If Charlotte’s husband hoped that the funeral would bring an end to interest in his wife, he was badly mistaken. News of her death was broadcast by the stationer in Haworth, a man called John Greenwood, and by the novelist Harriet Martineau, who wrote a lengthy if rather lurid tribute to Charlotte in the Daily News. Extracts from this were published in other newspapers and many stories told, some true and some false. Following this, I received a curt letter from Mr Nicholls reiterating his demand that I should destroy all the letters that I had received from his wife. To this I declined to reply and, to my amazement, he came to Brookroyd to see me. As it happened I was out when he called. He left a message inviting me to stay with some friends of his. Mistrustful of his intent, I wrote declining his offer and making clear that I did not take orders from him. I also told him how shocked I had been that he had ransacked his wife’s possessions so shortly after her death and that such action seemed unworthy of a man of his profession.

In June an article appeared about Charlotte in Sharpe’s London Magazine and I was shocked by its misrepresentation of her father. Though I had never liked him, I thought the article ought not to go unchallenged. I wrote to Mr Nicholls saying that he should not let malignant lies be circulated about his father-in-law and that he should seek the assistance of the great writer, Mrs Gaskell, who had come to know Charlotte well in recent years and who was sufficiently acquainted with her life at the parsonage to distil the untruths. She had the literary skills, the national reputation and the necessary contacts to write a strong rebuttal. He replied that Charlotte’s character stood too high to be damaged by a magazine of little circulation and little influence and that he had no intention of encouraging any response because it would only serve to give the malicious article an importance it otherwise would lack. He alleged that, unlike me, Charlotte’s father had not taken offence at what had been written because it was so laughably inaccurate.

I did not accept this and wrote direct to Charlotte’s father, taking care to disguise my handwriting lest my letter be intercepted. Mr Brontë’s response was totally different from that of his son-in-law. He thanked me for bringing the matter to his attention. He said that he had not previously been aware of the magazine’s attack on him and that he shared my view entirely on the need to rebut its lies. Whilst I was not party to the resulting row that took place between him and Mr Nicholls, I saw the outcome. Mr Brontë wrote to Mrs Gaskell and asked if she would be willing to produce a short account of Charlotte’s life, together with some comments on her novels, in order to squash the inaccuracies that were beginning to circulate. She agreed, although she recognized that this was not going to be an easy task because she knew enough about Charlotte to have her own reservations about the character of both Mr Brontë and Mr Nicholls. I heard from Mrs Gaskell that she went to Haworth at the end of July to discuss how she would research the biography and both men, according to her, appeared outwardly quite desolate. Mr Brontë told her that so deep was his grief that he found it difficult to dwell on his sad privation. Mr Nicholls made it clear that he was only bowing to the idea of a biography because of the insistence of his father-in-law.

They both very reluctantly agreed that no biography could be produced without reference to me, Charlotte’s longest-standing friend, but they warned her that I was prone to silly imaginings. Shortly afterwards I received another letter from Mr Nicholls. He reiterated his own opposition to the idea of producing a biography but asked me to cooperate with Mrs Gaskell’s research by sending him any letters that I might have from her in order that he might select what could be appropriately included. I agreed to cooperate but insisted that we meet before I did so. He reluctantly agreed but on the condition that no one should be informed of our meeting or of what passed between us. In secret and for the last time I therefore made my way to the Haworth parsonage. As I dismounted from the gig and approached the parsonage, I could not help but recall my first visit over twenty years before. Then Charlotte had greeted me so warmly. Now I faced at best her husband’s indifference and, at worst, his open dislike.

Mr Nicholls had dismissed the servant for the day and so he opened the door when I knocked. He greeted me coldly and ushered me into the parlour and, after a few polite formalities, he made clear his feelings about having to see me. ‘Meeting you is not easy because I am very much aware, Miss Nussey, that you have never approved of me becoming my beloved Charlotte’s husband. Indeed, you did much to try and prevent our marriage.’

‘It is true, sir, that I thought you lacked the qualities to make her a happy wife,’ I replied, deciding to be equally candid.

