The Secret Adventures of Charlotte Bronte tsaocb-1

by Laura Joh Rowland

  Eventually they began to yawn as the combined effects of whisky and laudanum took hold. Jim canted backward in his chair and dozed off. Bill dropped his head onto the table and fell asleep amidst the cards. Cecil stared at me, the only person still alert. Suspicion and anger battled drowsiness in his gaze as it moved to his empty glass then back to me.

  “What did you put in that last drink?” he demanded.

  Rising clumsily from his chair, he lurched towards me. His knees buckled; his eyes rolled up inside his head. He crashed to the floor and lay unconscious. Never had any venture of mine succeeded so brilliantly. I staggered to the cellar door, unbarred it, and flung it open.

  “Father! Anne! Emily!” I cried.

  Thus ends Branwell’s letter. His writing is shaky and almost illegible on the last page, as though he’d lost the strength to write. Let an extract from Emily’s diary complete his story. The Journal of Emily Bronte I sat on the cold floor of the dark cellar, deep in despair. A great distance seemed to separate me from Father and Anne, who prayed in low voices together. I was silently pining for sunlight, for the fresh wind on the moors, when I heard someone calling. “Come upstairs! Hurry!” Branwell shouted. Light shone at the top of the stairs. In it stood Branwell’s thin, frail figure. Sobs of joy erupted from me as I bounded up the stairs. Anne and Father were close behind me. We burst into the passage. “What has happened?” Papa asked Branwell. “Where are those men?” Anne said. “I gave them whisky and laudanum,” Branwell said, breathless with excitement. “They’re out cold.” We all hurried to the dining room. There, two men slumbered at the table; the third lay sprawled asleep on the floor. “Help me tie them up,” Branwell said. Anne fetched a ball of stout twine and a knife. She and Papa bound the sleeping men’s wrists and ankles. Papa said, “I’ll fetch the constable.” “Wait,” Branwell said urgently. “But we must have these criminals arrested,” Anne said. “Charlotte is in trouble,” Branwell said. “These men told me that she has been forced into kidnapping the Queen’s children. She’s been taken with them aboard a ship that’s soon leaving for China.” Anne and Father exclaimed in horror. “The ship is presently anchored off the coast of Aberdeen. Before we do anything else, we must rescue her.” “We must tell Mr. Slade,” Papa said. “He’ll know what to do.” “But Mr. Slade is at Balmoral Castle in Scotland,” Anne said. “We can’t travel so far in time for him to save Charlotte and the children.” “We need only get as far as the railway station at Luddenden Foot,” Branwell said. “It has a telegraph. My friend Francis Grundy can communicate instantaneously with any other station in the kingdom.” “The telegraph is truly a modern miracle,” Papa proclaimed. “We’ll ask Mr. Grundy to send an urgent message to the station nearest Balmoral,” Anne said. “Let’s be on our way,” Branwell said, but a violent fit of coughing sank him to his knees. Papa knelt beside him and held him close. “My son, you have demonstrated great courage tonight,” Papa said, his voice roughened by emotion. “Your actions have more than atoned for all your sins.” “It was the courage of the damned, Father,” Branwell rasped. “I had nothing to lose.” “You could have lost your life trying to save us,” Papa said. “My life is almost done. It was but a small stake to gamble.” Branwell laughed weakly. “At least perhaps I’ll die a hero even if I never lived as one.” Papa and Anne were both weeping. Anne said to Branwell, “You’ve done your part. Now you must stay home and rest.” “But who will go to Luddenden Foot?” Branwell said. I spoke aloud: “I’ll go.” Papa, Anne and Branwell regarded me with surprise. Papa said, “Very well, Emily; but I will go with you. On our way we’ll send the constable to rid us of these criminals. Anne, you stay and help Branwell guard them.” He fetched his pistol and put it in her hands, then said, “Let us make haste, Emily.” “I may be gone when you return. Let me bid you goodbye now,” Branwell said.

  42

  The wind quickened, slapping waves higher against the ship, which rocked fitfully and nauseously; I heard the masts and rigging creaking, and the sails flapping, all through the night. When at last the rising sun spread a crimson sheen across the ocean, I wondered how many more mornings I would live to see.

