The Crimes of Charlotte Bronte by James Tully Read Free Book Online

at them as if transfixed.
    It was fortunate for me that she took nowhere near as long as Miss Charlotte had done, and she very soon gave
her
name as ‘ACTON’.
    From what they all said then, and from what I have learned since, that was the name of a lady poet of the time, and so they all thought it was a very good choice for a book of poems. The only trouble was that it could be used only if the ‘C’ that Miss Charlotte had taken could be used again, but nobody spoke against that, especially as Miss Charlotte had already done the same with an ‘R’, so ‘ACTON’ it was.
    Then it was Miss Emily’s turn and, in spite of the time ticking away, I could hardly wait to hear what she would choose. Mind you, there was not much left to go on, and I remember thinking at the time that Miss Charlotte probably told Miss Anne to go before Miss Emily so as to make the last turn harder. What was left was:
HBLLIHLLS
    Miss Emily copied those letters down very carefully, but seemed to be thinking all the time she was writing, and indeed she must have been because, in barely any time at all, she said that she had chosen ‘ELLIS’. The name seemed to please her very much, and I was dying to know why, but I did not get the chance to find out that night for, all of a sudden, time seemed to be important to Miss Charlotte and she said briskly that they should not dally any longer but should get ready for the meal. It was probably spite on my part, out of the mood I was in, but it seemed to me that she was not very pleased that Miss Emily had managed a name so quickly.
    The next day I bided my time until she was doing some ironing and then asked Miss Emily who ‘ELLIS’ was. At first she seemed a little taken aback that I knew anything about it, but then she remembered that I had been there and seemed pleased that I wanted to know. She said that she very much admired a Sarah Ellis, who was not only a writer and a poet but had also started a school for young ladies called Rawdon House. ‘We’ll have to see about getting
you
in there one day, Martha,’ she joked, and then, smiling away to herself, she put away her ironing and left for the moors – and Mr Nicholls.
    I should say that on the evening when the names were chosen what the sisters were on about was of little interest to me. I listened carefully enough, for I had naught else to do, but all I could really think about was that I was going to miss my break at home through being so late.
    When they at last left the room I gave a long sigh of relief and had the table set quicker than ever before. They had left behind them the scraps of paper that they had worked out the names on and, rather than take them and lay them somewhere, I just poked them into my apron pocket for the time being so that I could get on the faster. It was only when I got home that I found them still there, and so I put them to one side meaning to take them back, but I forgot to pick them up again. Nobody ever asked after them, and somehow they finally found themselves into one of my old exercise books.
    It was not until years later that I found them again, and they sit before me now as I write, silent witnesses to the tale I have just told and bringing back so clearly all the memories of that night and the temper I was in. Over the years I have heard many accounts about how the names were chosen – some of them very silly indeed – but I am now the only one who knows the truth of the matter, and that is why I have taken the bother to tell the full story.
    Seeing the interest that there is in the family these days, Mr Nicholls has told me that probably I could sell these little pieces of paper for a lot of money. Perhaps I shall, for I am forced to live very carefully, but, for the moment at least, looking at them brings back such memories of the sisters and my own early days at the Parsonage that I cannot think of letting them go.
    That year of 1845