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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?

“You and I are cut from the same cloth, I can see, Miss Brontë—or Charlotte, if you will allow it?”

“I will, madam,” Charlotte said, quite overcome. “I should be delighted if you would call me Charlotte.”

“Excellent—then you shall call me Catherine, and we shall be the firmest of friends,” Lady Hartley said. “On this day begins a lifelong acquaintance, Charlotte. You mark my words, for I am determined to be your great friend until the day you die.”

Especially now, after the last few days of distress and darkness, Charlotte could think of nothing more pleasing.

26

Emily

What there had been of the December sun had set while they had been warming their toes by the fire. The latest fall of snow had abated, and the village was muffled in a fresh winter coat that covered its regular dirty facade with one of picture-perfect charm.

After stopping for a good few minutes to converse with Lady Hartley’s six fine black mares, Emily and Anne walked past the church to find a rather enchanting sight at the top of Main Street, as an array of lanterns and candles in windows twinkled amongst the snow-softened buildings that tottered down the hill. Haworth was a working village, full to the brim of the filth of industry, but now, for a moment at least, it was as if the last century had been swept away and here they were, standing in one of those Christmas cards that everyone seemed so keen on these days. What a very pretty illustration they would make, Emily thought.

Dear Keeper could not contain his happiness, inhaling everything he encountered with joyful snorts, diving into the deep drifts that gathered at the side of the lane with yelps of puppyish delight, a four-pawed comet of joy that did much to ward off the shadows that had seemed to gather around them since the discovery of the bones.

Zerubabbel Barraclough was not the only clockmaker in the area, but he was the best, his work sought after across the country and even on the Continent. Due to their fine workmanship, and the resulting price, it was considered a mark of prestige to own a Barraclough longcase; their own dear papa was inordinately proud of theirs, as there were only a handful of such clocks to be found within twenty miles or more.