  The children and I spent an awful day together. Hitchman brought us food that none of us had the appetite to eat. Bertie alternately raged and pouted. Vicky said, “It’s going to be all right, isn’t it, Miss Bronte?” I did my best to calm her growing anxiety, even though I was loath to give her false hope.

  Afternoon had lapsed into a cloudy, blustery twilight when there began a commotion above us. Voices called in English and Chinese. We heard thuds and scrambling noises as cargo and persons came aboard. With much consternation I deduced that the rest of Kuan’s retinue had arrived by boat. Next there was a cacophonous metallic racket of the anchor being hauled up from the water. A loud rumbling began in the depths of the ship. I smelled smoke and heard steam hissing. The engine roared to life; its mighty pulse throbbed. The ship began to move.

  Bertie shouted, “No!”

  He pounded and kicked the door; he sobbed with rage. Vicky uttered not a sound, but tears trickled down her face. The ship gathered speed, its great wheels churning the water. I experienced the wrenching sensation of being torn from all that was familiar and dear. An invisible, impenetrable barrier slammed down behind me, sealing me off from my past life, its joys and woes. Papa, Emily, Anne, Branwell, and Mr. Slade were lost to me, as were all dreams for the future. My unfinished book would remain unfinished; I would never write another. The voice that I had labored to make heard by the world would be silenced forever.

  Vicky huddled tight against my side. When Bertie realized that his hysterics were futile, he quieted and came to sit by me. I put my arms around the children and mutely prayed for the ship to reach China safely even with myself no longer on it. I beseeched God to let the Crown negotiate the return of Vicky and Bertie even if I perished. They embodied not only generations of royal ancestry; they, like all children, represented mankind’s hope for the future. That they should die for offenses committed by their elder was a sin most grievous.

  The sea and the horizon flowed past our window, their emptiness relieved only by occasional, faraway ships, until darkness fell. I knew not how many miles we traveled. Silver lights from the moon and stars flecked the choppy waves. The engine roared and the wheels churned without cessation. I had the opportunity to realize that there was even more to be lost than I’d initially thought.

  The family Bronte had never had much in the way of worldly possessions or status. But we had taken a quiet pride in knowing that our name was respectable. Our personal honor had conferred upon us a sense of value. But when the world learned that I had been party to the kidnapping, I would be forever reviled. Even if my family survived their imprisonment, they would forever be tainted by their association with me, the name Bronte ruined. They would live out their lives beneath a cloud of shame. Furthermore, they were not the only ones who would suffer on my account. With myself dead and beyond punishment, Mr. Slade would take the blame for our mission’s disastrous conclusion. He, whom I also loved, would surely hang.

  Suddenly Vicky tensed beside me and said, “What’s that sound?”

  “I don’t hear anything,” I said.

  But Vicky’s face brightened with hope. “I hear ships.”

  “So do I!” Bertie said. “They’re coming for us.”

  Now I heard what their acute young ears had discerned first: a distant thunder carrying across the ocean. We grouped around the window. Clusters of lights came into view. As they neared, they became four steamships lit by lanterns, puffing smoke. Their noise grew louder. Shouts erupted on our ship’s upper deck: The crew had sighted the fleet. The engine roared louder and throbbed harder; the paddlewheels plowed a bumpy, accelerating swath across the water, but our pursuers gradually gained on us. Our ship tilted off course, throwing me and the children sideways. Again and again this happened while Kuan tried to maneuver away from the fleet. My stomach lurched with every roll. V
icky and Bertie shrieked as we tumbled onto the floor. For an instant I thought the ship might keel over and sink.

  The engine’s noise dwindled; the ship slowed, regaining balance. The racket from the wheels stopped. We glided to a halt, rocking and tossing upon the waves. The children and I peered out the window. Two ships were standing afloat near us. Their idle engines rumbled like tigers ready to pounce. Armed soldiers stood on their decks; guns protruded from their hulls. Banners fluttering on their masts bore the insignia of the Royal Navy.

  “Mama and Papa have sent them to rescue us!” Vicky cried.

  Tears of relief pricked my eyes. I breathed a prayer of fervent thanks, even as I wondered how this miracle had come to be.

  A voice thundered from one of the ships: “Attention, Mr. Kuan! In the name of the British Crown, I order you to surrender!”

  I recognized that voice. It belonged to Mr. Slade! Now I spotted him on a naval ship amidst the soldiers. Jubilation swelled my heart. With his keen, determined features lit by the lanterns and his black hair wild in the wind, he looked to me like a Spartan warrior come to rescue Helen of Troy.

  “I will not surrender,” came Kuan’s voice, his tone fearless and adamant. “Let me pass.”

  “You cannot escape,” Mr. Slade called. “You’re surrounded. We’re coming aboard to take the children and Miss Bronte. I advise you to cooperate.”

  The ship on which he stood rumbled its engine louder and approached nearer to us, huffing steam and smoke. Kuan said, “Come no closer, or I’ll open fire.”

  From above me I heard the scrape and creak of mechanical devices moving and heavy wheels rolling: Kuan’s crew was opening the gun ports and positioning cannon. I heard Mr. Slade reply, “You would be a fool to attack us. We have far greater fire power than you do.”

  “You would be a fool to attack me while I hold your royal prince and princess captive,” Kuan said. “How unfortunate for you if they should be killed in a battle.”

  “We’ll not allow you to take them to China,” Mr. Slade said. Although I knew he must fear for the children, his voice remained calm; his determination matched Kuan’s. “We’re coming to fetch them and Miss Bronte.”

  “I’ll kill them first,” Kuan said.

  Vicky gasped. “He isn’t really going to hurt us, is he, Miss Bronte?”

  “He can’t,” Bertie declared.

  But Kuan was doomed to die for his crimes whether or not he surrendered, whether or not he spared us. He had nothing to lose by resisting. Furthermore, his pride would never allow him to surrender, and he would take us down with him to spite his enemies.

  The ship on which Mr. Slade stood advanced on ours. Sudden, thunderous booms jarred my bones, deafening my ears, and I smelled acrid gunpowder. Vicky and Bertie screamed and hugged me. The floor below us shook with each explosion. Kuan had fired his cannons. Smoke wafted from Mr. Slade’s ship, where troops scrambled about the deck. I heard them shouting as volleys of gunshots filled the night. I could no longer see Mr. Slade, who was lost in the chaos. On the other naval ship visible to me, men floundered beneath a fallen mast. Sparks flared from rifles as the navy troops’ bullets cracked against our ship, and I gathered the children as far from the window as possible. During an instant’s lull in the din, I heard Kuan call, “Bring up the hostages.”

  If there ever was a time for me to act, it was now. I could not wait out the battle in the vain hope that Providence would favor us. Our rescuers were themselves in peril, and Kuan might kill us before they could board his ship. Determined to keep us out of his hands, I grabbed the rod I had hidden under my bunk. Inserting it between the door and the frame, I pried. The gunshots and cannon fire continued. Footsteps hastened down the staircase towards us.

  “They’re coming. Hurry up!” shouted Bertie.

  “Exert yourself, Miss Bronte,” Vicky pleaded.

  Although I strained mightily, the door did not budge. Someone was working the lock. I sprang backward, the rod still gripped in my hands, shielding the children behind me. The door flew open, and a Chinese crewman burst into the cabin. His face was savage; he held a pistol. Vicky and Bertie screamed. Compelled by a sudden swift, primitive instinct, I swung the rod at the man and struck him hard across the face. I felt the sensation of flesh yielding, bones breaking. Blood poured from his nose, and his eyes went blank as he crashed to the floor.

  Never before had I struck down anyone, but I had no time to marvel at my deed, for Nick appeared at the threshold. Mute and menacing, he stepped towards us over the inert Chinaman. I swung the rod, but he caught it, wrenched it from my hands, and tossed it away. He reached for me, when suddenly Bertie hurled himself at Nick. The boy pummeled Nick while screeching at the top of his lungs. When Nick tried to push him away, Bertie sank his teeth into Nick’s calf. Nick yowled-the first sound I’d ever heard from him. He punched Bertie and pulled at his hair, but Bertie growled and hung on, like a dog gnawing a bone. He and Nick fell down together. Vicky snatched up the rod. She beat Nick soundly about the head until he lay motionless. Bertie sprung up, Nick’s blood trickling from his mouth. He and Vicky cheered in triumph. No king among their ancestors could have fought a battle more valiantly.

  “We must hurry,” I said, urging them towards the door.

  I took the pistol from the fallen Chinaman. A weapon might prove useful, although I’d never fired a gun and it felt heavy and awkward. I put it gingerly in my pocket, afraid I might somehow shoot myself. I hurried the children along the vacant passage, then up the stairs. Through the open hatch I heard the shooting. Our way was lit by red-orange firelight; screams of agony from men struck by bullets greeted us as we climbed. We paused at the top of the stairs and peered out through the hatch.

  On the deck, bodies lay in puddles of blood while sailors manned the cannons or hunched at the railings and fired rifles. Our ship quaked as the guns below deck roared. In the distance loomed a naval ship engulfed by flames. Smoke billowed to the turbulent sky. I couldn’t know whether the ship was Mr. Slade’s. I suppressed the terrible thought that he had died in his attempt to rescue us. That the navy had not destroyed our vessel was due only to its fear of harming the children. I didn’t see Kuan, Hitchman, or T’ingnan, but I could not assume they were among the dead. My only hope was to get Vicky, Bertie, and myself out of their reach. But how? As I frantically looked about for inspiration, I spied T’ing-nan shambling down the deck. He caught sight of us, and his eyes filled with murderous rage.

  “This your fault,” he shouted, pointing his finger at me. “We all die because of you!”

  He rushed towards us. Vicky and Bertie squealed, cowering against me. Suddenly T’ing-nan cried out, his body jerked, and the rage on his face turned to shock. Blood gushed from a wound in his neck, where a bullet had struck him. He fell and lay still. I experienced an ache of pity for the boy whose life had been destroyed by his father’s evil.

  A hailstorm of bullets battered the cabin wall very near us. If I couldn’t get the children off the ship, I must find them shelter. Holding hands, we raced past the cabin while bullets impinged its walls. The deck pitched with the sea’s motion; we skidded on boards slick with blood. Fortunately, the crew was too busy returning fire to notice us. I hurried them through a door in the cabin, into a dim space that contained barrels, ropes, and other equipment. The battle sounds were muted, and I heard voices from an adjacent room whose door stood ajar. Inside it, Kuan and Hitchman were engaged in an argument. I turned to flee with the children, but I saw Nick outside on the deck, crouching below the barrage of gunfire. What a pity that Vicky’s blows hadn’t killed him! His head was bruised and bloody, his eyes searching for us. Trapped between him and Kuan, we hid ourselves behind the barrels.

  Hitchman said, “You must face the truth, Kuan. It’s over.”

  “It is not over until I decide it is,” came Kuan’s cold, firm reply.

  “Half our crew is dead,” Hitchman said. I heard panic and urgency in his voice. “The rest of them can’t
hold off the navy forever.”

  “Justice is on our side,” Kuan said with a calmness that seemed eerie under the circumstances. “We will prevail.”

  Hitchman uttered a humorless laugh. “No doubt our adversaries think the same of themselves. And they are far better equipped than we are.”

  “As long as I am alive, I shall not give up.” Kuan’s face blazed with ferocious determination.

  He still clung to his hope of forcing Britain out of China and halting the opium trade. But Hitchman said, “Your plans are done for. I say we hand over the children and surrender.”

  “Are you mad?” Kuan stared at Hitchman in disbelief. “If we let them capture us, we’ll be executed.”

  “If we let them capture us, at least we won’t die tonight,” Hitchman said. I knew then that he had never been truly committed to carrying out Kuan’s scheme, and his personal devotion to Kuan was waning fast.

  “We’ll live only for as long as it takes us to be sent to the gallows,” Kuan said.

  “I was lucky enough to escape death once before when things looked hopeless,” Hitchman said. “I’m willing to bet I’ll be lucky again.”

  The gunfire continued, but there seemed to be more shots coming in our direction than going towards the navy. “You were lucky only because I saved you in China,” Kuan said, harsh and unyielding. “We must stand together.”

  “Sorry, old friend,” Hitchman said, “but this is where we part ways. I’m going to hand over the children and the Bronte woman and bargain for leniency.”

  As he turned to walk out the door, the children and I shrank behind the barrels. I didn’t trust him to do right by us, and if Kuan should find us, he would never let us go.

  Kuan blocked Hitchman’s exit. “I forbid you!” Outraged that Hitchman would defy him, he shouted, “You owe me your life. You will not betray me now!”

  “I’ve more than repaid my debt to you,” Hitchman said. “Move out of my way.”