Introduction
Whenever I post one of my Bronte stories, I wait for the next one to elbow its way to the front of the line, from the many, to know which one will be presented next.
This one won the race and is the eighth installment.
It's called an "An Ember in the Ash."
It is set in January of 1854. Arthur and Charlotte had been meeting on the moor since the previous July. But after some" rough work" between Charlotte and Papa, Arthur is once again allowed to enter the Parsonage.
I feel the cold weather of January may have had a good deal to do with the timing.
Of course, Papa knew they were meeting. Charlotte had "told all" to him about
the letters to gain his "permission" to continue the correspondence.
Having the villain under the roof and not cooling his heels on the snowy moor,
was another matter and battle.
If you're keeping score, we are at
Charlotte 2 - Papa 0
with the final battle to come, that of "Papa, I'm marrying Mr. Nicholls"....which CB won as well.
So at the time of the story, Arthur is allowed to enter the Parsonage...but just and under protest from his former Parson.
Can one imagine how Papa felt seeing his “treacherous” ex-curate sitting, large as life, and sipping from a Parsonage tea cup once again after Brontë banned him?
This is why I say it was no contest between father and daughter when CB made-up her mind. It was just she took a grand long time to do so.
Not surprising, since after her siblings died and London ultimately lost its flavor for her. That is when her young publisher decided to marry and even worse, left the task of telling Charlotte to his mother. (Somehow, without even trying, CB had recreated the ludicrous Brussel dynamics in London.) Charlotte had to recast
her life from stem to stern; and such doings take time.
So when this story is set, Charlotte has not agreed to marriage. But she is battling Papa and that indicates the relationship is becoming more serious. However, Papa took it very seriously from the start and so would the general society.
We are so use to backing-out or ending relations, without a social fall-out whatsoever; in fact, we are often cheered. But it wasn't that way back then. A look could commit you and for good, or be thought a "jilter." People were sued over such matters.
In such a time, exchanging letters between single persons was more than commitment enough...but having Arthur visiting in the home is practically an engagement announcement. He's an acknowledged suitor by any of the age's standards.
Papa sees his fears of Arthur's danger relentlessly becoming true, step-by- step. At times it made for an ungracious parent.
Plus, I'm reminding people of a curious incident from March of 1854. Somehow Charlotte, while writing to both Arthur and Ellen Nussey, mixed up the letters and she sent Ellen's letter to Arthur and a letter for Arthur to Ellen.
CB immediately wrote to Ellen about the supposed mistake. In that letter she fills Ellen in about everything that had transpired between Arthur and herself since the women's friendship broke down over the gentleman the previous July.
CB and Ellen had begun to write again in February of 1854. (Thanks to Miss Wooler). But Mr. Nicholls was carefully not mentioned by either of the friends.
The first news of his importance came to Ellen in the "misdirected" letter.
I contend that letter to Arthur was Charlotte's acceptance and in this way Ellen was told the marriage was on and a fait accompli... without being directly told.
In short, I don't believe it was a mistake.
Ellen was on board with the marriage from that time and enthusiastically engaged in its preparations. .
But there's more here. The story deals with powerful issues. Issues we face even today. However our stance today is the opposite of the Victorians.
For instance, to them a baby was considered an innocent and if there was a question of whom to save, the child's life came before the mother's... according the God's law and man's. With us, the mother is paramount and in some quarters a baby is thought to be a group of cells. It's a 180-deree turn-a-round.
I'm all about exploring the Victorian positions on their terms. The terms Arthur and Charlotte contended with and lived. Not bending their values to validate our very different ones.
I know what we think...but what do they think. That's how one can appreciate where these historic figures felt the most emotion and import ....where the drama lies for them, the people a writer is attempting to animate.
There arises a quarrel between Charlotte and Arthur and I think it will surprise many where I have each of them stand. It's not settled until later and by fate, but the lines are drawn.
I also want to say CB did take mercury pills on doctor's orders and her health was consequently awful for a time. Plus, there was a cousin of Arthur's named Susan Bell. She was in the Bell family he grew up in Banagher. Sue was about five years younger than Arthur and died in the manner I have depicted here.
I didn't make up these pieces of history, but I gained by them.
That's the FUN part of historical fiction. The research discovers true history and people that are gold for the author. For instance, if Arthur's best friend, Suffcliff Sowden did not exist, I would have had to invent him.
