He stared at the lapwing nest, still protected in Emily’s hands, then glared at Harry.
‘Mam says it were the bog that burst,’ Robert Heaton said.
‘Nonsense, did you not hear it? It was an earthquake,’ the parson dismissed him and his mother. ‘Now, who is this?’
Harry stayed silent, scared of the stern cleric who thundered from the pulpit every Sunday. A tall figure, dressed in black with high, white collar, Harry had always been scared of him.
‘Harry Sutcliffe,’ Emily said. ‘He works at the mill but keeps running away.’
‘Does he now? You know you’ll be beaten for that, boy?’
Harry nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘He saved Emily, Papa,’ Branwell said, unhappy at being left out of the conversation. ‘I was with Anne, looking after her like you told me to, Papa, and Emily was up the hill with her lapwings. I told her to come, but she didn’t, Papa. And then Harry came, just before the big roar, and Emily was dancing in the rain and she wouldn’t come and she saved the lapwings and Harry picked her up and ran away from the bogslide.’ Branwell stopped, out of breath.
His father regarded him in silence a moment, no doubt making sense of his son’s rushed monologue.
‘I see. Well, young Harry, it appears I and my family owe you a great debt.’
Harry looked up at him in hope. Mrs Heaton had fed them all pork and apple with hot posset when they’d arrived, soaked to the skin and shivering. Dare he ask for more food to take home for his family?
‘You work at the mill, boy?’
‘Yes sir.’
‘Which one?’
‘Rooks, sir.’
‘And you do not like the work?’
‘No sir.’
‘But is it not good to have work so your family have food and shelter and cloth on their backs?’
‘Yes sir.’
‘Then why do you run away?’
‘It is so loud, sir. I can’t hear the lapwings call, and I cough all the time, and my brothers and sisters cough all the time, and I keep getting hurt.’ He held out an arm showing thick red weals on the pale skin. ‘And—’
‘Enough.’ Patrick Brontë held up a hand. ‘I have heard enough.’ He glanced at Emily.
‘Do you miss the lapwings’ call, Harry?’
‘Yes sir.’
‘Well, I cannot find you work with birds,’ the parson said, and Mrs Heaton tittered. ‘But the mason is looking for an apprentice. There is just too much work for him these days ...’ He lapsed into a thoughtful silence, then blinked. ‘It is hard work, but skilled work and would give you a trade. Would you like that, boy?’
‘Yes sir, thank you, sir.’
‘Very well, report to the mason’s workshop behind the parsonage first thing tomorrow morning. I shall inform your father and Mr Rook.’
‘Yes sir, thank you, sir,’ Harry said again, so overjoyed at not having to return to the mill, he had not yet considered that he would be carving memorials for the remainder of his life.
‘What about me, Papa?’ Branwell asked, a little sulkily. ‘I looked after Anne and saved her. I dragged her away out of the danger, didn’t I, Anne? Didn’t I?’
Anne nodded. She had not spoken since reaching safety.
‘I should expect nothing less from you, Branwell. It is your duty to care for your sisters.’
At Branwell’s crestfallen face, his papa ruffled his hair. ‘Now, let’s get you all home, Tabby and Aunt Branwell are very worried about you all and are making an extra special supper for us all tonight: liver and onions. And you have earned a double helping, Branwell. What do you think of that?’
‘That will do very well, Papa, thank you,’ Branwell said and beamed at his father. It was his favourite.
20.
‘Morning, Vikram, what’s the plan for today?’
‘Morning, love.’
Jayne smirked at my continued non-complaint about the generic pet name. I ignored her.
‘Plumbers want to finish getting the pipe laid for the central heating so they can crack on with the pipework for the en-suites after Christmas. And Sparkly’s putting the final touches to the wiring – with any luck, you’ll have light and sockets by the end of the day. But it might be best to stay out of her way. Things can get a bit ... fraught when she flicks a switch and things don’t happen quite as they’re supposed to.’
