The World Within (24 page)

“Oh, Branwell! Very likely, Mr. Robinson will introduce you to the highest echelons of society and, with your talent, you will be such a success.” She regards her nephew fondly.

Charlotte, Emily can see, is doing her best to look pleased for him, but obviously she minds very much. Despite everything, Emily feels aggrieved on her sister’s behalf — it’s not right that Branwell has all the attention and the opportunities while Charlotte’s overlooked. As soon as they’re alone, she says to Charlotte, “You should be having lessons with Mr. Robinson too. It’s not fair. Tell Papa about your idea.”

Charlotte shakes her head. “I might speak to Papa, but not until the exhibition ends.”

“Why wait?”

“Because I want to know if anyone has bought my drawings. It’ll be a sign, you know …” She trails off.

Emily does know. It will be horrible for her sister if her drawings don’t sell.

In the weeks that follow, Emily finds Branwell insufferable. She can’t begin to imagine what Charlotte must be feeling. Their brother is now certain that he’s destined for success. He won’t stop talking about his projected future: the life he’s going to lead in London’s artistic circles and the money he’s going to make.

Emily is dubious. She can’t believe that it’s all going to be as easy as Branwell expects. She also wishes, for Charlotte’s sake, that Aunt and Papa weren’t so caught up in his dreams of glory. Apart from anything else, they seem prepared to spend any amount of money on him. His lessons cost two guineas a session, and then when Branwell complains that his bedroom is too small for him to paint in, they decide that the upper storeroom is to be converted into a room especially for him.

This involves a lot of dust and disruption as Fred Harper blocks up the outside door and knocks through a new doorway to the landing. After consultations with Mr. Robinson, Papa orders an easel and all the paraphernalia the budding artist might need and Branwell takes possession of his new “studio.”

For a few days all is peaceful. But then Branwell emerges complaining that copying isn’t satisfactory and he needs to practice “properly” — in other words, he wants his sisters to sit for him.

Emily instantly refuses.

“Come on, Em,” says Branwell, putting on his most winning expression. “This is important for my career.”

“I don’t want to have my likeness taken,” says Emily truthfully. She adds mischievously, “Though I doubt I’d be recognized if you painted me.”

Branwell frowns.

“I’ll do it,” Anne offers quickly.

“Bless you, little one,” says Branwell, recovering his sunniness. “What about you, Charlotte?”

Charlotte hesitates.

Emily’s not surprised. How could Charlotte possibly put up with Branwell’s posturing and preening as he plays at being the “Great Artist”?

At that moment Papa looks in at the door. Branwell appeals to him at once. “Papa, I want to paint the girls and they’re being obstreperous. Tell them they’ve got to sit for me.”

“I said I would,” Anne protests.

Papa looks at Branwell mildly through his spectacles. “Well, son, I don’t think we can force your sisters to do anything against their will.”

Branwell frowns.

“But, do you know,” Papa looks round at them all, “it would gladden my heart to have a portrait of you all — you too, Branwell, if you can manage to fit yourself in. What do you say, girls?”

Of course, the appeal is irresistible — they can’t disappoint Papa, and so Branwell ceremoniously leads them to his “studio” and, with much huffing and puffing, he sets to.

It takes several days and he won’t let them see it till it’s finished. Finally he announces that it’s done and they all cluster round to look at it.

Privately Emily thinks he’s not done too badly as far as she and Anne are concerned, but poor Charlotte has ended up looking like a prissy schoolmarm.

She sneaks a look at Charlotte to see how she’s taking it.

Charlotte’s lips are pursed, but she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t need to — Aunt and Papa’s comments are fulsome enough even to satisfy Branwell.

Seeing him reveling in their praise, Emily can’t resist. “Have you got the perspective right? You’ve made yourself taller than me. Or are we supposed to imagine you’re standing on a box?”

Branwell turns a furious red at once. “Don’t be stupid. You’re sitting down. And it was the only way I could fit my head in.”

Papa lays a restraining hand on his shoulder. “It’s very fine, Branwell. If it’s all right with you, I’d like to hang it in my study.”

Branwell smirks, and when Papa has carried the picture from the room, he says to Emily, “See, Miss Ignoramus, Papa can appreciate fine art, even if you can’t.”