But he did exist and it's marvelous when there is a best friend your protagonist can "explain" things to and in doing so, explains things to the reader in a natural manner.
I'm sure I mentioned Rev. Sowden in this context before. But he is such a fine example of the device, he bears repeating. lol
While I was writing Bronte fiction, there were many, many cases where the true history and real people light my way, like a beacon.
I hope you enjoy the story and have a great summer!
Anne Lloyd
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An Ember in the Ash
Jan 1854
Though I was allowed entrance back into Parsonage, due to the cold weather and Charlotte's insistence, I was not warmly welcomed by its Master; not in the least. She and I sought to mitigate his annoyance, by arranging my visits when he was out, either parishing, or visiting friends.
But the days of Rev. Brontë walking 40 miles throughout the Parish were long over, particularly in winter. It was inevitable our paths should cross and they finally did.
I was there for tea. The tray was before us, the fire blazed. The dining room door was open and Martha was within call. Brontë must of seen the dark mass of my hat and coat hanging in the passage, for his eyes were ablaze even before he looked in to find the blackguard, exiled curate, sitting large as life in his house, with his daughter. Though Brontë was nearly blind, I can attest his eyes never lost that firey ability when provoked.
“I see we have a guest...in my absence."
Brontë used polite words. But he spoke with such bitter sarcasm, he made a mockery of them. He went on until Charlotte finally stood up to stop him and when that was not enough, she spoke sternly, recalling him to himself.
"Papa, Mr. Nicholls is indeed our guest....my guest."
That call to courtesy had the effect of a lash. Rev. Brontë stepped back, barked "Good day!" and immediately went to his study.
The door slammed, and we both jerked at the report. We did not speak until some moments after the ringing finally stopped.
Charlotte was pale as if one of her headaches were drawing on. She turned from the doorway and said ,"I beg you to excuse my Father, Mr. Nicholls."
I made a gesture of dismissal. I had expected worse.
"Never mind, Miss. It is of no matter," I said. I was in the Parsonage's dining room at her invition. I didn't care about much else.
"No. I fear it is a very great matter," Charlotte said.
"How do you mean?"
"Papa is afraid."
"Fear? Is that so? He's made his fury very clear to me and anyone else who will listen," I said. "Since my proposal, your father has never ceased to scorn me for my low position and presumption to even look at you. Of course I've heard about it. We saw a fine example just today. "
"Indeed, such are my Father's feelings that I do not discuss the matter with him. I have forbade the topic. In deference to his health, my ears and peace in this house. I merely tell him what will be as needed and the necessary rough work then begins.“ She shrugged. ”Papa bends eventually." It was all said in a matter-of-fact fashion.
"But it is fear," she added.
"What does Miss Ellen say about it?" I asked her. I knew they were writing again and much can be learned when Charlotte speaks of her friend.
This inclusion surprised Charlotte. She wondered what I was about, but she answered readily.
"You know of our break over the matter."
Indeed. I well remember Charlotte and my second moor meeting in July, the first being the day before. Charlotte arrived in distress. She was in such distress, that she was far more forthcoming than her usual custom. Charlotte told me she had expected to bring Miss Ellen along with her as a chaperon. Miss Nussey was visiting the Parsonage at that time. Such an arrangement were unbeknownst to Miss Nussey and myself.
But it was Charlotte who received the greater shock ,as Miss Ellen angrily refused the office altogether. She would not go behind Rev. Brontë's back and she was in fact resolved to leave Haworth as soon as possible.
"She said that not for all the world would she countenance such proceedings. It was all she could do in friendship not to go to my Father at once and tell him. I could not allow that."
Charlotte had not revealed her aim in a letter to her friend; she rather dared not. Consequently Miss Nussey was greatly surprised by the whole matter. She had believed I was gone from Haworth and Charlotte's life. Now she learned there was to be moor meetings.
"I thought she would be pleased!" Charlotte said sarrowfuly." She's always favored you and and talked of such adventures in general. She would find romance were there was none! How little we know of others!"
But Charlotte also told me she was , in effect, asking Miss Ellen to choose on which side did she stand? Miss Nussey forcefully chose Papa's part. For a time the friendship broke down completely... as Charlotte reported "We each forgot ourselves." Hard things were said.
