The World Within (5 page)

Emily doesn’t think so. What she needs is to write. She can’t change what might happen to Papa, or to any of them, but in the world of her stories she’s in total control — she decides everything that happens and when and how. And while she’s doing that, for the time being at least, she can forget everything outside her head and be comfortable and secure.

The safety net is still holding her.

One dark November morning Emily is passing through the hall on her way to brush the parlor carpet when she hears Aunt’s voice coming from the study, saying something that stops her in her tracks.

“It’s a pity about Emily …”

Holding her breath, Emily creeps closer to the door.

Aunt is still speaking. “… it would be ideal for her to mix with young ladies, to have some of her rough corners smoothed down.”

Emily’s heart starts to race. What is Aunt talking about? What is she planning?

“But if we can only manage it for one, I think it should be Charlotte. After all, she’s sixteen now.”

Papa sounds regretful, as if he doesn’t like whatever it is they’re talking about. What can it be?

“Very well.”

From Aunt’s tone Emily can easily visualize her tight-lipped expression — she doesn’t agree with Papa, but she is giving way. Emily has seen this before, many times.

Aunt continues, “What Miss Wooler offers sounds as if it would suit Charlotte and she seems like a sensible sort of woman.”

Who is Miss Wooler? Emily’s never heard of her.

“The fees are more than I had counted on.” Emily can imagine Papa’s face, the burdened look that comes over him when money is in question.

Her mind is racing. Could it be art lessons? Since Mr. Bradley went away, Charlotte’s often said she wishes they could have another art teacher. But would that involve other girls?

“As to that, Patrick,” continues Aunt, “you know you can count on my help.”

“Ah, Elizabeth. You have already given so much to this family. I can’t —”

“Nonsense.” Aunt’s tone is brisk. “I have little else to spend my money on. It would please me to assist in any scheme that might secure the girls’ future.”

A chill runs down Emily’s back. This isn’t about art lessons. This is something far more ominous. And then she hears the words that send her running into the kitchen.

The sight of Charlotte standing at the table calmly peeling apples pulls Emily up short. Such a tangle of feelings is burning in her chest that for a moment she can’t speak.

Charlotte looks up and her expression changes. “Whatever is the matter?”

“I’ve just overheard Papa and Aunt talking.” She swallows. “Oh, Charlotte, they’re arranging to send you away to school! Aunt wanted it to be me, but Papa says that you must go.”

Charlotte’s face turns white, her hand jerks, and the curl of peel suspended from the apple she’s holding drops into the bowl.

“Not back to —” She grips the knife like a dagger.

“No, it’s a different one. Something Head? But still … a school …”

In silence the sisters look at each other and all the horror that Emily is feeling is reflected in Charlotte’s face. But then a shutter seems to come down and Charlotte squares her shoulders. “Oh well.”

“
Oh well!
Is that all you can say?” Emily skitters round the table and seizes her sister by the shoulders. “You can’t go. Tell them you won’t.” She gives Charlotte a rough shake.

“Mind the knife!” Charlotte moves her hand out of the way. She looks into Emily’s eyes and her expression is unreadable.

The back door opens and they swiftly move apart. Charlotte resumes work on her apple and Emily pretends to look for something in a drawer as Tabby comes bustling in with a basket of shopping.

“Hasn’t tha done with yon apples yet, Charlotte? The dinner’ll never be ready on time.”

Tabby’s eyes flick from one to the other. She’s obviously aware that something’s going on between them, but, being Tabby, she’ll bide her time, at least for now.

Later Papa calls Charlotte into the study. It seems an age until she emerges and joins the others in the parlor, but when she does, primed by Emily, they pounce and bombard her with questions.

Charlotte remains perfectly calm. Walking over to the table, she sits down and folds her hands on the cloth in front of her, the very model of composure. Speaking in a quiet voice, she tells them that she is to go to Miss Wooler’s school, Roe Head, in Mirfield. Charlotte’s godmother, Mrs. Atkinson, has recommended it. “She told Papa that her niece is a pupil at the school. And that she’s very happy there.”

Charlotte asserts this as if daring them to contradict her, but her eyes look anxious.

“Mirfield?” says Branwell. “Isn’t that near Huddersfield?”

“Yes, it’s only about twenty miles from here.”

“Twenty miles!” To Emily this sounds as far away as the moon. “And when are you supposed to be going to this place?”

“When the new term starts, in January.”

Only two months left, then. Emily is aghast.

Branwell too is beside himself. “But what about Glass Town? You can’t just abandon it. How will we go on without you?” He tugs at his hair till it stands up like a wild coxcomb.

