Charlotte’s annoyance at Mr de Renzy’s behaviour was symptomatic of her nerves before the wedding. While she had been away, her future husband had been ill with a recurrence of his rheumatic complaint, a fact she seems to have learnt from Mr Grant rather than Arthur himself. Charlotte was thrown into a panic. Was she about to marry a chronic invalid? ‘I fear – I fear –’, she confessed to Ellen, ‘but however I mean to stand by him now whether in weal or woe’. She then revealed – for the first time – that his lack of money had not been Patrick’s sole objection to Mr Nicholls: his liability to rheumatic pain had also been ‘one of the strong arguments used against the marriage’. One wonders what the other ‘strong arguments’ were and whether one of them was the danger of pregnancy and childbirth to a woman of delicate health in her late thirties.22 Though not a subject openly discussed at this period, by the very nature of his job Patrick could not be unaware of the risks.
The reports of Mr Nicholls’ illness proved groundless. He came to visit on Monday, 22 May and stayed till the following Saturday. ‘At first I was thoroughly frightened by his look … It was wasted and strange, and his whole manner nervous’, Charlotte told Ellen. ‘My worst apprehensions – I thought were in the way of being realized.’ When she questioned him, however, she discovered that he had no rheumatic pains and no complaint at all to which he could give a name; he had been to see Mr Teale, who had told him there was nothing whatsoever wrong with him except an overwrought mind.
He was going to die, however, or something like it. I took heart on hearing this – which may seem paradoxical – but you know – dear Nell – when people are really going to die – they dont come a distance of some fifty miles to tell you so … In short I soon discovered that my business was – instead of sympathizing – to rate him soundly. He had wholesome treatment while he was at Haworth – and went away singularly better.
That Charlotte could now joke about dying, however sardonically, was singular proof of the change in her which Mr Nicholls’ devotion had wrought. She was already taking pleasure in affectionate chiding, exclaiming at his impatience in wishing to be married. ‘There is not a female child above the age of eight but
It was during this visit that Charlotte’s marriage settlement was drawn up and signed.24 This was standard practice in the days before the Married Women’s Property Act, because a woman could not own anything in her own right: all her money and estate, whether earned or inherited before or after her marriage, automatically became her husband’s property. Fathers wealthy enough to do so would tie up a sum of money in trust for the sole benefit of the daughter and, after her death, her children: this ensured that the daughter would receive an income in the event of widowhood and, if she was marrying a widower with children, or died and her widower remarried, only her own children would benefit from the trust.
Charlotte’s marriage settlement was unusual in two respects. Firstly, the money involved, £1,678 9s. 9d., was entirely her own, the sum of her earnings from her writings and what was left of her railway investments, so that she had the entire disposal of it at her command; and secondly, a clause in the settlement determined that, if Charlotte died childless before her husband, the entire value of the trust would revert not to Arthur Nicholls but to Patrick Brontë. Clearly, then, the object of the settlement was to ensure that Mr Nicholls could not touch any of Charlotte’s money. During her lifetime the income would be paid out to her ‘for her sole and separate use’ by Joe Taylor, who was appointed the sole trustee of the fund; if she was widowed, the trust ended and Charlotte regained sole control of the capital and its income. If she died first, it would remain in trust for her children until they came of age, when the capital would be divided among them.25
Several factors may account for Charlotte’s decision to exclude Mr Nicholls from all control over her money. It was common sense to ensure that, if she was left a widow, her life savings should not be swallowed up in Mr Nicholls’ estate and possibly revert to Irish relations, leaving her or her children destitute. Given their respective ages (she was thirty-eight, he was thirty-five), state of health and the risks of childbearing, however, it was much more likely that Charlotte would die, childless, before her husband. As he was comparatively young and still had his career before him, it again made sense that it should be Patrick who would benefit from the money. Had Charlotte not married, the money would inevitably have been his; she was determined that he would not lose financially by the marriage and this was a way of ensuring that he did not do so. It is a measure of Mr Nicholls’ love for Charlotte and his determination to ‘offer support and consolation’ to Patrick’s ‘declining age’ that he willingly acquiesced in an arrangement which would leave him always dependent solely on his meagre curate’s income.26
The settlement was drawn up by Richard Metcalfe, the Keighley solicitor who had been sent to London to enquire of George Smith about Charlotte’s investments, and it was signed and sealed in his presence on 24 May 1854, at Haworth Parsonage by Charlotte, Arthur Nicholls and Joe Taylor; Patrick and Mr Metcalfe acted as witnesses.
