The family at Blake Hall were all young. Mrs Ingham, ‘an amiable conventional woman’, was ten years younger than her husband and had already produced five of her eventual thirteen children. The eldest, a six-year-old boy, Cunliffe, and his five-year-old sister, Mary, were the only ones in Anne’s care: the younger girls, Martha, Emily and Harriet, were still in the nursery and not her responsibility.82 Within a few days of her arrival, Anne had correctly assessed the situation and its problems in a letter home to her sisters. Charlotte, as usual finding it difficult to see her youngest sister in any other terms than as a ‘poor child’, was ‘astonished to see what a sensible, clever letter she writes’. She even suggested that Anne’s intense reserve might be misinterpreted, adding ‘it is only the talking part, that I fear – but I do seriously apprehend that Mrs Ingham will sometimes/ conclude that she has a natural impediment of speech’. Charlotte relayed Anne’s news back to Ellen.
We have had one letter from her since she went – she expressed herself very well satisfied – and says that Mrs Ingham is extremely kind … both her pupils are desperate little dunces – neither of them can read and sometimes they even profess a profound ignorance of their alphabet – the worst of it is the little monkies are excessively indulged and she is not empowered to inflict any punishment. she is requested when they misbehave themselves to inform their Mamma – which she says is utterly out of the question as in that case she might be making complaints from morning till night – ‘So she alternately scolds, coaxes and threatens – sticks always to her first word and gets on as well as she can’.83
The problem of discipline was one which was to haunt Anne at Blake Hall. The monstrous Bloomfield children she depicted in Agnes Grey may well have been drawn from life. If so, the little Inghams were spoilt, wild and virtually uncontrollable, tormenting their governess by refusing to do as she bid them, defying her authority and continually running to their parents to complain if she made any attempt to discipline them. How far the picture was an accurate portrayal of Anne’s experiences and how much a fictional improvement is difficult to assess, but there are strong parallels. The three Bloomfield children were roughly the same age as the Inghams and it is possible that the next child, Martha, was also assigned to Anne’s care during her time there. The incident in the book when the three children, having raided and spat in Agnes’ workbag and thrown her writing desk out of the window, then go on the rampage in the snow without their hats, coats or gloves, incurring Mr Bloomfield’s fury, is strongly reminiscent of a genuine episode told by a descendant of the Inghams. A parcel of scarlet native cloaks arrived at Blake Hall from South America. The young Inghams immediately seized upon them and ran out into the park screaming that they were devils and would not return to their lessons. Anne, reduced to tears, was obliged to go to Mrs Ingham and confess that the children were beyond her control. On another occasion, Mrs Ingham walked into the schoolroom to find that Anne had tied the two children to a table leg in a desperate attempt to keep them at their lessons.84
While Anne settled in to her difficult post at Blake Hall, Charlotte jokingly wrote to Ellen on 15 April:
I am as yet ‘wanting a situation – like a housemaid out of place’ – by the bye Ellen I’ve lately discovered that I’ve quite a talent for cleaning – sweeping up hearths dusting rooms – making beds &c. so if everything else fails – I can turn my hand to that – if anybody will give me good wages, for little labour I won’t be a cook – I hate cooking – I won’t be a nursery-maid – nor a lady’s maid far less a lady’s companion – or a mantua-maker – or a straw-bonnet maker or a taker-in of plainwork – I will be nothing ‘but a house-maid’[.]85
Anne’s departure for Blake Hall, however, had goaded Charlotte into making an effort to find a place for herself as a governess. It was hardly right that only the youngest of the Brontë children should be out earning her own living. Within a month Charlotte had found herself an acceptable place only ten or twelve miles away from Haworth as the crow flies, between Colne and Skipton. The Sidgwick family, who lived during the winter months at the gatehouse of Skipton Castle and in the summer at Stonegappe at Lothersdale, needed a temporary governess.86
The post had many advantages. It was not far from home, it was only temporary and, most important of all, she knew the wife of her new employer by report, if not personally. Mrs Sidgwick was the daughter of John Greenwood, a wealthy manufacturer who lived at the Knowle, one of the grandest houses in Keighley. She had married John Benson Sidgwick in 1827, the ceremony being performed by Patrick’s old friend, Hammond Roberson.87 Her sister, Anne, was married to another old friend of Patrick’s, the Reverend Theodore Dury, rector of Keighley. It was probably through Dury and his curate, John Collins, whose wife was on friendly, visiting terms with the Brontës, that Charlotte first heard of the post.88
