by James Tully
Only on their walks did I see Mr Nicholls and her together for very long. In fact it began to seem to me that she wanted to be with almost anyone but him – and that he felt the same about her – whereas I would have given the moon and all of the stars to have been with him for as long as he wanted.
Then she started to go on about having Miss Nussey over to stay, and I wondered what Mr Nicholls would have to say about that. At one of our very few meetings, I asked him about it and, as I had expected, he knew nothing about it and was up in arms at the notion. He said he had told her time and time again that he was not having ‘that woman’ – as he called her – to stay, and that she was like to drive him daft if she did not start listening to what he told her.
Him having said that, and so firmly as well, perhaps you can picture how I felt when one day she told me that Miss Nussey was coming and, what was more, there would be a friend of Mr Nicholls stopping at the same time. I could not wait to get Mr Nicholls’ side of it but, as I have said already, our meetings were so few and far between that I had to bide my time.
When I did get the chance, he did not seem at all put out though. All he did was to pat me on the shoulder and tell me that he knew what he was about and that I should trust him. Now that was all very well and good for him, but I thought that I should know what he had in mind, and I told him so. That did not please him at all, and when I saw his face set I wished I had not said anything, and so I told him quickly that I was content to let things be.
So Miss Nussey and Mr Sowden came, and he and her seemed to be together nearly all of the time – so much so that I dared to ask Madam if they were walking out. She thought that very funny, and gave quite a laugh, saying that they were not, then her face changed and she said that she wished she could have more of Miss Nussey to herself but that that did not seem to be possible. That made me wonder just what was going on, and it became even more of a puzzle when Miss Nussey took me to one side one day.
Now apart from the time when I thought that her and Madam were laughing at me behind my back, I had always liked Miss Nussey and she had often had a word with me. This time, though, it was different for she made it plain that I was to say naught to anyone of our talk, and then she went on to ask me if all was well between Madam and Mr Nicholls!
Well, I did not think that that was a proper thing for her to be talking to me about, and I needed time to think of what to say; so it was a moment or two before I gave her my answer. However, seeing that I was not of a mind to say aught, she told me that no one would know of anything that I said to her, it was just that she was worried about her friend. That made no difference to me though for, whatever she said, I was not going to take the chance that she might talk out of turn and get me into trouble, so I just answered that they both seemed to live together very well and left it at that. I do not think that she was overpleased with me, but that did not bother me at all.
So they came and went, and Madam seemed very sad at their going, and then, all of a sudden it seemed, Winter was nearly upon us and, as usual, my spirits began to droop. To tell the truth, I was very, very down all round then because I just could not see an end to my way of life, and I made up my mind that I would have to speak of my feelings to Mr Nicholls. That was easier said than done though and, as I remember it, it was well into October before we had some proper time on our own and a chance to talk.
For a change, he seemed quite full of cheer, and asked why I had such a long face which, he said, did not become me. Well, for a start, I told him, I had not taken much enjoyment from waiting on him and her, and Miss Nussey and Mr Sowden, without knowing what was going on. He sighed at that, as if I wearied him, and then, as if speaking to a child, he asked me when I would ever learn to trust him, and said that I had his word for it that Miss Nussey would never be over again.
I did not really know how he could be so sure of that, but I did not say so. Instead, I went on to tell him how I felt.
By then they had been married for about 4 months, and whilst their lives had changed I just went on, bored to death, doing the same old things. In fact my work was even harder now that Mr Nicholls was living in the Parsonage, and Mr Brontë and Miss Aykroyd could do less and less for themselves. My meetings with him were now far fewer than before, and even when we did meet we seemed to be in fear and trembling of being found out. He was not the same then as he had been, with his moods and secrets, and that made me wonder what his feelings for me really were.
Every day I had to watch as him and her went off for long walks together, and each night I had to go to my lonely, cold bed with the thought that they were sharing the same one whilst all I had to look forward to was mooching about, usually on my own, with my only prospect being another day of hard work. I showed him my hands, and asked him how he would like such rough work day after day, with naught to look forward to but a few hasty meetings held in secret – but he said naught.
Then I reminded him that he had said that nothing would ever part us, but all I saw was that we seemed to be drifting apart and my life ahead looked bleak indeed.
When I had finished, I was sorry in a way that I had said anything for I did not want him to think me a scold, but it just had to be said and I looked at his face to see how he had taken it, and whether there was any comfort there for me. I hardly expected to find any, but I was very taken by the way he was looking at me. He told me that he could quite understand how I felt, and that he was not very pleased with his lot either. His face set as he said that he hated being with her nearly all the time, and the way she was always trying to make plans for them.
In particular, he could not stand her going on and on about having children. It seems that she had a bee in her bonnet about that, and had begun to talk about it from the minute they were married, and just would not stop because she feared that she was becoming too old. For his part, though, he did not want any children, and the whole business was something that they had begun to argue about on their way to Ireland, and the rows still went on. That had started him wondering just what sort of a mess he had got himself into and, more to the point, how he was going to get out of it, and he had not enjoyed himself at all when they had been with his family.