The business formalities over, Charlotte hoped for a clear run to complete all the other wedding arrangements. She was ‘busy & bothered’, trying to finish all her sewing – ‘Mr N— hindered me for a full week’ – and ‘got thoroughly provoked’ when ‘my worthy acquaintance at Kirk-Smeaton’ announced he would be returning to stay at Haworth for another week. She sent him a smart reply that ‘he positively should not stay the whole week – and expostulated with him seriously’.27 Even the comparatively simple matter of printing wedding cards announcing the marriage was a cause of harassment. Ellen had been commissioned to organize them, but Charlotte proved difficult to please: she had to double her order for cards because Mr Nicholls had ‘such a string of clerical acquaintance’, she forgot to order white sealing wax, she didn’t like the fancy envelopes and demanded a new design and then she did not order enough because there was ‘no end to his string of parson-friends’. She even got agitated about the travel arrangements for Miss Wooler and Ellen, the only guests she had invited to the wedding; fearing that Miss Wooler would insist on walking from Keighley and would then arrive ‘half-killed’ by the heat, she begged Ellen to arrive on the same train so that a cab could be organized to bring them to Haworth.28
It must have been a relief to everyone when a wedding date was at last fixed for a few days after Mr de Renzy’s departure. Arthur Nicholls took up residence for the last time with the accommodating Mr Grant at Oxenhope and Ellen and Miss Wooler were installed ar the parsonage. In accordance with Charlotte’s wishes, Mr Nicholls had made all the arrangements for the wedding as secretly as possible so that hardly anyone in the township was aware of what was happening. Early on the morning of Thursday, 29 June 1854, John Robinson, a youth who was favoured with private lessons from Mr Nicholls, was waylaid in Church Lane by John Brown. The sexton told him about the wedding and instructed him to go to the top of the hill and look for the approach of three men, the bridegroom, Joseph Grant and Sutcliffe Sowden, the vicar of Hebden Bridge. As soon as he saw them he was to run to the parsonage and pass on the news. John Robinson did as he was told, and was then sent to fetch Joseph Redman, the old parish clerk, to the church. He came immediately, pausing only to lace his boots against the wall.29
As the clock struck eight on ‘that dim quiet June Morning’, Charlotte entered the church with Ellen and Miss Wooler. She was dressed simply and plainly in her white muslin dress with delicate green embroidery and matching short veil, a lace mantle and a white bonnet, trimmed with lace and a pale band of small flowers and leaves. The few Haworth people who were fortunate enough to catch a glimpse of her thought she looked like a snowdrop.30 Though Charlotte had declared beforehand that the only people at the ceremony would be Ellen, Miss Wooler and Sutcliffe Sowden, and that the Grants had only been invited to the wedding breakfast afterwards, this was not to be. If John R
obinson is correct then Mr Grant accompanied his guests to the church: Joseph Redman, John Brown and John Robinson himself were all there and it seems unlikely that Martha and Tabby would have been excluded from such an important family occasion. The only person of central importance who was missing was Patrick. Mrs Gaskell tells us that he decided the night before that he would not attend, causing consternation, a hurried consultation of the Prayer Book, the discovery that the bride could be given away by her father or a ‘friend’ and the pressing into service of Miss Wooler as his proxy.31 It is perhaps not surprising that the seventy-seven-year-old Patrick could not face the prospect of giving away his last remaining child, but Charlotte clearly believed that his plea of ill health was genuine and worried about him constantly on her honeymoon.32
The service was brief. Mr Nicholls’ friend, Sutcliffe Sowden, officiated, Miss Wooler gave Charlotte away and Ellen Nussey performed her perennial role as bridesmaid. The newly married pair signed the register in the vestry, witnessed by the two ladies, and the little party made its way out of the side door into Church Lane and walked up to the parsonage for the wedding breakfast. Though Charlotte had insisted that there should be no fuss and everything should be kept as quiet as possible, Martha had raided the village gardens to decorate the house with bouquets and Ellen scattered flowers in the bride’s honour at the wedding breakfast. Even this ceremony was not prolonged and John Robinson, waiting in the lane before school began, saw a carriage and pair drive up to the parsonage gates ready to carry Mr and Mrs Nicholls off to Keighley station. (As a reward for his services he was called out of school just as lessons began and given breakfast at the parsonage.) Charlotte wore one of her new dresses from Halifax, ‘a sort of fawn-coloured silk’ with large sleeves narrowing to the cuff, a full skirt, tight waist and velvet trimmed neck.33