Miss Ellen and Father Brontë's would have served their cause far better if soft tears were shed, instead of furious demands issued. How they helped me!
"I'm very glad to say our friendship is mainly healed." Charlotte was saying. "We are exchanging letters once again. But while Miss Nussey and I are again in communication, neither of us will broach the topic of yourself."
"Indeed?"
"What would it be the use? It would only endanger our restored friendship, which neither of us want. I know her opinion. I'm certain it remains remarkably like Papa's. I do not speak to either of them about it, for then they may speak to each other... do you understand?"
I said I did. I had seen occasional letters from Miss Nussey sent to Rev.Brontë over the years. On the days my Pastor eyes failed him, I or Charlotte would read his correspondence to him. However personal letters , such as Miss Nussey's were held back for him to labor over in private. Still, I saw Miss Nussey's envelops.
Little did I realize such was the beginning of a deeply bitter battle over letters lasting half a century.
“All such things do not address my father’s greatest fear in the least." Charlotte said. closing the subject. " He speaks in anger about your lack of position and fortune. But that is not what causes Papa to forget himself as he does. It is fear."
"Of what?"
Charlotte shook her head as she would to one of her Sunday school scholars who had forgotten an often taught lesson.
"Papa’s greatest fears are always rooted in health...ill health." Charlotte said patiently.
"Oh!"
How could I have forgotten? For eight years I saw Brontë pour over medical literature and yet call for a doctor when one of his brood showed signs of illness. Given his children's fretful health, it was not to be wondered at.
"Papa fears my bearing children. As I told you, he believes I am unequal to the rigors of marriage."
"I see."
I had nothing else to say. Indeed, Charlotte did tell me that, but not exactly why. He feared her bearing children? By God, so did I! That this so concerned Brontë, put a different light to his opposition and made me soften towards him.
I looked towards Brontë's closed door.
"So, it is not all ambition or disappointment in my lack of wealth after all."
"No, by no means," Charlotte said, annoyed I should have thought so.
"Though that is a great consideration of Papa's, of course."
"Of course."
"Please sit down."
I would have rather kept standing, but did as I was bid.
It was remarkable we had not spoken of this aspect of marriage before. But perhaps not; it was moot until and if Charlotte’s acceptance of my proposal. That had not as yet happened.
Yet here we were at last, sanctioned to meet at the Parsonage and I was at least an unacknowledged, if just tolerated, suitor. But suitor just the same. An amazing position from a short time before.
It was not merely a question of her health that stirred my caution. Both Brontë and I had buried enough young mothers and even more children, to be apprehensive on that topic. There was also Charlotte's small frame. She did not favor any reference to it, but how could this patch safely carry a child to term?
"It is of great concern." I said in a sudden rush, "I share your father's fear wholeheartedly."
This startled Charlotte. So! She had to contend with both her father and her suitor on this point?
"Don't you want children?" she asked. My own fears came to the fore. My mind was flooded with thoughts and feelings that had raged within unarticulated.
A child! Our child? I would want nothing more. To father Charlotte's child? Could there be that much happiness in this world? The union between us realized in flesh? A son or daughter of ours? But could Charlotte not see the danger? She was the size of a child herself and in my mind also came all the mothers I have buried, many with their new born child in their arms.
But mostly my cousin, Sue's fate, the family's and her young husband’s sorrow ‘filled my heart with dread. Thinking on Sue, I could speak even if haltingly.
"I had a Bell cousin named, Susan. She was lost to childbirth. We grew up together. She was like a younger sister to me, indeed she was. Sue married when a robust, young woman of 19. She was very happy; carried the child well. Then Sue and her babe were gone in a day."
"I'm sorry Mr. Nicholls. I did not know."
I nodded. "It was before I came to Haworth," I said. "However these last few months, it has been much on my mind. It's a dangerous business even for the young and hale! Her husband had a warning placed on her headstone, that said if the young such as she, only ninteen, can be so taken, all should look to their own account with God. It's only too true."
"How has he fared?" Charlotte asked quietly, “her husband."
"In time he married again and he has a fine family. But Edward has never forgotten Sue and if I stop to speak to him when at home, his eyes become... haunted. (How I came to understand him later!) I have thought on this, believe me. Sue, with her health and youth, died in childbirth along with her child."
