“Robert, may we have a few moments in the library?” she asked, smiling for her admirer. “There may be a text in there that could help us settle a family argument. I am sure that I am correct, but as usual nothing but documentary evidence will do to seal the matter.”

“Of course, Emily,” Robert said eagerly. “Our library has a great attraction for many of our neighbours, but you know that you, especially, are always welcome at Ponden. Should I make a fire so that your favourite reading spot is nice and warm for you?”

“Regrettably I can’t stay that long,” Emily said, leaning in a little closer to the younger man, lowering her voice, “but if you can keep Branwell and Charlotte occupied for a few minutes, that would be wonderful. You know how Charlotte always likes to interfere. I do believe she was interested in seeing your weavers at work for an . . . essay she is writing . . . about . . . looms.”

Emily turned to her sister. “Charlotte, did you not wish to see the skill of the Ponden weavers at work? Robert would be delighted to take you to them, he says.”

“Wonderful.” Charlotte smiled. “I do find it so fascinating. Branwell will come with me, I’m sure.”

“Didn’t someone mention tea?” Branwell asked.

“You are good to us Brontë folk,” Emily told Robert.

“I am glad to be,” Robert said at once. “As you know, I think of you almost as my own family.”

“Yes,” Emily said. “That is exactly it, Robert: you are like a little brother to me.”

“Well, I . . . That’s not exactly what I meant . . .” Robert replied as Emily climbed to her feet and beckoned for Anne to follow—before Robert could say what he meant and make it terribly awkward for all of them.

21

Charlotte