The honeymoon began inauspiciously. Charlotte was already suffering from a cold and, by the time the newly-weds reached their destination in Wales, the weather was wet and wild. From their ‘comfortable inn’ at Conway Charlotte scribbled a hasty note to Ellen and, one presumes, to her father, to announce their safe arrival.34 What Charlotte made of her wedding night, which was undoubtedly her first sexual experience, one can only guess: though she did not love Mr Nicholls when she married him, she had never found him physically repugnant as she did the unfortunate James Taylor, and her honeymoon letters, full of affectionate references to ‘my dear husband’, suggest a growing and happy intimacy.
Despite the unfavourable weather, the first few days of the honeymoon were spent exploring the dramatic North Wales coast from Conway to Bangor and driving through the spectacular valleys of Snowdonia. Charlotte was enthralled: ‘one drive indeed from Llanberis to Beddgelert surpassed anything I remember of the English Lakes’.35 One wonders whether the sight of Penmaenmawr, looming over the coast above Conway, reminded her of her unfortunate brother and the poetry it had inspired in him.
On 4 July, they travelled across Anglesey and caught the packet steamer to Dublin. They were fortunate to have a calm day and therefore a good passage. Charlotte’s cold had got worse so the two days that they spent in Dublin were restricted to driving around the city, Arthur obviously taking pride in showing his bride his old student haunts, including the library, museum and chapel of his alma mater, Trinity College. In many ways the whole honeymoon was to be dedicated to an exploration and discovery of Arthur Bell Nicholls’ past. In Dublin they were joined by his brother, manager of the Grand Canal from Dublin to their home town, Banagher, who was ‘a sagacious well-informed and courteous man’, a cousin, who was studying at the university and another cousin, ‘a pretty lady-like girl with gentle English manners’. Quite what sort of barbarians Charlotte had expected her husband’s Irish relations to be is not clear – but she was constantly surprised and pleased by their ‘Englishness’, by which she meant their gentility. The male members of his family all turned out to be ‘thoroughly educated gentlemen’; Mrs Bell, the aunt who had brought him up, ‘is like an English or Scotch Matron quiet, kind and well-bred’, the apparent explanation for this peculiarity being explained by Charlotte’s next comment: ‘It seems she was brought up in London.’36
Arthur’s brother and cousins escorted the newly-weds the eighty-odd miles from Dublin to Banagher, where Charlotte was equally surprised and gratified by her husband’s former home. ‘I cannot help feeling singularly interested in all about the place’, she wrote to Miss Wooler. ‘In this house Mr Nicholls was brought up by his uncle Dr Bell – It is very large and looks externally like a gentleman’s country-seat – within most of the rooms are lofty and spacious and some – the drawing-room – dining-room &c. handsomely and commodiously furnished.’ Having thought that she was taking a step down in the world in marrying a humble curate, Charlotte was being forced to revise her opinions. ‘My dear husband too appears in a new light here in his own country’, she admitted, adding proudly, ‘More than once I have had deep pleasure in hearing his praises on all sides. Some of the old servants and followers of the family tell me I am a most fortunate person for that I have got one of the best gentlemen in the country. His Aunt too speaks of him with a mixture of affection and respect most gratifying to hear.’ Feeling thankful that she had made the right choice in her husband, she now added another laudatory adjective to her mental list of his virtues, ‘unboastful’.37 Significantly, there was no suggestion that he should be taken to be introduced to her Irish relatives: she was all too well aware that they were of a totally different class from the refined and comparatively wealthy Bells.
