The World Within (32 page)

Two days later, Emily finds out. In the middle of a French lesson with Miss Catherine she’s summoned to Miss Wooler’s parlor.

Asking her to sit down, the headmistress regards her with such a sorrowful look that Emily’s heart turns over. Something terrible has happened at home.

Papa … please don’t let it be Papa.

“Miss Brontë, your sister has persuaded me, much against my will I must add, to write to your father.”

Emily breathes again. Not bad news. But then her hackles rise. Has Charlotte, Miss Goody Two-shoes, asked Miss Wooler to write to Papa to complain of her behavior in an effort to make her care about getting black marks? How dare she?

The headmistress is still talking. “As I said to Charlotte, I think that, given time, these things sort themselves out, and I believe her reaction is rather extreme to what is after all nothing more than homesickness, but she was insistent. So,” Miss Wooler taps the piece of paper lying in front of her, “your father writes that he is sending the carriage for you tomorrow.”

Emily’s heart convulses so violently that for a moment she thinks it has stopped beating.

“Do you mean,” she says faintly, “that I am going home?”

“Why, yes,” says Miss Wooler, looking puzzled. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

She’s saying something about being sorry to lose Emily and the quality of a brain such as hers, but Emily stops listening.

All she can hear is a voice inside her singing in a spirit of joyous release.

And then she remembers that Charlotte has accomplished this for her. Her sister has understood her after all, and has not only given her what she needs, but in a clever way that she can accept. For this is not her doing.
She
has not begged Miss Wooler to send her home; Papa has ordered her to come back.

What else can she do but obey?

When Miss Wooler finally releases her, she flies back to the schoolroom and, rushing past the long table, ignoring the astonished looks of the other girls and Miss Catherine’s sour grimace, she goes over to Charlotte, who is sitting with the two little Cook girls, and seizes her hand.

“Thank you,” she says simply, giving Charlotte’s hand a vigorous shake. “Thank you so much.”

Charlotte, looking a little embarrassed, glances at her pupils, who are agog at this startling interruption, but then she looks Emily full in the face and, her mouth curved in a little smile, she nods in acknowledgment.

Then Emily spins away and is sailing out of the room when Miss Catherine’s voice pulls her up short.
“Où allez-vous, Mademoiselle Brontë?”

And Emily turns and announces in a loud voice to the whole room, “I’m going to pack.”

The minute Emily steps through the front door Grasper hurls himself at her, barking joyfully as she stoops to meet him. It’s so good to clasp his solid body in her arms, to bury her face in his rough coat and smell his doggy smell.

“Emily, my dear.” There is Papa in the study doorway, patiently waiting to greet her. Emily’s heart misses a beat. She’s only been away three months, but in that short time, he’s aged — he looks more gaunt and frail than ever.

She hugs him tight for a long time. When, eventually, she lets him go, he has a good look at her, and his face changes and she sees fear in his eyes. He should be worrying about himself, not her.

“Papa, there’s no need for alarm. I’m not ill.”

“But my dear, you look so thin and pale. Are you sure nothing ails you?”

“No, Papa, truly.” How can she begin to explain what the trouble was?

Luckily, she’s saved from having to try because Anne appears and flings her arms round her. Emily squeezes her sister hard, as if she never wants to let go. Over Anne’s head she sees a beaming Tabby, Aunt, looking frosty, and — “Branwell! What are you doing here? I thought you were in London?”

Her brother gives her a sheepish look. “Change of plan, old thing,” he mutters.

Emily catches the tail end of a glance passing between Papa and Aunt. Something’s going on, clearly, and she and Charlotte have been kept in the dark.

Her brother was due to go to London and present himself at the Royal Academy. By now he should have embarked on his new life as an art student. She gives Branwell a quizzical look, but he won’t meet her eyes.

Later she must find out what’s happened. Now she just wants to revel in being at home again.

As soon as she’s flung off her cloak and bonnet, she strides into the kitchen. Grasper follows at her heels, as if he’s afraid to let her out of his sight, and she keeps her hand on his head, reassured by that familiar sensation.

Yes, it’s true, she’s really here.

She stands there, taking it all in — the scrubbed table, the copper kettle suspended over the fire, the rocking chair with its faded patchwork cushion, oh, and Tiger asleep there! — and then she notices Tabby frowning at her.

“Eh, lass, I don’t know what tha’s been doing to thiself. Tha’s no thicker than a lath. What have they been feeding thee on at yon school?”

“I’m all right, Tabby, really.” Emily scoops Tiger up and pushes her face into his fur. “Hello, puss. Have you missed me?”

Tabby is not to be deflected. “Tha looks famished and that’s the truth of it. And as for thi face — why, tha looks like a ghost come from the grave. Tha’ll put that cat down and sit and eat some oatcake before tha does owt else.”

And Emily does just that.

The portion of oatcake isn’t very big, but by the time she’s halfway through it, she feels as full as if she’s eaten an enormous meal. Tabby doesn’t let her go, though, until she’s finished the last crumb.

She’s longing to talk to Anne. She can’t tell her about the girls finding her story — it’s too humiliating and it’s made her feel uncomfortable about Gondal. But Anne will help her get over it. Once they get back into their old way of talking, it will all be right again.

Before she can find her sister, Papa calls her into the study. Oh, there is the piano, its lid open, waiting for her!

She forces herself to attend to Papa. She’s puzzled when he begins to question her minutely about the regime at Roe Head: what the food’s like, the provision for exercise, hours of study, and so on.