Some time in May, Charlotte set off for Lothersdale, where the Sidgwicks were in residence, to her first posting as a private governess. Stonegappe is a huge imposing house, three storeys high with a central, square-built bay running the whole height of its frontage. The house is set high on a hillside, surrounded by its own woodland and looking out over a panorama of lower hills and valleys towards the wide flood valley of the River Aire in the distance. The countryside is marked by scattered farmhouses set in lush green pasture, with wooded riverbanks and moorland crowning the higher, uncultivated reaches of the hills. Charlotte herself described the country, the house and the grounds as ‘divine’.89 About a mile away, down a steep and winding hill, was the pretty new church and, beyond that, in the valley bottom, the village of Lothersdale. Just across the fields was Lower Leys Farm where the Reverend Edward Carter lived with his wife, the former Susan Wooler, and their three children, while a parsonage house was built for them. The church day and Sunday schools were also temporarily housed in the gardener’s cottage at Stonegappe.90
In such surroundings, Charlotte had every chance of being happy. However, from the very start she did not get on with Mrs Sidgwick. The fact that Charlotte was already known to her did not mean that she treated her governess with the familiarity and respect Charlotte evidently anticipated. Always swift to see a slight, whether intended or not, Charlotte remarked bitterly to Emily, ‘I said in my last letter that Mrs Sidgwick did not know me. I now begin to find that she does not intend to know me.’91
Like Anne at Blake Hall, Charlotte found her two charges, the youngest children, Mathilda, aged seven, and John Benson, aged four, beyond her control.
The children are constantly with me, and more riotous, perverse, unmanageable cubs never grew. As for correcting them, I soon quickly found that was entirely out of the question: they are to do as they like. A complaint to Mrs Sidgwick brings only black looks upon oneself, and unjust, partial excuses to screen the children.
Like Anne, too, Charlotte was expected not simply to teach her charges but, to her infinite disgust, ‘to wipe the children’s smutty noses or tie their shoes or fetch their pinafores or set them a chair’. What Charlotte found most galling of all, however, was the amount of sewing she had to do, a menial task which she felt beneath her. Mrs Sidgwick, she told Emily,
cares nothing in the world about me except to contrive how the greatest possible quantity of labour may be squeezed out of me, and to that end she overwhelms me with oceans of needlework, yards of cambric to hem, muslin nightcaps to make, and, above all things, dolls to dress.
Any illusions about the difference between being a schoolteacher and a private governess rapidly evaporated.
I see now more clearly than I have ever done before that a private governess has no existence, is not considered as a living and rational being except as connected with the wearisome duties she has to fulfil. While she is teaching the children, working for them, amusing them, it is all right. If she steals a moment for herself she is a nuisance.
It was a measure of her discontent that Charlotte discovered she was ‘getting quite to have a regard for the Carter family. At home I sh
ould not care for them, but here they are friends’. Aware that it would appear at home that nothing suited her and that she was always complaining, she warned Emily not to show her letter to either their father or aunt, only to Branwell, who was likely to be more sympathetic.92
In June, the Sidgwicks left Stonegappe to stay at Swarcliffe, a summer residence belonging to Mrs Sidgwick’s father, John Greenwood, at Birstwith, six miles from Harrogate. Swarcliffe was a large, stately and rambling house on the hill top overlooking the pretty hamlet of Birstwith, which is built round a bridge over the River Nidd. Like Stonegappe, it enjoyed long views over lovely rolling countryside, the flat river valley below, heavily wooded hills and rich agricultural land all around. The move did not lessen Charlotte’s trials, though they were now of a different kind. On 30 June she wrote to Ellen Nussey – using a pencil because she could not get ink without going among the company in the drawing-room. She was tempted to pour out ‘the long history of a Private Governesse’s trials and crosses in her first Situation’ to her old friend.