Emily doesn’t deign to reply. As for Charlotte — she looks as if she would like to punch Branwell.

To Emily’s amusement, Charlotte finds her own way of getting back at their brother.

While she’s been waiting to hear about the fate of her drawings, Charlotte has taken up writing again and, helped by Branwell when he can spare the time from painting, she’s added a kingdom called Angria to the Glass Town confederation. Among its inhabitants is one Patrick Benjamin Wiggins.

Charlotte reads out her description of him with malicious delight, emphasizing certain details as she does so: “A
low
, slightly built man … a bush of
carroty
hair …”

Emily glances at Branwell, who’s looking distinctly uneasy.

Wiggins, according to Charlotte, is extremely boastful, and in imagining his own epitaph he depicts himself in the most glowing terms: “As a musician he was greater than Bach, as a poet he surpassed Byron, as a painter, Claude Lorraine yielded to him …”

Anne laughs out loud and Emily smirks.

Nettled, Branwell looks round at them all. “I don’t know why you’re finding that so funny. With all my talents, you’ve no idea what I might achieve in the future. And I do know one thing.”

“What’s that?” asks Emily.

“I’ll achieve more than any of you silly girls.” And with that he affects a lofty manner and stalks out of the room.

A few days later, Emily at last finds the time to reread some of
Paradise Lost.
She’s been thinking of it ever since they saw the statue of Satan at the art exhibition, and she looks first for the passage Papa mentioned.

Reading it now, she finds it especially poignant in a way she didn’t when she was younger.

The sun reminds Satan of what he once was: Lucifer, star of the morning, brightest of all God’s angels. He regrets all that he has thrown away by trying to overthrow God. But he realizes that the only way he can achieve God’s pardon is by submission and this awakens his spirit of rebellion again. Bidding farewell to hope and fear, he deliberately chooses evil.

Emily shivers as she comes to the line:
Evil, be thou my good
. She puts the book down.

She feels a stirring of sympathy, even admiration, for this being who refuses to subject himself to another’s authority. Why should God have all the power?

As this outrageous thought forms of its own accord, she sits up, feeling a prickle of excitement tinged with fear. She holds her breath, half-wondering if God is going to strike her dead.

But minutes pass and nothing happens.

What does that mean?

Aunt is always telling them, “God sees you. He knows your every innermost thought.” Either it isn’t true, or else, as Emily has suspected for some time, God has far more important things to concern Himself with than everyone’s thoughts.

Or maybe — a new idea occurs to her — maybe God, if He exists, is far too mysterious and unknowable for petty humans to understand. Maybe not all the things that are said about Him in the Bible, the things that Papa believes in so unquestioningly, are true.

Thinking this gives Emily the strangest sensation … as if her head is expanding and her thoughts, untethered, are floating away. She feels excited and afraid, but mostly excited, enjoying this wonderful new sense of lightness, of freedom.

Lacing her fingers, she stretches her arms over her head. It strikes her that some of Satan’s characteristics would suit her heroine Rosina. The princess is already powerful, but she can make her even fiercer, a woman who nurses a deep sense of grievance. Yes, that will be perfect.

Charlotte comes into the room and Emily nods at her, but she’s still caught up in her thoughts.

She’s so glad now that she went to the exhibition after all — seeing the statue and reading Milton’s poem has really inspired her. She can’t wait to tell Anne her latest idea. She’ll have Rosina treat her enemies with a cold and scornful pride and …

She notices that Charlotte’s holding a letter. It’s hard to be dragged from the exciting world of Gondal, but Emily can see from her sister’s face that it’s not good news.

Dutifully Emily asks, “What’s happened?”

“The organizers of the art exhibition want me to collect my drawings. They haven’t sold.”

“Oh, Charles.” Emily can’t help feeling sorry for her sister. There’s no comfort she can offer, though; if she tries, it will only make Charlotte cry — she can see that she’s struggling to hold back her tears — and that will make her feel worse.

“So you see, it’s just as well I didn’t tell Papa.” There’s an edge to Charlotte’s voice, but for once Emily doesn’t retaliate.

“No, you were quite right,” she says meekly.