‘But you were wrong, Miss Nussey. From the outset, our marriage was blessed. In Ireland on our honeymoon she heard members of my family speak very highly of me and I think that made her realize that she had married a worthy and honourable gentleman. Until then all she had heard was your constant belittling of my character and abilities. Moreover, she found herself no longer looked upon as an old maid but as a beloved wife. That is a state that you will never attain, I suspect.’

‘Be warned, Mr Nicholls, I will not stay here to be insulted,’ I snapped back at him, rising to my feet from my chair.

‘At least what I say is said openly to your face and not behind your back as were your derogatory comments about me to Charlotte. But you are right to be angered. I will not be rude to you. It is not gentlemanly.’ He beckoned me to sit down again, and I did because I was desperate somehow to gain information that would help me resolve the mysteries that still beset me. ‘What I want you to hear,’ he continued, ‘is how happy I made Charlotte. Her tendency to express morbid opinions about herself disappeared and, as she thought less intensely about herself, she became more considerate and open to others. As each day passed I could see her relaxing more and, as a consequence, she no longer suffered from the headaches that had so often beset her prior to our marriage. I sensed that she was growing daily fonder of me and I began to talk to her of all the parish work we could do together when we returned to Haworth. She said that she had feared the submission expected from a wife, but now realized that she had found a new freedom. A life devoted to serving me offered far more rewards than her previous devotion to writing books. I basked in her growing admiration and was never more tranquil and content in all my life.’

‘I do not doubt, sir, that Charlotte had the capacity to be a fine wife. She had many, many talents.’

‘And she began putting them to good use. When we returned to the parsonage Charlotte organized a tea-and-supper party for five hundred of our parishioners in the schoolroom and it was very well received. She was so proud of me when the assembled throng acclaimed me as a consistent Christian and a kind gentleman. She said such praise for her husband mattered more than all the fame she had won through her writing. She willingly began to undertake the tasks that I directed, such as teaching in the Sunday school and visiting the sick. Yet I thought that all the good achieved during our four weeks away was going to be undone because Charlotte’s father was in a most strange and agitated state. He refused to even let Charlotte enter his room. She took this to mean that he had not forgiven her for proceeding with her marriage to me and she was understandably very upset. I promised her that I would resolve the situation and I demanded that he give me a proper audience. To this he eventually agreed. It was only then that I discovered that his behaviour stemmed not from our wedding but from a meeting that he had held with you after our departure. You had filled his mind with all kinds of nonsense.’

‘I can assure you, sir, that our conversation was concerned only with uncovering the truth,’ I interjected.

‘Then you have a strange idea of truth, Miss Nussey, and one that bears no relation to mine. You revealed to Mr Brontë that you had uncovered something that he had long sought to bury – that his wife had been unfaithful and that Branwell was not his son. What right had you to speak of this? The poor man had hidden his suffering from the world and even nursed the woman who had betrayed him when she took ill. He had brought up the illegitimate boy as one of his own family, indeed lavished more care on him than on his rightful daughters. He had done his best to give the lad a Christian upbringing and borne – as only a true Christian can – the pain of seeing the boy’s bad blood increasingly rise to the surface. Have you any idea at all of what it must be like to watch a young man, on whom you have nurtured nothing but care, throw away all his opportunities and turn to drink and to whoring and to worse? Branwell rejected all that his adopted father had done for him and became just a living copy of his real father. Is it any wonder that Mr Brontë spent so much time on his own in his room? He was on his knees praying for forgiveness for a bastard child who deserved none.’

‘I think you err, sir, in your depiction of Mr Brontë’s upbringing of Branwell. It was undertaken out of duty and his heart was not in it. He gave him a good education but not any love, and when Branwell discovered his true parentage Mr Brontë showed no pity. He told him his mother was a whore and his father was a murdering lunatic.’

Mr Nicholls glared at me and coldly declared, ‘So they were.’

I refused to be silenced by his attitude and I continued speaking. ‘He told Branwell that he had always hated him. He made him believe that his blood was irredeemably tainted and that he was destined for failure in everything he undertook. Is it any wonder that Branwell sought solace in drink or lost his way?’

