The World Within by Jane Eagland Read Free Book Online Page A

graveyard, where the black slabs of the upright headstones stand forlorn, buffeted by wind-borne sleet.
    She feels an arm slipping through hers and Anne says, “Never mind. Branwell might come round.” She gives Emily’s arm a squeeze. “And you don’t need to worry about Charlotte; I’m sure she’ll be all right. I’ll pray for her especially hard.”
    Emily shakes her head, unable to speak.
    Just at this moment she doesn’t want consolation, she wants … oh, she wants everything to be as it was, tight and right … and safe.
    She pulls away from Anne’s clasp and heads for the door. But out in the hallway, she stops.
    Where can she go? Where can she find a refuge?

    The kitchen is what she chooses. Warm and full of comforting smells and with Tabby bustling about just as she always does.
    When she comes in, Tabby, who’s standing at the kitchen table weighing flour, looks up at her with a quizzical expression on her face.
    Without a word, Emily flings herself onto a stool and picks up the book she left on the table before breakfast. After a second Tabby goes on with her work, clinking the metal weights onto the scales. Emily sighs and slams the book shut. She looks for Tiger, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Listlessly she watches Tabby adding frothing yeast to the bowl of flour.
    When she sighs for a second time Tabby looks over at her. “I daresay tha’s finding it a mite strange without Miss Charlotte. We’ll all miss her.”
    Emily doesn’t answer.
    “Pass salt box, lass.”
    Emily pushes it over. And suddenly she knows what she wants. Just as she used to do when she was little, she begs, “Tell me a story, Tabby.”
    “Well, now, let me think.” Tabby ponders with the salt spoon in her hand. “Did tha ever hear tell of Captain Batt?”
    Emily shakes her head.
    “Well, then, here’s a tale. One winter evening he comes home as usual, nowt appearing amiss, and up he goes to his room. But when it comes to be suppertime, he doesn’t appear. His manservant, a bit puzzled like, takes it upon himself to knock at the maister’s door. There’s no answer. The man tries the door. It won’t budge — it’s locked fast. It takes two of them to break it down to get inside. And guess what?”
    “What?”
    “The room were empty. Not a trace of the maister to be seen. But there on the floor were summat that made them shudder …” Tabby pauses for dramatic effect and makes her eyes go big. “It were a bloody footprint.”
    Despite herself, Emily is entertained. “Did they ever find out what happened? To the captain, I mean?”
    “The next day news came that the maister had been killed in a duel the afternoon before.”
    “So it was his ghost who came home?”
    Tabby shrugs. “That’s what folk say.”
    “Do you think it really happened?”
    “I don’t know, lass. There could be summat in it.” Tabby pours some water into her mixing bowl. “There’s many a tale of folk appearing to their kin at the very time they’re dying somewhere else.” She thumps the dough onto the table and starts kneading it.
    Emily suddenly sits up straight. “Can I try that?”
    “If tha likes. But wash thi hands first. And roll up thi sleeves.”
    Preparations accomplished to Tabby’s satisfaction, Emily approaches the lump of dough cautiously.
    “Nay, don’t dibble-dabble at it, in that namby-pamby way. Push wi’ the heel of thi palms and put thi weight behind it. The dough needs stretching else loaves’ll be as hard as whinstone.”
    Emily, with sticky hands and flour up to her elbows, grapples with the elastic mass. As she wrestles it into submission, gradually the painful tangle inside her is soothed. By the time she’s done, she feels much calmer. Her anger toward Branwell, her grief about Charlotte, all those feelings that have been tearing at her have subsided for the time being.
    Once the dough is proofing next to the range, Tabby says, “Now then, I want thee to run down to Mrs. Grimshaw’s for some