I asked him if he had any plans of his own and whether he had me in them somewhere, and said that he should tell me if he had so that I knew what was in his mind. He said that he could not – it was best that I did not know, especially as he was not sure about them himself. He said that he had thought up a plan when he was in Ireland, but he had had to change his mind and now, though he was sure of the outcome, he did not know how he was going to work it all out. Once again he told me to be patient and that I could trust him, and I said that I would for I knew by the way he looked that he meant what he said and I had faith in him, although I dreaded what might be in his mind.
That night we made love in a way that had not happened for a long time, and I was very happy for I knew that he could not be making up such feelings.
[] For Charlotte, the honeymoon had clearly been a traumatic experience.
Firstly, she received quite a shock when she arrived in Banagher and discovered how much superior Nicholls’ ancestry was to her own. She described the house belonging to his aunt as being ‘very large and looks externally like a gentleman’s country seat’. Obviously, it was very different from the Parsonage which, according to Lady Kaye-Shuttleworth, and up to 1850 at least, ‘never had a touch of paint or an article of new furniture for 30 years’. Charlotte wrote that Nicholls’ male relatives were well educated, and the females ‘strikingly pretty’. His aunt was ‘well-bred’, and had been brought up in London.
All in all, Charlotte must have felt very much out of place, but perhaps she understood then why Nicholls had been so unsettled when he had returned to Haworth after his holiday.
Then, after staying for a week at Nicholls’ family home, the couple set off for the west coast, with Nicholls alert for any opportunity to put the next step of his plan into action – f
or, such as it was, he had one.
Many months before he had accepted that marriage to Charlotte was a necessary expedience, but even then, I feel, he also knew that eventually she would have to go the way of her siblings. His problem was finding the best way to rid himself of this thorn in his flesh.
There is reason to believe that at one point he had experimented with small doses of poison, but he had known all along that her death would need to be achieved in such a way as to ensure that no suspicions were aroused. There would certainly have been comment had yet another mysterious death occurred at the Parsonage so soon. That she would have to go was certain, but how?
In the absence of a better idea, he had decided that the honeymoon would be spent in Ireland, and he would see what, if anything, could be accomplished there. Then, when the time actually came, he was even more determined that a way to dispose of her should be found because the honeymoon served only to increase his dislike of her. She was bad enough in small doses, but being with her for twenty-four hours a day was an ordeal which he found intolerable.
However unlikely, it is possible that he might conceivably have endured her inconsequential chatter and her attempts at intellectual condescension when in Haworth. However, seeing her in his old familiar surroundings convinced him beyond all doubt that her days should be numbered. He knew that most people, but his family in particular, were wondering why on earth he had married this weird little woman from England – especially when he got on so well with his ‘strikingly pretty’ cousins. The suspicion that he was being laughed at behind his back gnawed away at him, and was something which he found hard to bear.
What really sealed her fate however, was when she began to go on about their starting a family before it was ‘too late’. Being married to her was bad enough but, having witnessed the straits to which Mr Brontë and others had been reduced in similar circumstances, he certainly had no intention of being saddled with a young family. He had made it quite clear to her that he was not interested, and now the subject was a bone of contention.
From Banagher, the couple headed for Killarney. Nicholls had a general idea of the area, but had learned some details from his friend Sutcliffe Sowden, who had been there with his brother. Part of the journey was through a remote region and therefore a guide was hired. Then all three set off, on horseback, for the beautiful, but wild, mountain pass known as the Gap of Duloe, and it was there that a heaven-sent opportunity for Nicholls arose.
We have the story from Charlotte’s own pen, in a letter to Catherine Winkworth dated 27 July 1854. She told of how they had arrived at a part where the track ‘was now very broken and dangerous’. The guide had warned Charlotte to dismount but, for reasons about which we can only surmise, she ignored his advice – and Nicholls did not intervene. Now, I do not know what Charlotte was doing on a horse in the first place because, as far as I can discover, she had never ridden in her life. That being so, one would think that any normal and considerate husband would have ensured that his wife heeded the warning of a professional guide – but not Nicholls. If the pun may be forgiven, he was never one to look a gift-horse in the mouth!
Let us take up Charlotte’s account of what happened next: ‘We passed the dangerous part – the horse trembled in every limb and slipped once but did not fall – soon after she (it was a mare) started and was unruly for a minute – however I kept my seat – my husband went to her head and led her – suddenly without any apparent cause – she seemed to go mad – reared, plunged – I was thrown on the stones right under her – I saw and felt her kick, plunge, trample round me!’
Despite all that, she escaped serious injury – and a good try by Nicholls came to nothing.
We really should try to analyse this incident, in an effort to imagine what really happened.