‘You cannot blame Mr Brontë for the sins of Branwell. Each of us is responsible for our own actions, Miss Nussey, and Branwell trod the path he chose in life – a path that ran counter to everything that he had been taught. I think that before you say anything critical about Charlotte’s father, you should examine your own actions because, in my opinion, they do not bear much scrutiny. You led Mr Brontë to believe that Charlotte might also not be his child and that she shared instead the parentage of Branwell. What evidence do you have for making such a cruel and slanderous statement? You alleged that Charlotte murdered her two eldest sisters. What made you spread such a calumny about a person whom you claim is your dearest friend? I would rather have your enmity than such friendship! At least I would then be on the lookout for treachery.’

‘I cannot prove what I said, but I said no more than Charlotte believed herself.’

‘Do you understand anything about Charlotte, Miss Nussey?’ he almost shouted. ‘She adored Branwell and if Branwell said she was his true sister, she would have totally accepted that – but there is no certainty that she was. I believe she was the child of Maria Branwell and Patrick Brontë, and that there was not a drop of Heathcliff ’s blood in her. How did Branwell know this alleged fact – because of the ramblings of a monster, a man who had spent years in an asylum and in prison! Any court in the land would scorn your so-called proof!’

‘I admit, sir, that there can be no certainty over the matter and I, like you, would much prefer to think that Charlotte was not Heathcliff ’s child. But you cannot deny the sinfulness of some of her behaviour.’

‘What sinfulness? The alleged murder of her sisters that you so preposterously described to Mr Brontë? What nonsense! She was a child suffering abuse at the hands of a heartless teacher and is it any wonder that she wished for something to happen that might result in her returning home? When something did happen – the tragic illnesses of her sisters – she blamed herself. I doubt whether anything she did caused either their sickness or their death. It was the insanitary and harsh conditions in the school which sadly caused the death of not only Maria and Elizabeth Branwell but also many other young children.’

‘But why was she singled out as being such a wicked child whilst she was at the school?’ I countered.

‘Have you not read any of the writings of the Reverend Carus Wilson, who founded the school at Cowan Bridge? Do so and you will see that he rejoiced in the fact that most children die in infancy! He believed it prevented them from committing the sins that would inevitably condemn them to the wrath to come. He thought all children are ripe at an early age for every act of sin and so every hour of their existence leads them step by step towards hell, unless they are made to feel the extent of their inherent wickedness. He saw it as his role at Cowan Bridge to make each girl recognize her monstrous sinfulness. What was said to Charlotte was said to all the others at the school! He hoped this would make them turn to God in repentance. However, in Charlotte’s case, it made her believe that she was so sinful that she was doomed to damnation because God had turned his back on her. Painful impressions sink deep into the hearts of children, especially one as imaginative and sensitive as Charlotte.’

‘I did not realize that the Reverend Wilson was so cruel,’ I said, regretting that I had not thought to examine the man’s character.

‘That is because you have undertaken the role of investigator into Charlotte’s life without committing yourself to the necessary research. If you had, you would also have discovered that the school at Cowan Bridge was underfunded. The fees paid by the parents were barely sufficient for food and lodging, let alone an education. The cook was a careless woman who kept a dirty and disorderly kitchen and her meals often caused food poisoning among the girls. Maria and Elizabeth were particularly susceptible because they were recovering from having had both the measles and hooping cough. Add to this the fact that attendance at church involved a four-mile return trip, often in wet and cold conditions, and is it any wonder that so many girls fell ill and, in some instances, fatally so? The doctors were quite clear, Miss Nussey, that both Maria and Elizabeth died from consumption, not from some poison given by Charlotte! The truth is that Charlotte was always far too harsh on herself – a product I think not only of the Reverend Carus Wilson’s preaching but also of listening too much to her aunt’s daily prattling about hellfire and damnation. Yet far from challenging her ridiculous beliefs, you chose to confirm them. You even accepted Anne’s crazed illness-induced meanderings and believed that Charlotte had poisoned her and Emily. I find that contemptible! In reality Charlotte saved both her younger sisters’ lives by making her father take them away from the school when they were ill. She feared to see history repeat itself.’