"Protest if you like, but how more dangerous would that be for you? Charlotte, do you realize if there was a difficulty, and that likelihood is high, both the Church and the Law would demand your life for the babe's?"
"Of course! And I would wish it so! " said in great surprise.
The room's door was open. I reminded her to speak softly and whispered myself, though fiercely.
"But I would not wish it so! I would be twice compelled to stand by as ... I cannot even say it. I tell you I would not stand by! I would break God's law and hang!"
"And kill a child? Our child!?" she was appalled.
"Rather than lose you? I ...I .. “
Kill her child? Our child? I could not affirm either course.
"You ask too much!" I stood up abruptly and went to the window.
In time I heard her say, "At last, we have come to a place where you cannot follow."
"Not willing, how could I? Oh! This is why I leave such matters to Providence! How is mortal man to decide?"
"But you have decided," Charlotte said "on a course outlawed by both God and man. You! A man who firmly abides by such laws in all such matters and regardless of anything. Why, you would bar the very gates of Heaven to a soul not properly baptized! You are rightly known for it."
"Is that fair?" I said because it was only too true.
"And would those gates open for you after such a sin? "
I dared not answer. I was dumb with misery.
After a time, Charlotte joined me at the window. She spoke in a careful manner.
"You are distraught. I do not believe you realize the fearful things you are saying."
"How I wish that were true!" I finally found my tongue. "I do realize, yet I cannot help myself. You do not have to tell me I am a ghastly sinner. I know it! I have struggled with loving you ...more than ..." but I could not name Him and finish.
“It is like Whitsun all over again! Whit-sun! Only worse!"
During what I thought would be my last service at Haworth the year before, Charlotte knelt before me at the rail to receive communion. I had not seen her for months, yet here she was. I was barely able to administer the Host. When our fingers touched as she returned the chalice, I lost command of myself completely.
I could not move or speak and neither could the whole congregation. We were all posed on the tip of a needle.
Finally, I know not how long afterwards, I heard Church Warden Joe Redmond’s rasping whisper in my ear.
“Get on with the service, man! The service! “
I then became animated once more, though a mere automaton.
And why was I struck mute and so still? For the same reason as now. I knew I loved the creature more that Our Creator. What is more condemning for a man of God? I stood before the congregation, a heinous hypocrite.
I remembered my prayer afterwards in the vestry.
"Lord Jesus! My Lord! Forgive this sinner! I am unfit to administer your supper!
My Savior! I am unfit to touch it!"
Presently, Charlotte drew me back from that awful time.
"Forgive me for coming then," Charlotte said, "Please."
"It was not your fault at all. It was mine; it is mine. Since the beginning, every time I saw you in the family pew, I fought this love, until I could fight it no more. I stand here self-accused and condemned. I love the creature more than Our Lord, the Creator." It was fearful to even say it.
Charlotte reached out to caress my arm, looking up into my eyes. I was overawed, it was so unexpected.
"My Dear," Charlotte said in sympathy. A great wave of tenderness came my way. If you had ever received the bounty of Brontë tenderness (for all the daughters had this gift) you would never forget it. It was unlike anything else in this world and without measure. This was a spontaneous upwelling and utterance that denoted a far stronger bond than she would otherwise have admitted.
"You have suffered much on my account," Charlotte said.
If she could forgive me even this transgression, I could bear anything.
"Willingly! Joyfully!" It was a confession.
“Arthur, I do not believe you love the creature more than the Creator."
"But if I would choose you over His law and I was far more distraught by your appearance at the rail, rather than being attentive to His blessed supper, what else can one call it? I know myself and what was in my heart."
"We love our Creator through our love for His creation ," Charlotte said.
"That sounds far too easeful.” I said.
"Arthur" She spoke my name low and lovingly. Though our given names had slipped out while speaking on the moor, their use was not sanctioned. That ended today. Charlotte had just used my name consciously and did so ever after. I'll not deny the thrill it gave me.
But sometimes the sweet is as much of a burden as the sour. I took her hand, kissed it and said I did not deserve such kindness. After a few moments, I asked, "Must we speak of this here?"
Decorum demanded the open door, but I felt we could be heard throughout the house and it was an added agony.
"Can we not speak on the moor as we have?'
"No," Charlotte said" I must tell you something at once; here, now." She moved to the dining room's door and softly closed it. A bold action. As the lock caught, I expected Brontë to come roaring from his own room.
