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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?

“Well, of course it is,” Branwell said. “I am nothing if not obvious. Except . . . except that Lydia has been writing to me, Charlotte—well, not exactly letters. I expect the risk of such a note being discovered is too great, but she sends money. And it gives me hope. For she must care for me still, must she not? And sometimes it is as if I can hear her voice in the wind calling out for me, as if her soul is speaking directly to mine, promising me our time will come. As long as I believe that, I can continue to live, though each hour pains me.”

Charlotte touched her gloved hand to her brother’s cheek, wishing dearly that she believed such hope was merited, as much as she wished it for herself and Constantin.

“Just hold fast a little longer, dear brother,” Charlotte said. “And face this storm with your heart unguarded. Your sisters may need you yet.”

“At your service.”

Branwell bowed ostentatiously, and Charlotte smiled to see the purpose in his expression. Oh, hope was a cruel mistress; she lured you on towards the cliff edge, knowing full well you were likely to fall, but there was nothing to be done, save follow her anyway.

“I am resolved to continue,” Anne said as she and Emily returned to Charlotte and Branwell. “This matter gives me a greater sense of unease and discomfort than I have ever known. But we shall persist, shall we not? For that is what we Brontës do. And besides, I have remembered something that might be of great significance.”

“Tell us, Anne,” Charlotte pressed her.

“There is a Barraclough clock standing silent at Top Withens Hall, where it was locked away until recently with all that part of the house.”

“And?” Emily said. “How does that relate to our mystery?”

“Because we met its maker leaving Ponden Hall just as we arrived, and”—Anne looked at each of them in turn—“there is a Barraclough clock in the library where the books were left out for us to find.”

“Mr. Barraclough—” Emily stopped dead. “His Christian name is so unusual that I wonder I didn’t make the connection earlier.”

“What connection?” Anne pressed her.

“Mr. Zerubabbel Barraclough, that’s his name. And in the midst of her raving, Bess said Zerubabbel was there the night Mary Bradshaw died.”

24

Anne