‘If what you say is true, sir, I confess I have erred badly, but you are wrong in thinking that I have ever wished to encourage Charlotte’s obsession with being damned. It was I who for many years encouraged Charlotte to believe in the power of God’s forgiveness. I made her wish she was a better person and I helped her see glimpses of holy, inexpressible things.’

‘But, Miss Nussey, don’t you see that your homilies served too often only to open her eyes to further stings of conscience and further visitings of remorse? Listening to your pious prattling, she foolishly thought herself morally and spiritually your inferior. Why do you think that I have been so keen to censor Charlotte’s letters and to ask her friends to burn all her prior correspondence? Because I fear what nonsense Charlotte might have written about herself to you and others – nonsense that a foolish world might wrongly take to have some grain of truth. As children at Roe Head your apparent piety made her feel even more wretched about herself and, throughout recent months, all your actions have had only one consequence – to confirm in Charlotte’s mind that she was born inherently wicked.’

‘That was not my intent, sir.’

‘Yet you gave the same lie about her evil nature to her aged father, whose mind was no longer agile enough to dismiss your imaginings. I gather, for example, that it was you who told him that she had become the mistress of Professor Heger in Brussels. May I ask what evidence did you ever have of that?’

‘I blush to say it but Charlotte shared her secrets about her passion with me.’ I replied, finally feeling on firmer ground.

‘And you, in your wicked imagination, read an illicit relationship into her schoolgirl crush for her teacher. It was no more than that, Miss Nussey. Branwell had corrupted her poor mind into seeking for a grand romance. Quite sensibly, Mr and Mrs Heger quickly packed her off home before she made a complete fool of herself. It was not passion but hurt pride that made the memory of Brussels so painful to her. Her alleged affair with the professor was no more a reality than her misguided belief that Mr Smith, her young publisher, was romantically attached to her – and that too caused her much suffering. It was you, Miss Nussey, who fed Charlotte’s foolishness. It was you who encouraged her to flirt with the Reverend Weightman and suggested that she was treating him badly when she had the good sense to recognize the man’s failings. It was you who made her dwell on what happened in Brussels. It was you constantly made fun of any idea that she might marry me. You portrayed my honesty as dullness, my integrity as stupidity, my faith as lack of intelligence. You made out that marriage to a man of the cloth would diminish her.’

‘I spoke only the truth as I saw it and I think you are wrong about Charlotte and Mr Heger. There was far more to what happened in Brussels than an innocent schoolgirl infatuation. And I still judge that to be happy, Charlotte required a far greater man than you. If you will forgive me, sir, your mind has not a drop of poetic imagination, not an ounce of her finer sensibilities.’

‘What you mean, Miss Nussey, is that you wanted Charlotte never to marry because a husband of any kind threatened your position as Charlotte’s main confidante. It was only after she had that argument with you that for a few blessed months she was free of your pernicious influence. Then she began to look at me in a new light. I saw her begin to reappraise my qualities and turn slowly but surely towards the true love I had always offered her. And yet such was your influence that she still feared she might be demeaning herself by marrying me. How do you think it made me feel to know that Charlotte was writing to friends in order to justify why she should marry me? And all because of you! Our love needed no justification – and only when we were married did Charlotte fully appreciate that fact.’

‘You do me wrong, sir,’ I protested.

‘No, Miss Nussey, you have done this family much wrong! When we got back here from our honeymoon Charlotte found her father not only no longer viewed her as his daughter but also believed she had had a hand in murdering Branwell, Emily and Anne. That was your doing – seeds sown by your evil hand. And what was your evidence for this? Your stupid assumption that Charlotte had discovered that there existed a manuscript novel called Wuthering Heights Revisited which had been written by Emily under Branwell’s influence. Your belief that this posed such a threat to Charlotte that it would lead her to murder the three people she loved most in the world.’

So far I felt that Mr Nicholls had possessed the stronger hand in most of his arguments, but now I felt the time had come to reassert what I had uncovered and so my voice took on a greater certainty. ‘I made no assumption, sir. Wuthering Heights Revisited is no figment of my imagination. I know it existed. I have Branwell’s letter. I know such a book would have destroyed Charlotte’s reputation. It would overnight have undone all her efforts to create a name for herself. The only mistake I have made was to think that it was Charlotte who had uncovered its existence. After I had spoken with Mr Brontë, I spoke with Charlotte and she made me realize that I had been totally wrong and that she was entirely innocent of an involvement in the deaths of Branwell, Emily and Anne. I therefore bitterly regret the unnecessary pain I caused her father – and indeed Charlotte herself. However, the fact remains that Wuthering Heights Revisited did exist and that it was destroyed and that its creators died in circumstances that are, to say the least, open to question.’