After a week at Banagher, during which Mrs Bell kindly nursed Charlotte back to health (‘fatigue and excitement had nearly knocked me up – and my cough was become very bad’), the newly-weds travelled along the banks of the Shannon and Lough Derg to Limerick and then cut across to Kilkee on the West Coast – ‘such a wild, iron-bound coast – with such an ocean-view as I had not yet seen – and such battling of waves with rocks as I had never imagined’.38 Restored to health, unexpectedly pleased with and proud of her new relations and, most of all, her new husband, Charlotte’s happiness shines out of her letters. ‘I had heard a great deal about Irish negligence &c. I own that till I came to Kilkee – I saw little of it’, she told Catherine Wooler.
Here at our Inn – splendidly designated ‘the West-End Hotel’ – there is a good deal to carp at if one
It was a long time since Charlotte had written anything so light-hearted as this careless valediction or, indeed, enjoyed the intimacy of shared humour.
At Kilkee yet another of Charlotte’s reservations about her marriage was dispelled. Writing to Katie Winkworth, to whom she had confided her ‘grand doubts’ about ‘congenial tastes’ before her marriage, she explained:
The first morning we went out on to the cliffs and saw the Atlantic coming in all white foam, I did not know whether I should get leave or time to take the matter in my own way. I did not want to talk – but I did want to look and be silent. Having hinted a petition, licence was not refused – covered with a rug to keep off the spray I was allowed to sit where I chose – and he only interrupted me when he thought I crept too near the edge of the cliff. So far he is always good in this way – and this protection which does not interfere or pretend –/ is I believe a thousand times better than any half sort of pseudo sympathy.40
From Kilkee they spent nearly a fortnight touring the southwest corner of Ireland: they took in all the most famous beauty spots, Tarbert, on the mouth of the Shannon, Tralee, Killarney (did she think of her father’s story?), Glengarriff on Bantry Bay, ending up in Cork. Charlotte was literally speechless. ‘I shall make no effort to describe the scenery through which we have passed’, she told Ellen. ‘Some parts ha
ve exceeded all I ever imagined.’41 The tour was marred by a single, terrifying incident. Charlotte had ignored their guide’s advice to dismount from her horse on a particularly broken and dangerous section of path through the Gap of Dunloe near Killarney. The horse panicked, rearing and plunging, and, while her husband was preoccupied trying to calm it, it threw Charlotte to the ground. Charlotte ‘saw and felt’ the horse kicking, plunging and trampling round: ‘I had my thoughts about the moment – its consequences – my husband – my father –’. The moment he realized what had happened, Arthur released the horse, which sprang over her, leaving her shocked but unhurt. ‘Of course the only feeling left was gratitude for more sakes than my own.’42 It is an interesting indication of how much Charlotte’s priorities had changed in the past month that her first thought was for her husband, not her father.
Nevertheless, it was in some ways a relief to reach Dublin and know that they would soon be home. Patrick had been ill and Charlotte was anxious to see him again, knowing that nothing would cheer him like her presence. They returned to Haworth in the early evening of Tuesday, 1 August, having been away for almost exactly a month.43
They were immediately plunged straight into the routine of parish life. ‘Since I came home I have not had an unemployed moment;’ Charlotte declared with satisfaction,
my life is changed indeed – to be wanted continually – to be constantly called for and occupied seems so strange: yet it is a marvellously good thing. As yet I don’t quite understand how some wives grow so selfish – As far as my experience of matrimony goes – I think it tends to draw you out of, and away from yourself.
In this same letter Charlotte also made some rather odd comments which are often taken out of context and used to suggest that she still had deep reservations about her marriage, particularly the sexual side.
Brontës Page 115
