by James Tully
Not one person thought of it as a love match, rather that Mr Nicholls was just after her money and his job back. In fact there was so much gossip that it would not have been possible for some of it not to have got back to Mr Nicholls and her, and it was him who first told me that a little of it had come to his ears.
It was taking terrible chances I know, but I had told him that I would like us to keep on meeting for as long as we could, and he had said that that was what he wanted as well. The only trouble was that folk now took far more notice of him, and also the nights were much lighter, so it was not possible to meet out of doors – and that only left the Church and the School, and even then it was not easy.
We managed to meet about once a week, and it was at one of those times that Mr Nicholls told me that he had heard that the villagers were saying that he was only after her money. Oddly enough, that did not seem to bother him at all though. In fact he seemed quite pleased, and said he would rather they thought that than that he was in love with her, because then he would have felt that they reckoned him for an idiot. As it was, he thought that with Haworth folk being what they were they would tend to look up to him for it and be on his side.
Of course, Madam got to know about the talk as well – there never seemed to be anything that she did not get wind of – but she was put out.
One evening, after I had cleared all up after supper in the Parsonage and was walking down the lane to our house, I came upon her in the Churchyard fussing about with some flowers. It was lovely weather, and I had felt that I just had to get out for a few minutes, but I had nowhere to go really so I was quite content to stop a while when she called over to me.
We sat together on the wall, and she went chattering on about this and that, and asking me questions about my family and some of the villagers. Then she got on about the wedding and to my surprise she said she was unhappy as some of her so-called friends did not seem to wish her well. She said that one in particular had saddened her very much and, although she did not name her, I soon put 2 and 2 together that it was Miss Nussey. Then I could not believe my ears when she went on to ask me what I thought about it! Quizzingly, she said that from some of the things I had said to her in the past, and from bits she had heard, she did not think I liked Mr Nicholls very much – and then I had a job not to burst out laughing when she said that if I knew him better I would be bound to like him!
Well, for a moment I was nonplussed – it had all come upon me so quickly that I did not know what to say to her. As it was, I pretended to be thinking on what she had said, and all the while she watched me with her face all bunched up in that way she had.
In the end I said I was sure she was right, and made haste to explain that anything I had said to her in the past about Mr Nicholls had only been the passing on of what had been said to me and what I thought she should know.
She seemed well pleased at that, but once again she asked me what I thought about the wedding. This time, though, I had had time to get my answer ready, and I told her what I thought she wanted to hear. I said that they seemed very suited, and that with Mr Nicholls being a clergyman and all, just like her father, I had no doubt but that they would be very happy. To my surprise, though, that did not seem to please her as much as I had thought it would. Her lips pursed, and I could see that she had her own doubts and had not been duped by Mr Nicholls as much as he thought she had.
I was at our house a few evenings later when Father came in and said there was quite a to-do going on up at the Parsonage, and asked me if I knew aught about it. Well, there were so many happenings there at that time that I did not rightly know which one he was talking about, so I said as much and then he went on to tell us. He said that Mr Brontë had told him that he was bent upon safeguarding what he called his ‘wilful daughter’ from Mr Nicholls, in spite of herself, and as best he could, and so he had listened carefully when some of her friends had spoken to him on the quiet about a way to stop Mr Nicholls from getting his hands on her money. Mr Brontë had then spoken to her about it, but she would have none of it and so he was getting the friends to speak to her themselves.
Well, I had never heard of such a thing. As far as I knew, once you were wed everything of yours passed to your husband, and what did that matter if you loved and trusted him? Mind you, I had never quite thought it fair that it should be the Law, but that was how things were and it had never bothered me overmuch. I must say though that her standing went up in my eyes, and I thought that if she had said that she would have naught to do with it I must have misjudged how she felt about Mr Nicholls. Anyway, I told Father that I would keep my eyes and ears open and the matter passed off.
As it happened, I learned naught more about it, and I did not dare to speak to Mr Nicholls about it for I knew that he would be very vexed if he did not know already, and then it would probably have come out that Father had been speaking out of turn and he would be in trouble. So I just let it be.
Whether or not it had anything to do with it I do not know, but Madam went off on her travels again around the end of April. She said she was going to see some of her friends to tell them about the wedding, but I did not see why that could not have been done by letter rather than gadding around the country leaving her father and Mr Nicholls at loggerheads – and I thought she just wanted to get away from all the arguments. Mind you, I was pleased to see her go and so, I think, was Mr Nicholls – although he did not say as much.
I must say it was wonderful for me and him to have the Parsonage almost to ourselves at times. Of course, we had to be careful, but the girls were only allowed upstairs when I said so, and Miss Aykroyd did not know half of what was going on around her.
Then, and quite quickly it seemed, she was back again and did not I know it! She was in a bad temper from the minute she walked in the door, and it just seemed to get worse with every day that passed. All her friendliness to me had gone out of the window, and there were times when I could have hit her. Just because Mr Nicholls was now staying at the Parsonage everything had to be done differently and just right so that she could show off to him, and she ran us ragged with her sharp tongue. Well, that is to say that she tried it on with me, but I was having none of it. I just listened, bit my tongue, forced a smile – and then did what I wanted. My days of being frightened of her, or of losing my job, were long gone and I think Madam knew it.
I had noticed that she had been a bit snappy with Mr Nicholls as well when she thought that no one was in earshot, but one morning they had a row such as I had never heard. They had gone into the sitting room a few moments before, and I had heard the door shut to behind them.
Well, that got me going straightaway, but I could do naught about it except to wonder what they were up to. Then I heard Mr Nicholls’ voice raised so high in anger that I went into the hallway to see what the matter was, and shortly after he flung out of the room shouting something at her over his shoulder.
The next thing I knew he had rushed out of the Parsonage, leaving the door wide open, and was stamping down the path. I asked the girl who was cleaning the passage what had been going on, and she told me that him and her had had a right set-to, but she did not really know what about except that it seemed to be something to do with money. She did say, though, that he had a face like thunder when he passed her.
For a time after that work was a real misery because there was such an awful air about the Parsonage. Nobody seemed to be speaking to anyone else, Mr Nicholls took what little food he had on his own, and even I could not get a pleasant word or a smile out of him whenever we had a few moments together. With him in such a mood, and others about nearly all the time, I was not able to find out what the row had been about. All I had to go on was that it had been something to do with money, and the only thing I could think of was that it was somehow connected with what Father said Mr Brontë had told him.
Mr Nicholls never stepped outside the Parsonage for days. He kept to his room and put it about that he was ill, but I knew for a fact that he
was not and I wondered for how long he would be able to bear being cooped up in such lovely weather.
One day, though, a doctor came to see him, and for a moment I thought that he really had got something up with him. I could not bear not knowing, so I asked Madam outright. After all, and leaving all else to one side, I thought it only right that we should know if there was a sickness in the house which could be passed on to us, and that was how I put it to her.
I had expected to be snapped at, and I had made up my mind that I would stand up to her, but she did not seem at all put out by my question and said that I could calm my fears. With a little smile – the first I had had from her for ages – she told me that he was not ill at all. It was just that he was thinking too much about matters to do with the wedding, and that he would soon be all right again. Then she went on to say that he was really something of a big baby who just needed to be noticed all the time. Well, that did not sound like Mr Nicholls to me, and in any case I did not think it proper that she should be talking to me about him behind his back like that.
Later on, I told Father and Mother of what had passed between us, and Father said that he had been told by one of the ladies who helped at the Church that Madam had said as much to some of them as well.
Anyway, there was some kind of meeting in Mr Brontë’s room one day, and after that things were a little better in the Parsonage, and Mr Nicholls seemed to be back almost to his old self. I was able to have only one long time together with him though, and for most of that he just went on and on about her. It seemed that he had overheard two ladies gossiping in the Church, and so had learned that Madam had been calling him to folk. He was very bitter about that, but when I saw that our time together was being wasted by so much talk I put an end to it in the only way I knew how.
That was to be our last meeting for a while – and so I was glad that we had made the most of it – because, all of a sudden, all the talk was of the wedding taking place as soon as possible! Then it came out that it was to be at the end of June, and I could not understand what all the rush was about, and nor could the village – because they only got betrothed in the April. I had seldom heard of such a thing, save when the lass had found herself with child, and I could but join in all the wondering.
I do not know whether she thought she had told me – but she had not – but Madam seemed to take it that we all knew when the date of the wedding was fixed. In fact, it was Father who told us that it was set for, of all the days of the week, the last Thursday in June, and it was only from him that I learned that Mr Nicholls and her were going to Ireland afterwards.
That bit of news pained me more than I can say. I had come to accept the wedding, but the thought of him and her going across the sea to places that Mr Nicholls had told me such lovely tales about brought tears to my eyes. How I wished that it was us getting wed and going off. It just did not seem fair, and the only way I was able to calm myself was with the thought that once they were back Mr Nicholls would see to it that there were changes – though I could not think what they would be.
I had thought that I would have to put up with Madam being all cock-a-hoop as the wedding day came nearer, but she was very quiet and I soon understood why. Somehow I had had a picture in my mind of a great day of merrymaking, with the Church crammed to the rafters with folk, and all of us given time off to go as well, and bells ringing out and then eating and drinking and music – oh, I do not know what I thought, but to be sure I did not picture what I found was really planned. It seemed that Mr Brontë would not be in charge of the service – as we had all taken for granted – and that but 5 people in all were to be allowed into the Church! I could not believe it, nor could anyone else at first. It seemed such a hole-and-corner business, and almost as if it was something to be ashamed of.
Of course, I could see Mr Nicholls’ hand in all that, and later on he told me that I was right, and that it was his way of getting his own back for all that her and the old man had put him through. I must say, though, that I was not put out because I would not be there. I had pictured myself having to watch him at the altar being married to her, and I do not think I could have borne it.