‘I am aware of your conversation with Charlotte and that this led both of you to look in my direction. Had it not occurred to you before that I might have played some role? I lived only across from the parsonage and I was a regular visitor to it. I saw more closely than could Charlotte’s virtually blind father the impact of Branwell’s debauched behaviour on the family.’

‘No, it did not occur to me, Mr Nicholls. The thought never crossed my mind. It was Charlotte who first guessed that you might have found out about the manuscript novel. To me you were always rather a nonentity. Charlotte told me that she would have to raise with you whether the deaths of Branwell and Emily owed something to your intervention.’ I paused to add weight to what I said next. ‘She died before she could tell me the outcome of your conversation.’

‘Then I had better enlighten you about my role lest you engage in yet more wild imaginings, Miss Nussey. You seem to specialize in fantasy rather than reality. Wuthering Heights Revisited might well have been published before I knew of its existence had matters been left to Emily. She was always adept at hiding what she was doing. I think that is why Charlotte’s reading of her private poetry caused her such initial distress. I had no inkling – and nor did Charlotte – of the true nature of the book that she was writing with her brother. However, Branwell lacked Emily’s talent for deceit. When he was the worse for drink, he was not able to keep any matter private. Witness his appalling behaviour in proclaiming to the entire world his affair with the wife of his former employer. Charlotte tended to avoid him on those occasions when he was under alcohol’s influence because the sight of him destroying himself was far too painful to her. She had worshipped him for so many years and placed him on such a high pedestal that his terrible fall from grace wounded her deeply. It was often therefore left to others in the household to either restrain his behaviour or put him to bed and, of course, that lot occasionally fell to me. It was on one such occasion that he boasted to me about Wuthering Heights Revisited. He told me how he and Emily were writing a book that would expose Charlotte’s sanctimonious piety and reveal her true origin and nature. At first I thought he was spouting nonsense but gradually he revealed to me all about Heathcliff. It was only then that I began to appreciate the depth of hatred he felt towards Charlotte for encouraging Emily to write Wuthering Heights.’

‘And so what was your response, sir, to your discovery?’

‘At first I did all I could to persuade him in his sober moments to abandon the project. I said that only harm could flow from writing a book about the family’s secrets. He just laughed in my face. I also spoke with Emily but she said she owed it to Branwell to do penance for her unwitting injury to him and that Charlotte should never have encouraged her to write her original novel. Whatever pain the new version caused Charlotte would be deserved. I next threatened both of them that I would tell their father and Charlotte about what was happening but they somehow rightly guessed that I had not the stomach to be the bearer of such ill news.

‘They knew I feared to be the instrument of causing Charlotte pain and that I still hoped somehow to resolve the matter without her even knowing what danger had hung over her.’

‘So what did you do?’

‘I turned to Him who controls all our fates and prayed that God would intervene to save Charlotte from Branwell’s insane desire for revenge and Emily’s ill-considered willingness to go along with it.’

The tone in which he said this had the self-righteous ring that I detest in clerics, and I quickly interposed, ‘And did you therefore act as God’s agent, Mr Nicholls, and ensure Branwell’s death?’ I hoped to trick him into a confession.

‘My dear Miss Nussey, you have read too many melodramas. Believe what you like, but I did not kill Branwell. God struck him down. All I did in the confusion that followed was to search his room, find the manuscript of the novel, and destroy it. Had I known of the letter in his pocket I would also have destroyed that.’

‘But Emily must have questioned you about its disappearance?’