‘I know the feeling,’ Jayne muttered, and I grinned.
‘I think we can all relate. Well, what do you think about visiting the museum, Jayne? I don’t think Lara’s too bothered about it, so it would be a good opportunity.’
‘I don’t mind where we go as long as we get out of here for a while.’
I glanced at her, realising she was more affected by last night than I’d appreciated.
‘More ghosts?’
‘Something like that.’ I smiled at Vikram, took Jayne’s arm and led her out of The Rookery, then stopped at Vikram’s touch on my back.
‘Verity?’
‘Wait for me outside,’ I said to Jayne, then turned to Vikram, surprised at the way my heart had speeded up at the sound of my name in his voice.
‘Is everything all right?’
I shrugged. ‘A bit stressful, to be honest, but that’s to be expected.’ I gestured at the chaos in the room.
‘Are you sure that’s all?’
‘Yes. I’m fine, honest.’
He had no choice but to believe me, although we both knew I was lying, but I smiled, turned and left; at least for the day.
***
We entered the front garden of the parsonage and I almost felt Jayne’s shudder.
‘Jayne ...’ I started, but she shook her head, clearly not yet ready to talk about what had happened.
‘I didn’t realise the extent to which death surrounded the Brontë sisters,’ she said after a while. ‘They lived surrounded by gravestones.’ She indicated the churchyard bordering two sides of the garden.
‘I know, it must have been a very strange way to grow up, although of course the graveyard would have been much smaller then.’
We both looked up as the resident parliament of rooks took wing and wheeled about the memorials before settling to roost once more. Jayne shuddered again and I looped my arm through hers.
‘Even though the front looks down over the older part and the church, the standing stones are newer, so it wouldn’t have been so obvious they lived surrounded by graves. And there would have only been a few to the side as well. It wouldn’t have been quite as grim then as it appears now.’
‘Yes, but still – young kids growing up here?’
I shrugged. ‘They were different times. Death was very much a part of life and childhood then, no matter where you lived. And look at the house they enjoyed – other kids their age were sleeping nine to a room, and a small room at that.’ I gestured to the handsome, millstone grit building as we turned.
Framed by the moors behind, it was true that the nine windows on the front aspect regarded the church and its yard, but each was made up of smaller panes, and lined with the darker stone that picked out the corners of the building. A white portico framing the front door was in vast contrast to The Rookery – once four cottages, each housing large families.
‘Come on, let’s go in,’ I urged. ‘Enough doom and gloom. Whatever you think about its situation, wonderful books were inspired and penned here.’
‘I’m starting to see why they’re so bleak.’
‘Come on, Jayne, this isn’t like you. And I know you love Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre.’
Jayne sighed. ‘I know, you’re right, sorry, I’m just a bit out of sorts this morning.’
I opened my mouth to speak as we climbed the steps to the front door, but she rushed on to stop me. ‘Not yet, I don’t want to talk about it yet, Verity.’
I nodded, handed our tickets in, then led the way into the Brontës’ dining room and became lost
in the world of Charlotte, Emily and Anne, and the tragic tale of their family and lives.
***
‘Even the pub backs on to the graveyard,’ Jayne said as we settled into our seats at the Black Bull.
‘Worse than that,’ I said. ‘We’re downhill, bordering it, and one of the village’s main wells was in the backyard here.’
‘You are kidding me!’
‘Nope. The water from the moors filtered through the cemetery then ran into the village’s drinking water.’
Jayne stared at me in horror.
‘No wonder the churchyard is so full,’ I said. ‘Now, what would you like to drink?’
Jayne pulled a face at me. ‘Something fermented, and preferably shipped in.’
‘Sauvignon blanc?’
‘That will do nicely.’
I fetched two glasses and a bottle, which Jayne frowned at.
‘I know its lunchtime, but it’s nearly Christmas.’ I smiled.
Jayne paused and said, ‘It’s strange to think those wonderful books were all plotted and written in that dining room. I could almost see Charlotte, Emily and Anne walking around the table in a frenzy of creativity, skirts swishing.’
