The Secret Diaries of Charlotte Brontë Read Online Free PDF

for the Robinsons; she had been the most disappointed of us all when our plans to commence a school fell through, for that endeavour had promised her, as she expressed it, “a legitimate means of escape from Thorp Green.” Anne had never confided in us as to the specific reasons for her discontent there, other than to admit to a general dissatisfaction with the position of governess, and I had not felt it right to pry.
    It may seem strange to some, that sisters so close in age, so similar in education, tastes, and sentiments, and so closely bound by affection as we three were, could still keep a part of themselves entirely private; but such was the case. In childhood, when we suffered the devastating loss of our sisters Maria and Elizabeth, we became experts at hiding our pain—and as such, our innermost thoughts and feelings—behind brave and cheerful faces. When we split up years later and went our separate directions, the tendency persisted.
    Indeed, despite all that I had suffered in my second year in Brussels, I had never breathed a word of it to either of my sisters. How could I expect Anne to be any more open with me than I had been with her? Now that she was home, however, and matters had come to a crux, I simply had to know what was going on.
    “Anne,” said I, “I applaud your courage in leaving Thorp Green, if you were unhappy; you know how much I despised the life of a governess. But to abandon such a secure positionnow, with our financial future so uncertain—it is most surprising. What has happened, to force this sudden and final departure? Why did you not mention it in your letter?”
    Anne blushed, and unaccountably glanced at Branwell, who was busily arranging for her trunk and their bags to be loaded onto a waiting wagon, for later delivery to our house. “It is nothing of consequence. I have had my fill of being a governess, that is all.”
    Emily looked at her. “You know I can read your face like a book, Anne. Something is bothering you—something new. What is it? What are you not telling us?”
    “It is nothing,” insisted Anne. “Oh! How good it is to be home! Well—nearly home anyway. How I have looked forward to this day.”
    Branwell, his negotiations with the wagon driver now complete, turned to us with open arms and a wide smile. “Come, give us a hug! How are my favourite older sisters?”
    Emily and I smiled and embraced him. “We are in the best of health, and even better spirits,” said I, “now that you are here to keep us company.”
    My brother, at twenty-seven, was of middling height and handsome, with broad shoulders and a lean, athletic figure; a pair of spectacles balanced atop his Roman nose, and he wore a cap at a jaunty angle atop his bush of chin-length, carroty-red hair. Branwell was intelligent, passionate, and talented; he carried himself with an air of supreme confidence in his own male attractiveness. He also possessed an unfortunate penchant, developed over the past decade, for drink, and—to our everlasting horror and embarrassment—for the occasional dose of opium. To my relief, I saw that his eyes were now clear and sober and filled with good humour.
    “Why did you never write?” I demanded, nudging him with affectionate annoyance. “I must have sent you half a dozen letters in the past six months, and you never replied.”
    “I have not the time nor the patience for correspondence lately. I have been occupied nearly every minute.”
    “It is good, then, that you have come home for a rest,” said I.
    “Papa is so looking forward to seeing you both,” interjected Emily, taking Branwell’s arm as we left the station. “If we walk briskly, we will be home just in time for tea.”
    “It is too hot to walk home now,” complained Branwell. “Let us stop at the Devonshire Arms first, and wait until it cools down before we head back.”
    My sisters and I exchanged a glance. We knew full well that Branwell could never stop at an inn without taking a