‘Once her initial grief was over, she did, but I simply claimed no knowledge of its whereabouts. She assumed that before he had died Branwell must have sent Wuthering Heights Revisited to a publisher but, not knowing which one, she was at a loss what to do other than await a potential reply. None came. What might have happened next, I am not sure. She began to be more suspicious about the novel’s disappearance and challenged not only me but also Charlotte about what had happened to it. My wife was so ignorant of its contents that she would have encouraged Emily to rewrite it had she not been concerned about her sister’s health. She told Emily that the most important thing for her to do was rest.’

‘But did you not think that Emily would rewrite the book, even if she was not well? Did you not see that as a real danger?’

‘At first, yes, but not on reflection. It was my hope that, without Branwell’s insistent voice to drive her, the idea of publishing the family’s secret would eventually seem less desirable and that she would abandon any idea of rewriting the lost manuscript. In the event, her own illness then intervened and, as you know, she was dead within less than three months of her brother’s death. It saddens me that Anne lived the last months of her life believing that Charlotte might have had some hand in her death, but Anne was always the most introverted of the sisters. Had she for one moment voiced her concerns, they could have been swiftly allayed.’

His words sounded very plausible and they placed all that I had uncovered in a totally different light. At one level I welcomed this because it restored Charlotte’s position to one of complete innocence, even in the matter of the deaths of Maria and Elizabeth – children do have a tendency to wrongly blame themselves for bad things that happen within families. I recognized that my own investigative skills had been shown to be inadequate and that I had often permitted myself to make conclusions on very limited evidence. I therefore found myself saying words that I would never have thought possible before our meeting. ‘I think, Mr Nicholls, that I have been foolishly hasty. And I deeply regret the needless pain I caused Mr Brontë and Charlotte by sharing with them conclusions that were faulty.’

‘I am pleased to hear you say that, Miss Nussey,’ he replied, sounding far more courteous in his tone. ‘It makes it far easier for me to accept some very limited involvement by you in the forthcoming biography of Charlotte.’

He might have been less gracious if he could have read my mind. Part of me was deeply unsure that I was being told the entire truth. The deaths of both Branwell and Emily had been highly convenient to say the least and, even if Charlotte had had no hand in that (as I now believed was the case), could I be certain that Mr Nicholls had not murdered one or both of them? Indeed, if he had committed such a terrible act, then might it not also be possible that he had poisoned Charlotte once she knew of his role? This thought was the most unsettling of all. Had my investigations only had one outcome – making Charlotte challenge a murderer and, as a consequence, be murdered?

‘I want you,’ he continued, ‘to help undo the damage you have caused by assisting Mrs Gaskell obtain information for the biography of my wife. I may not approve of this book being written but if it is to happen it must accurately depict Charlotte‘s many qualities. I will read her finished manuscript before it goes for publication and I warn you now that whatever has been your input will be closely checked by me. Now I want you to take your leave and never darken the door of this house again.’

I wanted to voice my new fear but lacked the courage. After all, I had not a shred of evidence and, if my conclusions were justified, I risked him deciding that he ought also to secure my demise. I therefore gave a curt assent to assist Mrs Gaskell and then departed as he had bid. However, I did not let him select whatever might suit him from Charlotte’s correspondence with me. Instead I chose some 300 letters, just over half of the correspondence that I had retained, and asked Mrs Gaskell to collect them from me in person. I gave her all the contacts that I thought might help her research and even persuaded Miss Wooler to release some of the letters that she had received from Charlotte, though Mr Nicholls had asked her not to. More importantly, I used my meetings with Mrs Gaskell to provide many stories about Charlotte and to draw her attention to certain things that had adversely affected her, most notably Mr Wilson’s treatment of her at Cowan Bridge. Mrs Gaskell twice came to Brookroyd as part of her extensive researches that autumn. I got away with all this participation because the one person who was refusing to cooperate in her investigations was Mr Nicholls and he made sure that access to Mr Brontë was also denied.

Nevertheless, I was careful to restrict the information that I gave to Mrs Gaskell. I told her nothing of the Brontë family’s link to Heathcliff Earnshaw and the true story of Wuthering Heights, nothing of Charlotte’s belief that she might have had a hand in the deaths of her two eldest sisters, nothing of my investigations that had led me to wrongly fear Charlotte had been responsible for the deaths of Branwell, Emily and Anne, and nothing of the lost manuscript, Wuthering Heights Revisited. I was convinced that my original views on what had happened were inaccurate and I felt to raise all these matters would only jeopardize Charlotte’s literary reputation and those of her sisters. It was safer to let Heathcliff remain a fictional character. The one thing I could not hide was Charlotte’s affair with Constantin Heger, but fortunately Mrs Gaskell took the decision to play this down by glossing over what had happened.