‘They didn’t have much room, did they?’
‘I guess they didn’t need it,’ Jayne said. ‘They needed each other more.’
‘Yes, it was interesting to see all that stuff about Angria and Gondal, the fantasy lands they created together as children.’
‘I know, and those tiny books!’
‘No wonder there’s so much fascination about the sisters and their lives,’ I said. ‘The whole family certainly did things their own way.’
‘You can say that again. Can you imagine waking up to your father discharging a pistol out the window every morning?’
‘Not really.’ I laughed. ‘That’s one hell of an alarm call!’
‘It must have been awful to live every day – and night – in fear, and if the father felt it, the children must have too.’
‘Yes, I guess the threat posed by Luddites and campaigners against the working conditions in the mills was a lot deeper than I thought.’
We both sipped our wine, then I tried to lighten the mood. ‘What did you think about the décor? I want to decorate the rooms at The Rookery in the same style, although keep each different and original.’
‘That sounds like a great idea, and very appropriate given the building’s age and location.’
‘Yes. I also thought about naming the rooms rather than numbering them, just because everything’s on different levels and numbers wouldn’t flow – they could cause more confusion than assistance. What do you think about Charlotte’s Room, Emily’s Room etcetera?’
‘A bit clichéd isn’t it?’ Jayne asked. ‘Might be a bit over the top.’
I shrugged. ‘Maybe. I’ll give it some more thought.’
‘Are you ready to order?’
‘Oh, sorry,’ I said to the waitress. ‘Too busy chatting, can we have a couple of minutes?’
‘Of course.’
We sat in silence to study the menu, ordered our food, then I topped up our glasses and looked at Jayne, my eyebrows raised in silent question.
21.
‘It was a definite push, Verity.’ Jayne took another gulp of wine. ‘I felt hands, and they had force. How can that be?’
‘I don’t know, Jayne. Maybe Lara can shed some light on it when she gets here tomorrow.’
‘Has anything like that happened to you?’
I shook my head. ‘Just the dreams, which are getting more vivid, and seeing the Grey Lady.’
‘But you’ve been touched?’
I said nothing.
‘Verity?’
I took a deep breath, then a sip of my own wine, then nodded. ‘A couple of days ago. In the shower.’
‘In the shower?’
‘Yes, but it wasn’t trying to hurt me, it was more of a caress.’
‘So, let me get this straight.’ Jayne pressed together her index fingers to emphasize her first point. ‘The Grey Lady, supposedly Emily Brontë, has only been seen occasionally over the years, yet has appeared twice in the last two days to two different people.’
She moved to her second finger. ‘You’re dreaming about the same man every night, and occasionally the Brontës as children as well.’
I nodded.
‘Three. You’re getting caresses while wide awake and I was pushed by invisible hands. So what does that tell us? Verity—?’
I’d stopped listening, jumped up, knocking the table, and rushed out of the pub. I stood staring down Main Street when Jayne caught up with me.
‘Verity? What is it? You’re white as a sheet.’
‘I thought I saw ...’
‘Hey!’ The waitress had dashed after us, holding two plates of food. ‘You haven’t paid!’
‘Sorry,’ Jayne said. ‘My friend was taken ill. It’s okay, we’re not doing a runner, we’ll be right there.’
The girl looked at us dubiously, then behind us at our table and realised our coats were still there. She went back inside, carrying our lunch.
‘Verity?’ Jayne said. ‘What happened?’
‘I just ... I thought I saw ...’ I stopped, not quite sure now what I’d seen. ‘Sorry, Jayne, I thought I saw the man I’ve been dreaming about, but he was gone by the time I got outside.’
‘You saw his ghost?’
‘No, I don’t think so. He was wearing jeans and a parka, no Victorian costume.’ I shivered. ‘Come on, let’s go back in.’