imagine the miseries of a reserved wretch like me – thrown at once into the midst of a large Family – proud as peacocks & wealthy as Jews – at a time when they were particularly gay – when the house was filled with Company – all Strangers people whose faces I had never seen before – in this state of things having the charge given me of a set of pampered spoilt & turbulent children – whom I was expected constantly to amuse as well as instruct – I soon found that the constant demand on my stock of animal spirits reduced them to the lowest state of exhaustion – at times I felt and I suppose seemed depressed – to my astonishment I was taken to task on the subject by Mrs Sidgwick with a sterness of manner & a harshness of language scarcely credible – like a fool I cried most bitterly – I could not help it – my spirits quite failed me at first I thought I had done my best – strained every nerve to please her – and to be treated in that way merely because I was shy – and sometimes melancholy’ was too bad. at first I was for giving all up and going home – But after a little reflection I determined – to summon what energy I had and to weather the Storm –93
Charlotte may have told rather less than the truth when she described her sole failings as being ‘shy and sometimes melancholy. According to Mrs Sidgwick, ‘Miss Brontë often went to bed all day and left her to look after the children at a time when she was much occupied with her invalid father, Mr Greenwood, at Swarcliffe’. As Mrs Sidgwick was also into the last few weeks of her fifth pregnancy, she had every right to remonstrate with her recalcitrant governess.94 The Sidgwicks’ account of their governess differs little from Charlotte’s version of events in fact, but much in interpretation. ‘Mrs Sidgwick told me that Miss Brontë had a most unhappy difficult, temper, and that she took offence where no offence was meant’. ‘My cousin [John] Benson Sidgwick, now vicar of Ashby Parva, certainly on one occasion threw a Bible at Miss Brontë! and all that another cousin can recollect of her is that if she was invited to walk to church with them, she thought she was being ordered about like a slave; if she was not invited, she imagined she was excluded from the family circle.’95 Habits of subservience did not come naturally to Charlotte and one can well imagine that her resentment at being treated as a servant would be readily apparent to her employers.
Though Charlotte was clearly an awkward person to deal with, she had much to put up with in her role as governess. She later told Mrs Gaskell of an incident that occurred in the stableyard where her pupil John had been lured by his older brother, against the express prohibition of his parents. Egged on by his brother, the boy began throwing stones at Charlotte as she tried to make him leave. One of them hit her so hard on the temple that the boys were frightened into obedience. The next day, when Mrs Sidgwick asked her what had caused the mark on her forehead, Charlotte simply said, ‘An accident, ma’am.’ The boys, relieved that she had not ‘told tales’, proved more tractable thereafter and Charlotte, as she herself admitted, began to find them ‘a little more manageable’ than at first.96 The most infamous incident, however, again reported by Mrs Gaskell, happened one day at dinner when little John Sidgwick put his hand into Charlotte’s and said, ‘I love ’ou, Miss Brontë.’ ‘Whereupon, the mother exclaimed, before all the children, “Love the governess, my dear!”’97
Such public humiliations burnt deep into Charlotte’s soul. Her attitude to Mr Sidgwick was much less critical. ‘One of the pleasantest afternoons’ she spent at Stonegappe was when Mr Sidgwick went out walking with his children ‘and I had orders to follow a little behind’. For once, apparently, this did not pique her pride, for the snobbish element in her character took pleasure in the sight of Mr Sidgwick: ‘As he strolled on through his fields with his magnificent Newfoundland dog at his side, he looked very like what a frank, wealthy, Conservative gentleman ought to be’.98