The hard part was deciding what to say about Charlotte’s father and husband. In the end I opted not to disguise my dislike for certain aspects of Mr Brontë’s character or my antipathy towards Charlotte’s husband, but I said nothing about my fear that Mr Nicholls might have been responsible for the sudden deaths of Branwell and Emily and, indeed, of Charlotte herself. Without revealing the one-time existence of Wuthering Heights Revisited. I felt I lacked the necessary proof to make my opinions sound remotely credible – and, of course, I had no objective evidence of the sequel ever having existed other than Branwell’s letter. It would be easy for people to dismiss it as a mere product of his diseased mind.

Mrs Gaskell was impressively thorough in her research and the biography took longer than I had expected, but she had completed a considerable part of it by the summer of 1856. She made an unexpected visit to Haworth to try and obtain more cooperation from Mr Nicholls but got little response, other than persuading him that Charlotte’s The Professor should be published. He did not even express a desire to see a pre-publication draft of the biography. His one demand was that she should not show a copy to me before publication lest I desire to have sections changed. He told her that he wanted no input from me at all. She therefore continued to hide from him the extent to which she had already used me in the production of the biography. However, his demand placed her in a dilemma because she had used so much of what I had given her that she felt she ought to let me see how she had incorporated my material before the book was published. She got round this by summoning me to her house and reading her manuscript to me, instead of letting me ‘see’ it.

I was delighted with Mrs Gaskell’s draft, especially the section that implied what a poor choice of husband Charlotte had made. What made it particularly impressive was her judicious use of quotations from many letters but this posed a problem that neither she nor I had envisaged. Her publisher pointed out that all Charlotte’s correspondence legally belonged to her husband and so his permission was necessary for any of it to be included. Such permission would certainly be refused once Mr Nicholls knew about the content of some of the book. It was Mr George Smith who came to the rescue. He wrote to Charlotte’s husband saying that it would be normal business practice for him to sign over the copyright of the materials of the biography to Mrs Gaskell. Mr Nicholls resisted doing this but Mr Smith overcame his opposition by suggesting that if he did not sign he would be judged to have reneged on his original request to the writer. I have seen the letter that Mr Nicholls wrote, handing over the copyright. It lacks grace. He said that he felt he had been dragged into sanctioning a biography that was bound to be repugnant to him.

The Life of Charlotte Brontë appeared in a two-volume set in March 1857 and was an instant and sensational success. For what was said in the book Mrs Robinson threatened to sue, and so did the Reverend Carus Wilson. But neither did. Most people were fulsome in its praise. The famous Charles Kingsley, for example, said it had given the world a vivid portrayal of a valiant woman made perfect by suffering. Mr Brontë wrote to the publisher saying he found the biography to be full of truth and life, though he felt it was unfair in its portrayal of him. He urged only a few corrections in later editions. Needless to say, Mr Nicholls was less happy. He said it contained things that should never have been published and he spent the next few years trying to prevent any further investigation into his wife’s life. His constant cry became ‘Beware of the designs of prejudiced or reckless informants’.

Privately, of course, neither Charlotte’s father nor husband forgave me for some of the biography’s contents. They rightly saw my handiwork in the book’s adverse comments about them. Moreover, my foolish conclusions that had so understandably upset Mr Brontë obviously still rankled. We never saw each other again. Mr Brontë died on 7 June 1861. As far as I can tell, he was virtually the prisoner of his son-in-law, who prevented people seeing him. Not surprisingly, Mr Nicholls developed an increasingly bad reputation. He was rude to the visitors who flocked to Haworth, refusing to let strangers visit his wife’s grave or, more strangely, show respect to her memory as a writer. When Mr Brontë died. the trustees of the church refused to appoint Mr Nicholls as his successor as curate, even though for sixteen years he had been undertaking most and then all of his father-in-law’s duties. There has been much speculation over the reasons for this decision and the fact there was no public testimonial, no parting gift from a grateful school and congregation. I will not add to it, but I am certain it reflects on the man’s often bizarre behaviour.

