Always Emily by Michaela MacColl Read Free Book Online

of her pursuer. Emily sucked air into her lungs and let her thudding heart realize she was safe.
    A man’s hand grabbed her shoulder. Emily screamed.

It’s a pity he cannot kill himself with drink
.

    G et away from me!” Emily jerked away from the grip on her shoulder. “I’ll call my father. He has a pistol!”
    â€œShhh, Emily . . . for God’s sake, be quiet!” The voice at her elbow was slurred but familiar. “I know Father has a pistol.”
    Emily’s voice shook until she got it under control. “Branwell? Why were you chasing me?”
    â€œWhat?” Her brother slumped against the stone wall. The moonlight lit up his red hair like a beacon. “Em, what are you doing here? Were you waiting up for me?” Pushing himself away from the wall, he threw his arms around her. “I knew you still cared.”
    Now the danger was past, her legs could hardly support her. She looked down on Branwell’s head, sniffed, and wrinkled her nose. “Oh, Branwell, you’re drunk again.”
    Branwell blinked behind his spectacles. “I’m not drunk.” He scowled suspiciously. “Were you following me?”
    â€œI just needed some air.” Before Emily could finish her explanation, Branwell’s mouth started working and his eyes bulged. Without any further warning, he vomited all over her shoes.
    â€œBranwell! That’s dreadful!” Emily shoved him away from her. He stumbled over to the wall, fell to his knees, and lost the rest of his stomach contents. She shook off her shoes and brushed the disgusting chunks from her nightdress. Her mouth twisted to avoid vomiting, too.
    She stood over him, pinching her nostrils at the stench. “What am I going to do with you?” she scolded. “It’s the middle of the night. I’ve half a mind to wake Father and let him deal with you.”
    â€œEm, don’t let him see me like this,” Branwell pleaded.
    â€œWhere have you been?”
    He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. “I was with some friends at the snug.”
    The snug was the private room at the Black Bull Tavern, just down the hill. Branwell was too often to be found there. In recent years, disappointment and drink had dulled the brilliance of the bold twelve-year-old pirate who had beenEmily’s nemesis and playmate. Self-pity had worn away all his promise.
    â€œAnd . . .” Emily’s voice trailed off expectantly.
    â€œThen we went to a boxing match.” He rubbed the back of his neck. Emily knew his telltale signs of guilt.
    â€œWas there gambling at the match?” she asked, dreading the answer.
    Shamefaced, he nodded. “I lost the money Father gave me.”
    Emily caught her breath. “But he gave you two whole pounds!”
    â€œI can count, little sister.” Branwell wouldn’t meet her eyes.
    Emily thought of how many books she could buy with so much money and shook her head.
    â€œI don’t need your disapproval, too,” Branwell said. “I get more than enough from Father and Charlotte. But you’re different—you accept me as I am.” Even in a whisper, she could hear the charm in his coaxing. “Be a love and let me in the house,” he said. “All the doors are locked.”
    â€œWhat’s to stop me from finding my own way in and leaving you out in the cold?” Emily retorted.
    â€œNothing,” Branwell said. “Just as there’s nothing to prevent me from telling Father I found you outside at this hour.”
    Emily had to clap her hands over her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. “Branwell, you’re the one who’s drunk and sick and will have to explain your gambling losses. My crimes are minor in comparison.”
    Branwell took off his spectacles and cleaned them with the bottom of his shirt that had escaped his trousers. “We both know I won’t be punished. But