Charlotte’s lip quivers and her hands tighten, but then she resumes her mask. “I’ll be back in the holidays. I want to learn and this is a good opportunity.”

Emily can’t understand it. Charlotte can’t want to go to school. Not after what happened last time. She must be putting on an act. But why?

There’s only one thing to do. She’ll talk to Charlotte and
make
her change her mind.

That night, as soon as they’re in bed, she tackles Charlotte. “Why are you agreeing to go to this school?”

Charlotte fiddles with a button on her nightgown. “I haven’t any choice.” Her voice is flat.

“What do you mean? Of course you can choose. Papa would never make you go against your will.”

Charlotte shakes her head impatiently. “You don’t understand. Our position …” She stops, takes a deep breath, and starts again. “You know Papa isn’t well-off.”

“All the more reason not to waste money on school fees.”

“It’s not a waste, it’s … like an investment.”

Emily frowns. “An investment?”

“For the future. We have to think about the future. Especially with Papa …”

Charlotte doesn’t finish the sentence, but she doesn’t need to. Emily’s stomach tightens. But Charlotte’s wrong. They don’t have to think about the future. Not until it happens.

“Anyway,” Charlotte continues, “Branwell will be all right — he’ll make a success of himself whatever he does. But we girls can’t expect him to support us — we’ll have to support ourselves. If I work hard at this school, I’ll get the qualifications I need to be a teacher or a governess. It’s what we’ll all have to do.”

Emily stares at her sister, appalled.
Teaching?
Is that really their only option?

“Do you
want
to be a teacher?”

Charlotte waves her arm dismissively. “What I want is irrelevant. It’s what has to be.”

Emily gives the blanket a fierce tug. She knows what Charlotte’s doing — she’s trying to be like Maria, their beloved elder sister. Even when she was being bullied by that hateful teacher Miss Andrews at Cowan Bridge, she would bear it patiently, declaring that what could not be avoided must be endured.

But Charlotte isn’t Maria. She shouldn’t be doing this.

She’s about to tell her so when Charlotte turns to look at her. “But, Emily, I
do
want to learn as much as I can. Papa does his best, but he hasn’t time to cover everything. And I think school will be good for me.”

“
Good for you?
Charlotte, you can’t mean that.”

“I do. As Aunt says, it’s time I got used to mixing with other girls.”

“What on earth for?”

“Oh, Emily, don’t be silly. We’ll have to go out into society sooner or later. This will be good practice.”

Emily is silenced, chilled by the very idea. They don’t need “society.” As long as the four of them have got one another and Papa and Tabby, they don’t need anyone else. But maybe Charlotte doesn’t feel the same.

Maybe she
wants
to meet new people.

Shaken by the thought, Emily stares at her sister. She remembers the way Charlotte separated her miniature books from theirs. This is yet another sign that she’s preparing to move away from them.

Emily bites the inside of her lip. It’s unbearable. Too much is changing. First Papa and now Charlotte. It can’t happen. She won’t let it.

She nudges Charlotte. “What if the school’s like Cowan Bridge?” she hisses.

“It won’t be.” But Charlotte’s voice wavers and Emily presses home her advantage.

“Remember that ugly purple uniform?”

“Yes!” Charlotte winces. “Of course I do! I hated everyone knowing we were charity children. But Aunt says there isn’t a uniform at Roe Head. We can wear our own clothes.”

Emily tries another tack. “But don’t you remember how vile the food was? Burned porridge with bits of gristle and bone in it because the pan hadn’t been washed properly.”

Charlotte shudders. “And the grease floating in our milk.”

“Exactly. And you can’t have forgotten the bigger girls stealing our bread? What it felt like to always be hungry?”

Charlotte says nothing, but she looks thoughtful. Emily nudges her again. “Those frightful stories that Mr. Wilson wrote for
The Children’s Friend
and made us read?”

“Don’t,” says Charlotte with a grimace.

“ ‘Edward, aged five, died of a mad dog bite,’ ” Emily intones. “ ‘But what a blessing it was as he was saved from sin and damnation, the fate that awaits all naughty children …’ ”

“Stop it.” Charlotte puts her hands over her ears. “I don’t expect Miss Wooler is anything like Mr. Wilson. And Papa wouldn’t let me go if he thought anything bad might happen.” Charlotte’s voice cracks and she lets her hands drop. She turns to face Emily, her expression pleading. “I’d rather you stopped talking about it and just accepted the situation. Please.”

Emily can see the tension in Charlotte’s jaw. Another minute and she’ll be crying.

Relenting, Emily lays her hand on her sister’s arm. “I’m sure you’re right. Papa will have looked into it all very carefully. He won’t let anything happen to you.”