Mr Nicholls was given just a few days to pack up and leave and he took the decision to return to Ireland. He made sure that he took with him not only all the family manuscripts but also all Charlotte’s possessions, even her clothes. Was this the action of a man determined to outdo souvenir hunters or a man terrified that there might still be some clue hidden away as to his real role in the tragedies that beset the Brontës? He never sought another clerical appointment, choosing to live in poverty and obscurity. Was this his penitence? I am told that he has married again but that his home still looks like a shrine to Charlotte’s memory. I told Charlotte that I wanted the full truth but I have had to learn to live without it. I now accept that I will die no clearer in my mind about what actually happened than I was forty years ago.

But the questions are still in my head. Were the deaths of both Branwell and Emily natural events – or even, as Mr Nicholls argued, willed by God? If so, they were highly convenient. Branwell’s death enabled Mr Nicholls to destroy the manuscript of Wuthering Heights Revisited and Emily’s death ensured that the book would never be rewritten. Or did Anne’s conjectures have some basis in fact? She wrongly assumed that the murderer was Charlotte, but the killer could easily have been Mr Nicholls. Although I hate the man. I acknowledge that he certainly was passionately in love with Charlotte. He would have done anything for her – including murder. And I suspect he may have had another motive beyond her protection. As long as Charlotte had her brother and sisters with her, his chances of winning her hand in marriage were non-existent. It was only once she was reduced to a lonely and solitary figure at Haworth that she turned to him. For all I know, he may even have been the one who most persuaded Charlotte of the necessity of keeping Anne at home.

In my own mind these matters pale into insignificance beside the question that still causes me most pain. Did I contribute to Charlotte’s death by encouraging her to speak to her husband about his role in the deaths of Branwell and Emily? Did Mr Nicholls kill her rather than risk her exposing his crimes? Much as he loved her, he would have recognized that I had sown seeds that could only destroy their relationship. Or am I once again drawing the wrong conclusions? Was Charlotte’s death also a natural one?

I leave you, as reader, to judge. All I can say with any certainty is that Heathcliff ’s malignant presence destroyed four families. He first shattered the lives of all those connected to the Earnshaws and the Lintons – Hindley and Cathy, Edgar and Isabella, and then Catherine, Linton and Hareton. His impact on the Bramwell family was equally destructive in other ways. He encouraged Thomas Branwell to indirectly assist in the wrecking of a ship, murdered his daughter and, through his influence on Branwell Brontë, caused the cruel demise of Elizabeth Branwell. Finally he devastated the Brontë family. He seduced Maria, wrecking her marriage and causing such pain to her husband that it put pay to his career advancement and prevented him being a proper father to his children. He wrecked Branwell’s life and, through the devastating impact of that, the lives of Charlotte, Emily and Anne. Only Mr Brontë might have altered the course of events if he had been able to respond lovingly to Branwell in his hour of greatest need – but that act proved beyond him. In one harsh moment he undid all the years of sacrifice he had made in treating Branwell as his son. Which of them is to be pitied most? Or should we reserve our sorrow for the three sisters, who strove in vain to ride the whirlwind of Branwell’s emotional volatility and whose early deaths robbed this country of three of its brightest talents?

The nearer I get to death the more I want to forget the sadness of Charlotte’s life and remember only that young girl that I first met all those years ago at Roe Head, the one who lacked looks and fine clothes and friends but who turned to me and offered me her companionship and who thrilled me from then on with her prodigious talent. She and her sisters gave me insights into the wonders of this world that I have never forgotten and I am eternally grateful for that. I look forward to seeing them again and to no longer having to rely on my faulty judgement to know the truth of what really happened. God washes not only our hearts but also our minds in heaven. Wuthering Heights will then be revisited for the final time. All I pray for is that God will forgive me for any pain that my actions have caused.

Before he died, Mr Brontë asked the world to stop focusing on his family and he wrote the following. I end my account by repeating it because I now make his words my own: