Romancing Miss Bronte: A Novel by Juliet Gael

Author:Juliet Gael
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Literary, General, Historical, Fiction
ISBN: 9780345520326
Publisher: Random House, Inc.
Published: 2010-09-15T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

A freezing mist hung in the air as Arthur trudged through the winding ginnels of Gauger’s Croft, past yards where chickens and pigs scavenged in the rotting refuse. With every step he ruminated on the epic misery of this place, on the multitude of suffering hiding behind every door of these dank, dark cottages. There was an overwhelming sense of oppression in these northern textile villages. It was not the poverty of the destitute or the beggar. It was a poverty of brutal labor, of women, children, and men swallowed up in the clanking of the mechanical loom—ceaselessly spinning and weaving until they were broken, ill, or dead. Diseases gorged themselves on this kind of poverty; consumption and fevers crept in and settled down, striking and sparing with an incomprehensible rationale, then moving on as mysteriously as they appeared.

Through the gray gloom, Arthur caught sight of the new Haworth physician advancing toward him.

“Sir, are you coming from the Barraclough house by any chance?” Arthur asked when the doctor drew near.

“Indeed,” Dr. Hall replied sadly. “The man passed away not more than an hour ago.”

“I’ve been out at the Stancliffe farm. They didn’t have a conveyance to spare and I had to walk, or I would have been there.”

The physician clapped him on the back and said, “We’ve not got wings, Nicholls, and God knows we’re not angels. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“It wasn’t cholera, was it?”

“Good grief, no. His lungs failed him. He was a weaver. It gets them all in the end. What made you think it was cholera?”

“Mr. Brontë seems to think we haven’t seen the end of it.”

“Nicholls, my friend, you’ve got to take that old man’s predictions with a grain of salt. He sees mayhem around every corner.”

“Perhaps, sir, given his recent tragedies, his worries are justified.”

“Well, let me assure you, I haven’t had a case of cholera since last summer. So put your mind at ease on that matter. God knows there’s enough disease here without that one.” He touched his hat and hurried away.

That evening when Arthur stopped by the parsonage and learned that Mr. Brontë had not risen from his bed all day, he reacted with alarm.

“In bed? What are his symptoms, Martha?” Arthur asked as she took his hat and gloves. “Is it the fever?”

“Nay, sir,” Martha replied. “It’s his bronchitis. It’s gotten worse.” She added quietly, “And his spirits are low, sir. What with Miss Brontë bein’ in London, an’ the house so empty now.”

Arthur found the old man propped up in bed with a flotilla of pillows at his back, swaddled in a neckcloth up to his ears and a clean white nightcap pulled down over his silver-bristled head. He sat perfectly erect, staring glumly into the shadows. A cold draft from the window worked its way through the shutters, causing the candle flame by his bed to dip and dance.

“Come in, Nicholls,” he said, turning pitiful eyes on his curate. “Dr. Hall was just here.”

“How are you feeling?” Arthur said as he dragged a chair to the bed.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.