So, in the end, the only way that I was caught up in it was seeing that all was right for the wedding breakfast and then, after that, when we waved them off to Ireland. I must say about that that it quite cheered me up, for never had I seen a bride and groom look so unhappy.
Then they were gone – for 6 weeks Madam had told me – and once again I felt an emptiness in my life for a time, especially as it was so quiet at the Parsonage. The only good things were that there was far less work, and the weather that July was so lovely that my spirits were lifted far higher than I could ever have thought. I had pictured myself moping about day after day, wondering where they were and what they were doing, but to my surprise I hardly gave thought to them, and was out and about quite a lot.
The first 2 weeks passed and little of moment took place, and then Mr Brontë was taken quite poorly. As I had expected, he had been very quiet after they had gone away, and I used to feel so sorry for him sitting there alone for most of the time with only goodness knows what thoughts for company. One morning, though, he could not even get out of bed, and he told me that he felt most unwell. I ran across the lane to Father’s barn and he came straightaway as he was, dust and all.
Well, to keep a long tale short, we did have a time with him for the next week or so. Father told the Church Council, and they saw to it that a doctor came in, and some of their wives came to see Mr Brontë, but all the real and nasty work was left to us servants, and that was not right, for we were not paid to be nursemaids and some of the work was not fit for young girls. Even so we stuck to it, but the old man was in a state, and we were kept busy looking after him, and cleaning up after him, and trying to keep the air in his room sweet for visitors. I spent hours with a feeding-cup with him, coaxing him to drink, and wiping his mouth and nightshirt, and I tried to keep his hands and face clean, but right from the start I made it clear that the men had to see to the rest for it was not fitting work for a woman.
In the end, Father told me that one of the Council men had written off to one of the addresses that Madam had left with Mr Brontë telling them that her father was in such a state that he thought they should come back straightaway. It did not seem that the letter had got to them though, because there was no answer and no sign of them until the day when, of all things, I got a letter from Madam!
Such a thing had never happened before in all my time at the Parsonage, and I thought that at last she was owning up to it that I was in charge there. The letter is by my hand as I write this, and I see that it is dated 28 July 1854, and was posted in Dublin. In it she told me that they would be back in Haworth in 4 days, and I did not know whether to laugh or cry.
I was pleased that I would be seeing Mr Nicholls again, and that she would then be there to look after her father, but I felt that she would probably be worse than ever now that they were married, and I did not look forward to being bossed about by her in front of him. On top of that, I still had a strong feeling that there was trouble in store and I wanted no part in it.
[] In November 1853 Charlotte received a shattering blow to her last hope of a stylish marriage, when George Smith’s mother wrote to tell her that her son was engaged to be married. How much Charlotte was hurt can be seen from her extraordinary letter of ‘congratulation’. ‘My dear Sir, In great happiness, as in great grief – words of sympathy should be few. Accept my meed of congratulation – and believe me Sincerely yours, C. Brontë.’
It was surely this blow that finally prompted Charlotte to take decisive action. Enough was enough; time was not on her side, and her father just had to be made to see her point of view – which was that he would have to agree to the marriage and to reinstate Nicholls. So she finally nerved herself for the fray and confronted Mr Brontë, but here again, although the outcome is a matter of fact, we can only conjecture about the actual words which
were spoken. However, on all the evidence available, it would seem that she told him that she had been seeing and writing to Nicholls, and that she was determined to marry him. The ultimate threat was probably that if her father did not agree to her demands she would marry Nicholls anyway and leave Haworth.
It must have been a difficult encounter for both of them, but whereas Charlotte would have had the consolation of feeling better after having had her say, her father must have been aghast at her manner and what he had heard. Bad enough to learn that his daughter had been defying and deceiving him, but to be threatened by her would have been intolerable, especially as he had neither forgotten nor forgiven the way in which Nicholls had treated him in public. It would appear that he refused, angrily, to change his mind, but this time Charlotte was determined to stand her ground, even at the risk of provoking the old man into another seizure.
Once he saw that her mind was made up, I have little doubt that Mr Brontë was brought up short by the prospect which he faced if he remained obdurate. He had suffered two strokes, his sight was poor, and he was a man very jealous of his home comforts. Therefore the idea of being left alone and totally dependent upon village servants would not have appealed to him at all. So, although he huffed and puffed, there was never any really doubt about the final outcome and he was forced to admit defeat. Grudgingly, he agreed that Charlotte could ‘continue the communication’, and gave notice to the assistant curate who had replaced Nicholls, with the latter taking up his old post as soon as possible.
Mr Brontë was not alone in his doubts about Nicholls’ motives for marrying his daughter. Ellen Nussey had voiced her disapproval openly, and others had also made their reservations known – albeit more circumspectly. At first, Charlotte took their innuendoes very badly, but gradually she came to appreciate that they had only her best interests at heart and listened to them when they came to her with a proposal to safeguard her capital.