The guide was in front, with Nicholls at the rear and Charlotte tucked safely between them. They came to the dangerous part and the guide suggested that Charlotte should dismount. Quick as a flash, Nicholls saw a possible chance and grabbed it: ‘I shouldn’t bother dear, it doesn’t look that bad to me.’ Silly Charlotte stayed put, and the guide shrugged his shoulders and continued on his way. Then her horse slipped but, to Nicholls’ disappointment, did not fall. However, it was enough to frighten Charlotte, who made as if to dismount, but Nicholls had already done so and was at her horse’s head: ‘Stay where you are my dear, I’ll lead her along this stretch.’
We do not know what he then did to the horse, but it seems more likely than not that he did something, because it was already past the dangerous part and was being led by the head. Even Charlotte stated that there was no apparent cause for the animal’s subsequent behaviour, but that it seemed suddenly to go mad.
Picturing the scene as she described it, we then have the mare rearing and plunging while Nicholls, apparently, was trying to control her. Suddenly Charlotte was thrown on the stones directly under the horse. Then the horse was kicking and plunging, and trampling all round Charlotte. If she did not cry out when she was unseated, she would surely have done so when she felt herself under those flailing hooves – yet Nicholls is supposed to have noticed nothing of his wife’s predicament. It is beyond belief.
It seems that Nicholls was continuing to torment the mare in some way, in the hope that Charlotte would be killed, or at least badly injured, before the guide returned to see where they were. However, to Nicholls’ dismay, he came back too soon.
As was only to be expected, the ‘accident’ frightened her very much, and that is borne out by the fact that her recounting of the incident takes up more than a third of her letter. Not only that, if one looks at the actual document, the tension which she experienced in reliving the episode is only too apparent in the deterioration of her handwriting. She must have had her suspicions of what Nicholls had been about. Obviously she felt the need to tell somebody of what had happened, but she was unable even to hint at her fears. The implications terrified her, and she saw quite clearly that her days could be numbered.
Enough was enough, and Charlotte decided that she would be safer at home. The letter to Catherine Winkworth was written at Cork on 27 July but, and in spite of anything which Nicholls may have had to say, on the very next day they were some 150 miles away in Dublin. It was from there, as we know from Martha, that Charlotte wrote to her telling her that they were coming home and would be in Haworth in four days.
The excuse given for their early return was that Mr Brontë was not well. However, he had been indisposed for at least a fortnight and that had not bothered Charlotte in the slightest until the incident with the horse – and she admitted as much to Martha. She told her in the letter that even if she had been at Haworth when her father was ill ‘it would not have done much good – and I was sure that you would do your best for him’.
So home they went, one partner more fearful than she had ever been in her whole life – and the other determined to do better.
It would seem that one of the first things which Charlotte did upon her return from her honeymoon was to encourage as many visitors as possible. That, however, left her little time for writing or reading because, as we have seen, her husband expected her to accompany him on long walks across the moors in addition to everything else.
Charlotte was not at all enthusiastic about those expeditions, and that was, I believe, because she was afraid of being alone with Nicholls in that vast wilderness, or anywhere else for that matter, and it was a source of relief to her that so many people were responding to her invitations to come to the Parsonage. More than anything else, however, she longed for Ellen to come to stay.
Nicholls, of course, would have felt very differently. Obviously it was evident to him by then that Charlotte would have to die at Haworth after all, and he needed time to think and privacy to allow him to pursue his plans. Although he had a very good idea, he had not, at that stage, decided for certain how Charlotte was to meet her fate. All he knew was that, this time, he would need to be very, very careful. That was almost
certainly one of the reasons for his institution of the custom of the walks on the moors; it was a desolate area, and accidents could happen there – especially if they were given a helping hand!
He knew that with Ellen on the premises he would be restricted in his actions. Nevertheless, he also realized that it would appear most peculiar should he been seen as the one who was keeping the two friends apart indefinitely. It was an awkward dilemma.
However, from what eventually happened, he seems to have found a partial solution to the problem. When a visit could be postponed no longer, Ellen Nussey would be allowed to come but, at the same time, he would invite someone else to stay who would keep her occupied and away from Charlotte as much as possible. He floated the idea to his friend Sutcliffe Sowden, and the latter agreed to make up a foursome should the need arise.
He told Charlotte of the arrangement and she was not at all pleased. Not only would she have resented not having been consulted, she would have realized that there would be none of the long private conversations with her friend which she had anticipated with such eagerness. She would also have known that Ellen would not like the idea of being palmed off on to one of Nicholls’ friends. However, any protests which she may have made were ignored and she was forced to put a brave face on the situation. On 9 August, she wrote to Ellen and told her that Sowden was to stay with them the next time she came to visit. The excuse she made was that Arthur had said, ‘he wished us to take sundry long walks – and as he should have his wife to look after – and she was trouble enough – it would be quite necessary to have a guardian for the other lady.’ Thus Ellen was put on notice and, as far as Nicholls was concerned, she could like or lump it.
