by James Tully
Under normal circumstances, the law decreed that upon marriage everything which a woman possessed passed to her husband, and she would own nothing in her own right. Now Charlotte had some £1,700 invested, which would be worth approximately £60,000 in present-day values, and her well-wishers had been anxious that Nicholls should not get his hands on it. They therefore suggested to Charlotte that a marriage settlement be drawn up to protect her assets and discovered, somewhat to their surprise, that they were pushing at an open door.
The idea was that everything should be paid into a trust, and that Joe Taylor, the brother of her old schoolfriend Mary Taylor, would be the sole trustee. All the investments would be transferred into Taylor’s name, and he would receive all the proceeds arising therefrom. Those dividends, et cetera, would be paid only to Charlotte, unless she nominated somebody else in writing.
There would be a clause specifically forbidding Nicholls to meddle in those arrangements, and no money was to be made available to his creditors. Should Charlotte predecease him, the capital would remain in trust for any children or grandchildren, unless Charlotte had left written instructions to the contrary. If there were no children or written instructions, all the trust funds were to be paid out as if Charlotte had died intestate and unmarried (my italics), and therefore, should he still be alive, her father and not Nicholls would be the beneficiary. Were Charlotte to be left a childless widow all the trust funds would revert to her.
Those proposed conditions made it quite clear that it was not intended that Nicholls should ever get his hands on his wife’s money, and are evidence, should it be needed, of how little he was trusted by anyone concerned.
There was one potential drawback to such an unusual settlement, however. It would have been quite possible for Nicholls to have disputed it after the marriage, and there was a fair chance – in the male-dominated society of those days – that he would have won the day. Such a possibility could be avoided only by obtaining his written agreement to the proposed arrangements. One can imagine the trepidation with which Charlotte raised the subject with him and, according to Martha, her fears were well founded because the most frightful row ensued. Nicholls was livid with rage at what he termed the conspiracy against him, and vowed that he would call off the marriage rather than put his name to such an insulting document. He stormed off, leaving Charlotte to wonder what would happen next.
For days he sulked and brooded upon the options open to him, but once his anger had subsided, he saw that it was essential to ensure Charlotte’s continuing silence, and that he could do this only by marrying her. In any case, his own financial situation had been improved considerably recently owing to some scheming by Mrs Gaskell. Upon learning that a rich patron of writers, Richard Monkton Milnes, intended to provide Charlotte with an annuity of £100, she somehow persuaded him to pay it to Nicholls instead.
Her motives for such meddling are unclear, but the extra £100 would allow him to retain some dignity as her husband, whilst he bided his time. Nevertheless the humiliation of it all still rankled, and he continued to avoid company until he felt that he could face the world again with some degree of composure.
In order to explain away his prolonged absence from his duties, Nicholls had let it be known that he felt ill, and thought he was going to die. He even went so far as to consult a doctor, and that saved Charlotte a great deal of embarrassment when she was asked where he was. However, she was unable to resist reporting that Dr Teale had informed her betrothed that ‘he had no manner of complaint whatever except an over-excited mind – In short I soon discovered that my business was – instead of sympathising – to rate him soundly.’
The marriage settlement was signed and sealed by Charlotte, Nicholls and Joseph Taylor on 24 May 1854, and Charlotte was delighted. She was also cock-a-hoop at her success in, as she saw it, having bent both her father and Nicholls to her will. Now she used every opportunity to belittle Nicholls to her friends, not realizing the light in which she revealed herself by such behaviour. In a letter to her friend Catherine Winkworth, she told her that: ‘I cannot conceal from myself that he is not intellectual; there are many places into which he could not follow me intellectually.’ In writing that, she chose to ignore the facts that Nicholls had received a far better education than she, and that he was a university graduate. In any case, was that a proper way in which to write about the man with whom she was supposed to be in love, and whom she was to marry? Thoughts come unbidden, but to voice them is a conscious act.
In June, she told Miss Wooler that he was: ‘A man never indeed to be driven – but who may be led.’ However, she was soon to discover just how mistaken she was on the latter count, because he was already, quietly but firmly, setting the pattern for what was to follow.
For one thing, he now saw an excellent opportunity, in the proposed marriage, to put an end, finally, to Charlotte’s friendship with Ellen Nussey. Charlotte tried to put a brave face on it by telling her friend constantly of how highly Nicholls regarded her, but Ellen was not deceived. She knew full well what Nicholls really thought of her, and even Charlotte herself was sometimes hard put to it to explain certain matters.
One example is when, as soon as she had become engaged, she had wished, as was only natural, to see Ellen. She was dying to tell her friend all the news and gossip – but it was not to be. Nicholls would not hear of it, and Charlotte had to try to explain away her disappointment. She wrote to Ellen saying that she had hoped to see her, but that ‘Arthur as I now call him’ had said that ‘it was the only time and place when he could not have wished to see you.’
