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Thursday January the 17th 1867. Today is my birthday and we are all in London including Emily who agreed to come provided she did not have to come into society, which we are mostly avoiding in any case as Charlotte is correcting the proofs of her new book, which is a Life of Mrs Gaskell. The weather has been very cold all the time we have been here and there was a thick fog on the day of our arrival which caused me to cough very painfully, however I have been quite well indoors. We have been to the National Gallery and Kew Gardens, the latter of which was perhaps not at its best this time of year, and Charlotte and I have been to a concert at the Royal Academy of Music. We intend also to go to the Zoological Gardens where they have acquired two elephants since our last visit and where Emily has never been. At present we are at the Smiths' residence where we are staying, Charlotte and I are in the morning room Charlotte checking her proofs and I sitting in the window seat and writing this paper, Emily is upstairs I believe reading 'All the Year Round', Mrs Smith is by the fire embroidering, Mr Smith is at his office. Martha Brown is in Haworth visiting her sisters and we have left the dogs with Mrs Price.
Emily and I opened our 1863 paper this morning -- it was most melancholy to remember Papa's death and how unsettled we were afterwards. Much has happened since then -- we have moved to Flamborough which suits us well and I for one never tire of the view of the sea -- also few strangers are so curious about us as to journey that far and we are not disturbed as often as we were latterly in Haworth -- though sometimes we wish for more variety. I have finished the serial I was writing at the time of the last paper, have begun and finished another and am considering what the next shall be -- I have also had poems published as has Emily. Charlotte did complete her novel though its publication was delayed a year -- Emily still does not wish to publish again but continues to write. We have been twice to Scotland, once to Edinburgh and once to Loch Lomond in the Highlands -- also Charlotte and I have been three times to London and twice to Mrs Gaskell in Manchester -- who died unexpectedly two years since and was much lamented. Mary Taylor has returned from New Zealand and wishes us to visit Switzerland with her -- I very much hope we shall go. We intend to learn Italian and have purchased some books in London for this purpose, also some books in German and Latin -- I hope our studies may be successful. I also wonder how we shall be on this day in the year 1870 when I shall be just 50 years old, E in her 51st year and Charlotte in her 54th -- I imagine not much shall have changed for we are now of an age to be more settled -- yet I hope that enough of interest will have happened to fill another of these papers --
Anne Bronte
***
The elephants were fully as majestic as Charlotte had hoped. They towered over the Londoners crowding round their cage on a Saturday afternoon. Charlotte could easily picture them marching across the Alps, perhaps with great castles on their backs instead of the small children currently being given rides, at the head of Hannibal's army.
Anne and Emily had moved away from the group surrounding Jumbo and his cargo of children and were watching Alice, the smaller elephant, eating the food which visitors were feeding her through the bars of her enclosure.
"Poor things," said Emily. "Do you think they remember Africa?"
The elderly gentleman standing next to them interposed himself. "I fear, Madam, that you are overestimating the intelligence of these dumb beasts."
"Many dumb beasts seem to have more intelligence than some humans," muttered Emily in response, more for Charlotte and Anne's hearing than the stranger's. Charlotte was not even sure that he heard her, as he seemed to have no reaction. Most likely he dismissed them as silly spinsters who had sentimental views about animals. It was a refreshing change from being known as the famous Bells, who after twenty years were still fascinating to at least a few people at every literary event in London and were regarded with a kind of local pride both at Haworth and at their new home. The anonymity of a crowd was the one place where they could still walk invisible as plainly-dressed, middle-aged spinsters, especially now they had reached an age and degree of independence where no one expected them to have any escort.