Charlotte’s sufferings with the Sidgwicks were fortunately of short duration. The engagement was only to last until the permanent governess returned and so, by the middle of July, she was back at home, probably to the relief of all concerned. No doubt in the mood for celebration, it was appropriate that she was just in time for a grand concert in Haworth Church. On Tuesday, 23 July 1839, John Frobisher, the leading light in Halifax musical circles, conducted a selection of sacred music: the principal singers were Haworth’s own Thomas Parker and Miss Milnes, a well-known Yorkshire performer.99 The ‘oratorio’ met with universal approval, though it did not even merit a mention from Charlotte. She had a new scheme to occupy her mind. On her return, she had been ‘almost driven … “clean daft”’ by a proposal from Ellen Nussey that the two of them should go off to Cleethorpes for a holiday. Ellen suggested three weeks, but Charlotte found it impossible to offer more than a week. The plan came to nothing, to Charlotte’s intense frustration, because Patrick and Aunt Branwell had decided that the whole family should take their first ever holiday together. This was probably a response to all the ill health which had plagued the younger members of the family while away from home and an attempt to give a treat to Anne, who was on her annual leave from Blake Hall. A holiday was not only desirable, from every point of view, but was now a practical possibility as Patrick had a new curate coming to assist him in a few weeks’ time. Aunt Branwell insisted that Charlotte should give up the Cleethorpes scheme, but suggested that Ellen should accompany them to Liverpool.100
By 4 August, there was still no sign of the Brontës going to Liverpool. ‘The Liverpool journey is yet a matter of talk a sort of castle in the air—’, Charlotte told Ellen,
but between you and I, I fancy it is very doubtful whether it will ever assume a more solid shape – Aunt – like many other elderly people – likes to talk of such things but when it comes to putting them into actual practice she rather falls off.101
In the end, Branwell got tired of waiting for the elders to decide and took himself off to Liverpool in the more congenial company of one of the Merrall brothers. There, at his father’s request, he went to St Jude’s Church to take notes on a sermon given by the renowned Evangelical preacher, the Reverend H. McNeile. In the first recorded instance of Branwell’s taking opium, Leyland reported that Branwell resorted to the drug to alleviate an attack of tic, a severe form of neuralgia and muscular spasm in the face. Later, while wandering through the town, he saw a copy of one of his favourite oratorios, Handel’s Samson, displayed in a shop window and begged the wealthy Merrall to buy it and the sheet music for several other oratorios and masses. In return, he offered to paint Merrall’s portrait, adorning each corner with the names of Bach, Mozart, Haydn and Handel in honour of his friend’s musicianship.102 Doubtless, they also took the boat trips from Liverpool across the Irish Sea to the Isle of Man and along the north coast of Wales, which were one of the chief reasons for visiting the country’s second largest and busiest port.
Charlotte, in the meantime, reverted with some relief to her original plan. Instead of Cleethorpes, however, on the recommendation of Mary Taylor, they chose to go to Brid
lington on the east Yorkshire coast. Charlotte did not care where they went, so long as she could get her first glimpse of the sea: ‘the idea of seeing the SEA – of being near it – watching its changes by sunrise, Sunset – moonlight – & noonday – in calm – perhaps in storm – fills & satisfies my mind’, she told Ellen, ‘I shall be discontented at nothing –.’103
While the plans were yet evolving, Charlotte had an adventure which, as she laughingly told Ellen Nussey, more nearly resembled one of the pert and pretty Martha Taylor’s than her own. The Reverend William Hodgson, Patrick’s first curate, had come over from Colne to spend the day at the parsonage and he brought with him his own curate, a young Irish clergyman, fresh from Dublin University, called Mr Pryce. He proved to be witty, lively, ardent and clever too; he quickly made himself at home and evidently found the company congenial.
at home you know Ellen I talk with ease and am never shy – never weighed down & oppressed by that miserable mauvaise honte which torments & constrains me elsewhere – so I conversed with this Irishman & laughed at his jests – & though I saw faults in his character excused them because of the amusement his originality afforded –104
A few days later, Charlotte received a letter addressed in a mysterious hand which turned out to be a proposal of marriage from young Mr Pryce: ‘well thought I – I’ve heard of love at first sight but this beats all. I leave you to guess what my answer would be –’, she told Ellen, ‘convinced that you will not do me the injustice of guessing wrong.’ It was perhaps fortunate that Charlotte’s interest had not been awakened, for less than six months later poor Mr Pryce was dead. ‘Though I knew so little of him, and of course could not be deeply or permanently interested in
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