"What will your father say?"
Charlotte waited herself to hear if he stirred, but there was silence and she turned to me.
"You are as concerned he will appear presently as I was the night you proposed." Charlotte said. “But I think events have proved we can be trusted with a modicum of privacy."
And I waited; indeed, the room became the scene of her declaration, not mine. She returned next to me at the window to look out, but not to see. When Charlotte spoke at last it was with some bitterness... sadness.
"Please be at your ease. No great question will be put to you. And neither you or Papa need concern yourselves any longer on the topic....of children."
"Why? How do you mean?"
"My meaning is this; Nature has come down on Papa's and your side. I am now too old."
My relief was evident, even as I thought it unlikely. And I told her so.
"I'll not believe it."
"And yet you seem glad."
"I would be. Is it true?”
"I have proof." Charlotte said.
Her voice chilled me and I waited.
“I should have told you long before. I greatly fault myself for the delay. It was wrong of me. You must understand this before we proceed."
"Yes?"
"Do you remember," Charlotte asked me, " in '50 when I was ingesting mercury pills under doctor’s orders?"
After a moment I said I did remember and I also remembered she stopped taking them of her own accord. Brontë had told me that, as he railed against doctors on her behalf. I never saw her health so low.
"Indeed." Charlotte nodded. "I halted the treatment on my own." As if she read my mind.
"They made my condition much worse than before! I will spare you a litany of the ills those pills brought upon me. I stopped taking them and I greatly improved. However during that time while I ingested them, I must tell you, one of the results was my power of procreation ceased. It has not returned. I fear it will not."
"Are you sure?" What else could I say?
"It has been almost three years," Charlotte answered.
"What does your doctor say?"
"Nothing, but let Nature take its course." Charlotte was not pleased. "Nature seems to have chosen negation of the Brontë race altogether."
"But you said your father fears you having children? Did you not tell him?"
"Papa knows. I finally told him as to assure him,” Charlotte said.
"And?"
"It was a failure. He does not believe the power will be in abeyance once I marry.
Papa says we Brontë’s are a fertile lot; and…. that there is an ember in the ash."
"I see.” And I thought on all this.
Finally, Charlotte could wait no more.
"I must know. Does it matter to you if I am barren? Surely, it must."
"No! " I came out of my reverie. "Haven't I said I would be glad?"
She kept watching and thinking. Charlotte was puzzled.
"I asked you before, don’t you want a child?"
“A child of ours? More than I can say."
"Well?"
"But I want you more! I told you I want you regardless of anything;
any burden, any lapse, any call upon me. I wish only to prove it."
"Most of your sex would not say so," Charlotte said. "When barreness is added to the ledger."
"I believe most men would not have come this far as well," I answered truthfully.
There was then the first, faint smile and half-laugh.
"I dare say, "Charlotte said. "But Arthur I do not understand...why. Why have you kept on?"
Today, so many years later, … I could tell her. I could tell Charlotte it was so ever since I saw her, that first day at Haworth. I was standing in John Brown's house, at James Smith's room’s window visiting to see if Hawoth would have me as its curate
.
I was looking over the church and graveyard, when I saw a small figure trudging down the lane. It seemed a strange mixture of an old woman and child. The person must have sensed my stare, for she suddenly looked up sharply into my eyes like an arrow to its mark. It was Charlotte Brontë and something in an instant, was born within me. It has ever since then insisted on its life.
A love was born in me that defied all reason. Years later, at the Parsonage's back gate, when I thought I would see her no more, she came to me and found me sobbing and again unable to move. After a brief interview, Charlotte offered her hand in a final farewell.
"Good bye then, Mr. Nicholls. I wish you well"
My tears had ceased altogether and I spurned the gesture. No! I told her I would not take her hand to say farewell or goodbye. She had come to me, now she must forbid me to hope on, there and then, or I would go on. Only if she forbade me, would I cease.
"Forbid me to hope! Now! Or I tell you, it will never end."
Charlotte opened her mouth to speak. I thought she would. But no words came forth. Charlotte looked down, and remained mute. I waited, but she still said nothing, which said all. I had her sanction to go on.
As I pulled the gate open. I used the French she loved so much and her given name to make my claim.