‘Okay, but I want to know every detail about the dreams. Something is going on here and it’s escalating. I have a bad feeling. Oh, and there’s no way we’re sleeping there tonight. If the White Lion’s still booked up, we’ll find rooms elsewhere.’
‘Everywhere’s bloody haunted around here. You’ll not get away from Haworth’s ghosts that easily.’ I managed a laugh and followed Jayne back into the Black Bull, though I had lost my appetite.
I regarded the age-blackened wood panelling which had been hacked into to accommodate modern plug sockets, and the uneven stone flags that had been shined by centuries of shuffling feet and which were now breaking away to reveal more stone beneath. The building was a complex jigsaw of colour, texture, age and use, and I wondered just how many ghosts were resident here, too.
***
The waitress gave us a funny look as she checked on us and watched Jayne pick up her phone despite our half-full plates. ‘There was a bog burst,’ she said. ‘On Crow Hill in 1824. And Patrick Brontë did think it was an earthquake.’ She looked up at me. ‘If that’s true, the rest is likely to be as well, but I don’t see how we can check it.’
‘What about the name? Harry Sutcliffe.’
‘Nothing comes up online, but it’s a common enough name. We could have a look at gravestones, see if we can find him.’
I shuddered, remembering the altar grave I had sat on in error. The name on that had been Sutcliffe. ‘But even if Harry is real and I am dreaming real events, that doesn’t explain the caress in the shower or the push last night.’
‘No,’ Jayne mused. ‘Oh God, I wish Lara were here, this is more up her street than mine.’
‘I know, but it’s good to talk about it now. You know what she’s like, she’ll get all excited and carried away and I could really do with getting my head round it all first.’
‘I don’t think there’s much chance of that,’ Jayne said. ‘By the sounds of it, the story your dream man is telling you has only just started.’
‘You think he’s telling me a story?’
‘Isn’t he?’
I shrugged.
‘Well, whether he is or isn’t, maybe you should keep a dream diary. It might help us put the pieces together and understand what’s happening.’
‘That’s a good idea,’ I said. ‘We’ll stop off at the Tourist Information shop on the way back to The
Rookery and I’ll pick up a notebook.’
‘Verity?’
I looked up to see Vikram. ‘What is it? Is anything wrong?’
‘No, not wrong, but Sparkly’s panicking a bit over the security cameras. She needs you to confirm exactly where you want them.’
‘Cameras?’ Jayne asked.
‘Yes, I’ll be running the place on my own so I’ll need to be able to see the public areas and front door from the kitchen and my apartment. There’s the security aspect too.’
Jayne nodded, and I scrunched up my napkin.
‘Oh, finish your meal first, love. Sparkly will wait – as long as she knows you’ll be back after dinner.’
I nodded and smiled at him and he took his leave.
‘If your dream man is jealous of me, that guy had better watch out,’ Jayne said.
‘Oh Jayne, stop it.’
‘You like him, I can see it in your face.’
‘It doesn’t matter. I’m not ready, not after Antony, it’s still all too raw.’ I sipped my wine and shared out the remainder of the bottle. ‘Drink up, it could be a trying afternoon.’
‘Things have been trying enough already,’ Jayne said, picking up her glass. ‘I’m not sure I can cope with more just yet.’
22.
‘Coffee, please,’ Jayne said. ‘Plenty of it and keep it coming.’
The waitress – Tess – smiled. ‘No problem, I’ll bring the pot. And for you?’ she asked me.
‘I’ll share her coffee,’ I said.
Tess glanced at Jayne. ‘I’ll make it a large pot.’ She visibly relaxed as Jayne smiled.
‘Are you always this grumpy in the morning?’
‘Only until my third cup of coffee. Ah, at last.’
I glanced up at Tess with an apologetic smile. She really could not have been any quicker. I dreaded to think how Jayne had behaved earlier when she’d taken Grasper out while I was still getting ready.
Jayne poured, sipped hers – black and scalding – and sighed, her shoulders discernibly lowering to a more natural posture.
Parliament of Rooks Page 8