The implication was that he was so in love that he wanted Charlotte all to himself at that time. The reality, however, was that Ellen was the very last person whom Nicholls wished to have around during such a delicate period, and Ellen knew it. Their dislike was mutual, and she was not to be allowed any opportunity to disrupt events. Nicholls wanted Charlotte sealed safely into wedlock, and was not prepared to take the chance of Ellen putting more doubts into his fiancée’s mind at that late stage. Indeed, I would suggest that, had he been allowed his way completely, Charlotte would have been kept in total isolation until the day of the wedding, and then the service would have been held in the middle of the night, with nobody else present – and he officiating!
In the event, Charlotte rebelled and, as we have seen, she went to visit Ellen. However, that made Nicholls only more determined to end their friendship as soon as possible.
The wedding finally took place on 29 June 1854, and the arrangements were very much in accordance with Nicholls’ requirements. The service was conducted by the Rev. Sutcliffe Sowden – a friend of his – and the only other people present were Ellen Nussey and Margaret Wooler. There was no ‘best man’ and, in the absence of Mr Brontë, it was Miss Wooler who gave away the bride! I find it all quite weird.
The often inaccurate Mrs Gaskell – who relied heavily upon what Charlotte told her – has it that, on the evening before the wedding, Mr Brontë made it known that it was his intention to stay at home whilst the others went to the church. Apparently he gave no reason, and therefore the casual observer might very well have wondered why he should have come to such a decision – especially if all was sweetness and light as Charlotte and the ‘authorized version’ would have us believe. His only surviving child was to be married, and in his own church almost adjoining the Parsonage. One would even have thought that he would have wanted to conduct the service!
Were what Mrs Gaskell related true, that incident alone would have served to illustrate how Mr Brontë really felt about Nicholls, but I fear it is not. It is something that Charlotte fed to Mrs Gaskell to make it appear that her father was absent by choice – which would have been bad enough – but, according to Martha and Charlotte herself, he was not.
The truth of the matter is that it was never intended that he should be there, and Charlotte made that quite plain in her letter to Miss Wooler, dated 16 June. She wrote that: ‘Yourself, E. Nus
sey and Mr Sowden will be the only persons present at the ceremony.’
There was no physical reason why Mr Brontë should not have gone. He was quite well at that time, and the church, in which he had preached twice in one day only a short time before, was nearby. No, as I have said, he was not invited.
A fortnight before the wedding she had told Ellen that her father was easily depressed. We can understand why.
Chapter Fourteen
‘Her feet go down to death; her steps take hold on hell.’
Proverbs 5:5
It was quite a to-do when they got back, and we all had to help bring in their things, but I saw at once that neither was very happy. Not only that – they both looked tired, with her seeming quite unwell with a pale face and great dark rings under her eyes.
I had expected her to be quite gay and full of talk, but she said hardly a word save that she did not want anything to eat or drink and was going straight upstairs to lie down. From the looks of her, that did not surprise me at all and so off she went. Mr Nicholls said he would have something though, and that gave me the chance to have a few quick words with him.
After his meal, which I served myself, Mr Nicholls said he was going for a walk to stretch his legs after the journey, and I saw him going off towards the moor. It was a lovely day and I longed to be going with him, but there was so much to do that I just had to get on with it.
Later, around supper time, he was still out and so I thought I would show willing and I crept upstairs to see if Madam wanted anything. I tapped gently on the door, not wishing to awaken her, if she was asleep, but straightaway she called out for me to come in.
I was surprised to find that, apart from taking off her bonnet and shoes, she was dressed much the same as she had been downstairs. From the look of the bed and the pillow, I could see that she had been lying down, but I doubt whether she had slept much because she had already undone some of her boxes and started to unpack.
I asked her how she was, and whether she had enjoyed herself and if she wanted me to bring her anything. She did not answer me directly though, but wanted to know where Mr Nicholls was. When I told her he was up on the moor she seemed to give a sigh of relief – although I could not be sure – and said that she would love a cup of tea, but that she would have it downstairs and, if my duties allowed of it, I should bring a cup for myself and join her and she would tell me all about it.
Well, I had thought that she might like some tea, so I already had the kettle stirring on the stove, but as I made to go down, all of a sudden – as if she had just thought of it – she asked me how her father was. That seemed a bit late to me, for it was the first time she had mentioned him since she got back, but I told her he was much better and that I would tell her all about it in a minute.
Whilst I was saying that, though, my eyes strayed to the opened boxes and I thought I would hang up some of her clothes out of the way before I went downstairs. I told her that the kettle was on, and that tea would be ready shortly, and then I said that I would just hang up a few of her things before I went. I began to lift a couple of dresses from the box nearest to me but, quick as a flash of lightning, her temper changed and she snapped at me to leave things be.
It was such a quick change of mood that it shocked me and I just dropped the dresses back, but not before I had seen that under them, opened, was Miss Anne’s book that I had found and it looked as if Madam had been reading it.
Well, the way that she had spoken to me made me go so red with temper that she must have noticed it because straightaway she was all smiles and saying that she was sorry that she had snapped at me, but she was tired and the things could be left until she had recovered from the journey. That was all very well and good for her, but for me the harm had been done and any kindly thoughts that I may have had for her went right out of the window. I thought of saying that I would not be able to take tea with her, but I bit my tongue because I wanted so badly to know what had happened in Ireland.