"Then I say to you, Charlotte this is not goodbye, it is but Au revoir ! Depend upon it.“
Now, in the Haworth Parsonage's dining room, more than a year later, I could not hope to speak with the wisdom of fifty years spent without her has afforded me today. I could but tell Charlotte I loved her. Which did not answer her question as to why; but it was the only I answer I ever had.
I spoke again of Sue.
"Mostly I think on my cousin's fate. Death came to her, even with her advantages of health and youth. When I ponder this. I am as fearful as your father."
"I don't believe that is possible." she sighed.
At which I could only stare.
"You did not mention your cousin, Susan, before when we spoke on the moor," Charlotte said
"It's a painful, fearful topic and how could I speak of such things until you accepted me. That seemed far off."
"But we have been meeting for months, I battled Papa and you are now even allowed entrance to the Parsonage again. Surly you knew where it would be leading." she said.
"When you told me at every turn you could not yet decide? Had I had been so forward as to speak of children, I would have received a strong railing for my presumption."
She couldn't deny it.
“So, no, I did not know where I stood. I don't know now. We are finally discussing this at last because you broached the topic. I thank you for that."
"It is painful to discuss," Charlotte agreed. "But to put it off any longer would be a great wrong. I could not remain silent."
Sorrow came on. She was trembling. I gathered her up. Charlotte moaned; she was keening for a lost tribe.
"Dearest! It is for the best!"
Charlotte cried. "Why do other women have everything and I ...”
"You have a father, a home and soon a husband." I spoke gently. Now was not the time to strongly call her to gratitude. These were slender stocks next to her loss, yet something.
However, I was compelled to say I thought she didn't care for children? I had heard the stories of her unhappy governing; I had overheard the groans over the years if she spoke about it in my hearing. I knew she disliked teaching and I saw her with her scholars at the Sunday school to this day. Where she did her duty, yet her discomfort was at times evident.
"It would be a very great difference if they were one's own!" Charlotte said. “A Brontë! Completely different! Emily told me so long ago and she was right."
I was taken aback.
"Miss Emily said that? How is that possible?"
If Charlotte felt ill-at-ease in the midst of her Sunday school scholars, Miss Emily's feeling toward children was often hostile.
"You may well ask that, as I did." Charlotte said. "I asked her how can a person who scowls at the village urchins; who has flatly refuses to teach Sunday school and who also runs off rather than face the butcher's boy at the back kitchen door, how can just a being be so welcoming to children?"
"Emily said what I have repeated. It would be very different when its one's own babe and a Brontë. Her remark had import and was pertinent, Emily had an offer of marriage you know."
My awkward manner made it obvious I did know. Charlotte spoke as if I had said so plainly.
"How do you come to have such knowledge?" It was a command. I made the best of it and answered stiffly.
"In the course of my duties, I once overheard a reference to such tidings."
"Perfect parson speech!" She scoffed," You are hiding the true nature of the incident. I can tell."
I said nothing to that and was spared further as her sorrow came on once more.
" I have come to love some children these last few years." she said vehemently. "Joe Taylor's daughter, Tim. The Gaskell girls. I do care for them. I love them. And they seem to have affection for me."
"I'm sure they do!"
"Why has marriage finally come, but not this?"
"Has marriage come? Do you accept me?" I asked.
"Don't be absurd” said wearily, as if she had accepted me long ago! The Brontë way!
"Oh no, I want to hear you say it, Charlotte. "
"Then ask me Arthur. Ask me here as you did before. Perhaps then I will finally know my mind."
I was about to, I collected myself to do so, but stopped, even as I called myself a fool. Her head throbbed, she was very pale trembling and near swooning. In her present state, Charlotte would be merely submitting. I would not have her like that. I drew back.
"No, you are in no condition presently to consider the question and to answer truly.
You will resent it in time and soon. I will wait some more."
Charlotte's eyes opened wide. "Oh! You are kind! That is what I most cherish."
She then was at greater ease.
"Sit down Charlotte" and we both did together.
"Arthur" Charlotte said "when I accept, that is if I do, I will write to you."
And when that letter was written, it was first sent to Miss Nussey by "mistake" - which I never believed - and I received an announcement meant for Miss Nussey. That was how I learned we would be married.
I supposed I always knew that would be the way. It had to come from Charlotte and with a pen in her hand.
The End
Anne Lloyd © 2025