Why does all this matter now? Unless he’s worried about Charlotte. But there’s no need.

“Papa, I think Roe Head is a very good school. I’m afraid it didn’t suit me, but then I don’t think any school would — the difficulty lay with me, not the school.”

Papa’s face clears. “That puts my mind at rest. Your sister will be glad to hear it.”

“Charlotte?” Emily feels as though she’s missed something.

“No, it’s Anne I’m speaking of. Miss Wooler has kindly offered to keep your place for her. Naturally your aunt and I are anxious for her — after all, she’s never ventured from home before — so I wanted to speak to you before I agreed to it.”

Emily’s breath catches in her throat. They can’t mean to do it! To send Anne to that dreadful place! “What does Anne say?” she asks bleakly. She has a good idea what the answer will be.

“She seems set on going.” Papa sighs. “I am quite surprised to find that our little Anne has so much determination.”

Emily is not at all surprised. But as soon as Papa releases her, she rushes to find her sister. She can’t do this. It’s madness.

Anne listens quietly while Emily enumerates all the reasons she can think of why it’s not a good idea for Anne to take her place, beginning with the tedium of the lessons and ending with the stupidity of the other girls. “And,” she adds, “they are not nice. They’re wealthy, spoiled misses for the most part. You won’t fit in.”

“I don’t suppose I will. But are you sure none of them are nice? Did you talk to them much?” Her wide eyes look innocent as she asks the question, but Emily isn’t fooled. Her sister knows her too well.

“Of course I didn’t,” she mutters. Should she tell Anne about the story? No, she can’t. At the very thought of it, her gorge rises and she feels as if she’s going to be sick.

“Well, then.” Anne gives Emily a direct look. “I’m sorry it hasn’t worked out for you, but it might go better for me. You see, I’m tired of being ‘little Anne’ and being the baby of the family, whom no one expects very much from. You three have had a chance to make your way in the world —”

“I didn’t get very far,” says Emily drily. “And nor has Branwell, by the looks of it.”

Anne nods in acknowledgment, but she says firmly, “I want to see what I can do. This could be a step to making something of myself.” She lays her hand on Emily’s arm. “You’ve no need to worry about me. If it turns out to be a trial, I won’t be alone.”

“You won’t see much of Charlotte. Not to speak to anyway. The teachers don’t mix with the pupils. I mean, apart from the walking ritual, and you can’t talk properly then.” She shudders at the memory.

“I wasn’t thinking of Charlotte.” Anne gives her a seraphic smile. “I was thinking of our Savior.”

Emily is silenced. When Anne talks like this, there’s nothing more to be said.

She can’t bear the thought of her little sister — she can’t stop thinking of her in that way — at Roe Head. Anne as the butt of all that teasing. What if it brings on her asthma? If she’s ill, how will she cope all on her own there, with no one to look after her?

When Emily wakes up in the morning, it takes her a minute to realize that she’s not in the school dormitory, but in her own dear room.

She lies there for several minutes in a state of bliss, luxuriating in the silence. But then she remembers — Anne is leaving today — and a wave of misery washes over her. Emily can’t imagine what it’s going to be like without her.

An air of forced cheerfulness hangs over them all during breakfast and all too soon the carriage is setting off with Anne smiling bravely out at them as she’s carried away.

With a heavy heart, Emily stands in the lane, waving good-bye and sending wishes after her sister, as if by an effort of will she could protect her.

Be well … be happy … be
safe
.

Back indoors, she loiters in the hall, at a loss. What is she supposed to do?

She looks into the parlor. Branwell’s in there reading the paper, but he doesn’t look up. There’s something about his posture and his silence that signals he wants to be left alone. As she hesitates in the doorway, Aunt passes her without a word, her mouth set in a straight line.

Is the old lady being vinegary because she and Branwell have failed to live up to expectations? Or maybe this is Aunt’s way of being sad. Since she came into the household all those years ago, she’s kept Anne close to her. Of course, she’ll miss her too.

Emily sighs. Coming home is nothing like she imagined it would be.

All morning she wanders about the house, unable to settle. In the afternoon she takes Grasper out. It feels so strange to be walking along without Anne by her side. She remembers how Ellen laughingly referred to them as “twins” when she saw them together all the time. It’s true — Emily does feel as if a part of her is missing.

As she reaches the top of the first rise she stops.

There they are — the moors stretching ahead of her, harsh and wild, a vast, splendid emptiness, filled only by the soughing of the wind.

Emily stands still, gazing and gazing, letting herself be drawn out into the endless space …

Gradually the tight, cramped feeling she had at Roe Head, the invisible cage that closed in on her, dissolves. She can stand tall and breathe freely again. Even her sadness about Anne is soothed as the blessed familiar silence that is the absence of human voices folds itself around her like an embrace.

After a long, long time, she’s brought back by Grasper whining and tugging at her dress. She laughs down at him, patting him on the head, and they walk on.

She looks about her, feasting her eyes greedily on all the familiar and beloved things: the red waxcaps nestling like jewels among the grass edging the track; the harebells nodding in the breeze. The faint ghost of the moon is floating between thin vapors of cloud and as she watches it a skein of geese appears from nowhere.

Seeing their effortless passage across the translucent blue sky, she can’t help it: She has to run, and she sets off, with Grasper bounding joyfully ahead. But before she’s covered any distance, her legs start to tremble and she feels breathless and dizzy.