I went downstairs and made up a little tray and took it into the sitting room. Then I was just about to go up and tell her that all was ready when she came down.
By then she had changed her dress, and it seemed to me that she had splashed her face as well because she looked a bit better than she had and seemed more lively.
Anyway, I poured the tea and straightaway she started telling me about how she had been thrown from a horse in Ireland, and she went on and on about it until I had quite had my fill of hearing the same thing over. What I wanted to hear and talk about was Mr Nicholls’ family and their house, so I only made as if I was interested and waited whilst she finished about the horse and started on other matters.
The trouble was, though, that she kept coming back to the horse, and it was evident that it had given her a great fright and she was not going to talk very much about anything else. That being so, I did not stay as long as I had been going to. Instead I made up a tale that I had to see to the supper and gathered up the things and went to the kitchen.
Later, after supper and when I had washed up and put everything else to rights, I went to the sitting room to say I was popping home for a minute, but nobody was there. At first I thought she must have gone to see her father, but then I heard her coughing in her bedroom and so I went up there as quietly as I could.
The door was ajar, and she was sat upon the bed with something in her hands. At first I could not see what it was, but then, as I tapped at the door, I saw that it was Miss Anne’s book that she was so intent upon.
My tap seemed to startle her because she looked up sharply, closed the book quickly and laid it face down, but not so quickly that I did not see that she had come nearly to the end. She made no mention of it, but just said that she supposed I was off home for a while. I said I was, if that was all right, and then asked her how she thought Mr Brontë looked, for I felt sure that she would have been in to see him by then, but to my surprise she said that she had not seen him yet but would do so in a minute.
When I got back downstairs I could hear voices from Mr Brontë’s room. I listened at the door and I found that it was Mr Nicholls in there with him. I waited about for quite a while, hoping that he would come out, and all the while being careful in case Madam came down, but he did not. She did not come down either, and I thought how odd it was that Mr Nicholls should have gone to see the old man and not his daughter.
Later, as I lay in bed, I wondered why it was that she seemed to have made straight for Miss Anne’s book as soon as she got home – putting all else to one side, even seeing her father. It was evident that she must have read it before in all the long while she had had it, so why go through it again and so soon after her honeymoon?
I thought and I thought, and then I recalled how she had gone on and on about the bother with the horse. The way she told it, Mr Nicholls seemed to have done little to help her, and I thought that perhaps it had come into her mind that he had not wanted to! Had he, I wondered, brought about the trouble in some way in order to try to get rid of her as he had done with Master Branwell and probably Miss Emily as well? And was she having the same thoughts as I was? I tossed and turned until I could hear the cocks crowing, and I knew that I would be fit for nothing at work.
When I had to get up, only a short while later, as I had expected I was tired and out of temper with the world, and if Madam had said just one word out of place to me she would have known all about it, and I would have been out of there for ever. As it was, though, she could not have been nicer and smiled and talked to me whenever our paths crossed. I hardly saw Mr Nicholls though. He was in with Mr Brontë for the longest time, then he was in and out of the Church, and then, shortly after supper, I saw him walking her towards the moor.
They went on those walks, at different times, nearly every day after that and they were gone for ages, which made me wonder why, for she had never been one to do much walking for walking’s sake – not like Miss Emily. In point of fact, I had begun to wonder just what they were up to up
there until, at the end of the week, she said to me – in such an odd manner – that she was weary of so much walking and could not understand why Mr Nicholls seemed so bent upon dragging her along for miles, but that she did not like to displease him. That set my mind at ease in one way, but in another it made me think about him as much as the bother with the horse had – which was something that she had told me about again and, indeed, seemed to tell of to anybody who would listen. If she did not want to go, why was he making her go up on the moors with him, and taking her to places where very few other folk went? I knew what he had done in the past, and I could not help but begin to wonder what he was about now.
It was not until they had been back for over a week that Mr Nicholls and me managed to set a time and place for our first meeting. It was very hard to get a word alone, with her always about, but he was able to whisper out of the side of his mouth and that night we met in the Vestry.
There was so much that I wanted to know that, aside from a kiss when we sat down, we did naught else but talk and from what he said I did not think that the visit to his family’s home had gone very well. He told me nearly all they had done, and what they had seen, but, oddly enough, he did not say a word about the bother with the horse until I brought it up. Even then, though, he did not answer me. Instead he sat upright and asked me how I knew of it, and his lips came together tightly when I said that she had told me and was telling everybody else. He was not at all pleased, and said that she talked too much, and then he went on to something else – so I never did hear his side of the tale.
Things settled back into a rut very quickly, and Madam seemed to take to the duties of the Parish almost as if Mr Nicholls was already in charge as of a right. She was out and about calling on folk in the village all the time which, from what Father said, was not very much to the liking of most of them, and when she was not doing that she was having folk back to the Parsonage, which just meant more work for all of us there. It was as if she could not bear to be alone.
