible thing would have been to turn around, to run out the way she had come in, and find her sisters, whom she knew were nearby. But there was a light down here for a purpose, and Charlotte was certain that purpose was Joseph. She had to get to him before Catherine could complete her awful task.

Every step took every ounce of her strength. Fear coursed through her veins. She could feel her pulse pounding at her wrists and temples. Yet Charlotte had never felt so alive, so powerful, as she did in the moment. Taking care to make her every movement silent, she kept a steady pace, catching glimpses of Lady Hartley’s cloak as she turned a corner, rounded a bend, and then Charlotte stopped as she heard the sound of Lady Hartley’s footsteps recede. Cautiously, Charlotte peered around the corner. There was the source of the glow—a torch bolted to the wall lighting the entrance to a flight of descending steps. It seemed she was about to follow Catherine into the very bowels of hell.

Before she could move forward, a hand snaked around her neck and clamped over her face. Charlotte’s eyes bulged, and she struggled until her assailant turned her swiftly around, and they were face-to-face.

“Anne,” Charlotte whispered, pulling her sister into a tight embrace. “Thank God you are here. Where are the others?”

“Last seen above, looking for you in the woods,” Anne told her. “They will find their way in and follow the light, as I did. Help will soon be at hand.”

“I believe that Joseph is down there.” Charlotte nodded at the steps. “We can’t wait another moment, Anne.”