The cover of invisibility lasted another hour or so, before it was threatened by a chance encounter. The bad luck began with a sudden heavy rainstorm, which soaked through hats and coats, turned the gravel of the paths into a kind of thick mud and sent visitors and animals scurrying for the nearest shelter, which for the Brontes was the aquarium from which they had only recently emerged. They pushed past the gaggle of people standing about in the doorway, looking out into the rain as though they couldn't bear to miss its stopping by a minute, and passed into the dimly-lit main hall. It was fairly warm inside, both from the presence of people and from the braziers which were kept lit to warm the water of the tropical fish, but which also spread their heat throughout the building. The only light came from windows set high in the walls, above the huge tanks, and something about this and about the length and hushed crowdedness of the room reminded Charlotte of a church. They were looking again at some colourful fish which they had admired previously, when a voice which none of them immediately recognised called out 'Miss Bronte'.
Charlotte turned around and, after a few seconds' thought, placed the speaker as Mr Gant, one of the up-and-coming critics at Fraser's Magazine. While she thought he had approached them and greeted Anne too, with equal pleasure. She replied with far more external agitation than she usually showed even after an unexpected shock, and Charlotte knew what she must be thinking, as she was thinking the same: Emily might not forgive them for weeks if they gave away her identity to this man. Everyone in London knew her real name of course, for once Charlotte's and Anne's were known there were plenty of people in Yorkshire who could confirm rumours of a third sister; but Emily did not like to be reminded of this, and had so far avoided meeting anyone but Mr Smith, Mr Williams and Mrs Gaskell. Personally Charlotte felt that making such a mystery of herself was only increasing the curiosity of London society, which would otherwise have long ago faded away as it had in the years after 'Currer Bell' was unmasked, but she had learnt by experience that there was nothing to be gained by arguing this point with Emily. Fortunately, though a few people nearby had moved aside or spared a glance at Gant's approach, the name of Bronte did not seem to recall any associations to them and as Emily, after a brief glance at Gant, went back determinedly to looking at the fish, he seemed to take her for one of them and paid her no attention.
Gant asked a few polite questions about Charlotte's research for her new book, whether Anne's last serial would soon be published in three volumes, and the sisters' plans for their time in London, and Charlotte and Anne did their best to answer him, although their natural reticience was increased by their wish that the man would leave.
"I had heard of course that you were in town, but did not really hope to see you," he said, seemingly to fill the gap in the conversation. "In fact I heard yesterday evening at Lady Mornington's -- though perhaps it is entirely untrue -- that your other sister is also in town?"
"If you are referring to 'Ellis Bell'" said Charlotte after an awkward pause during which both she and Anne rather hoped the other would answer, "our relative prefers not to be the subject of gossip solely on account of a naturally retiring nature."
This was their agreed answer, but it did not have quite as good an effect as it had among the Smiths' carefully selected dinner guests.
"Oh, indeed," Gant said, "You must know I speak only as a friend. I should be able to correct any false rumours..."
"If you wish to act as a true friend," said Charlotte, momentarily stung into outspokenness "you would not think of doing anything of the kind."
The fierce look which accompanied this statement was enough to close down the subject. A few minutes later, the critic glanced over towards the door, said something vague about how the rain seemed to be dying down, and took his leave. On the way out he brushed against Emily, apologised politely and went on his way, without the slightest suspicion.
***
Charlotte and Anne both paid for getting wet with colds which prevented them from going out for a few days. The rain was replaced by snow, which settled over the city and was half washed away by more rain in its turn, leaving a grey sludge corrupted by mud and soot. Emily climbed up to the attic to look down on the streets and found the sight infinitely depressing. The main streets of Haworth had often looked as dirty in the snow, but you had only had to look up to see the hills in their pure white coats or walk for a few minutes onto the moor to find untouched snow stretching as far as the eye could see. She persuaded Anne to visit Hyde Park with her, but even there the paths had all been trodden down and the snow between ruined by riders and playing children. They played a little themselves, at being the Empress Almeda Augusta and Flora the shepherdess who had helped her when she escaped from the fortress of Gaaldine in her white cloak in the snow, but in London the game did not seem to have the magic that it did in Yorkshire. Emily began to wish she had never come to London.
They got back to find Charlotte had returned from Cornhill, where she had spent the morning helping to oversee the typesetting of her book. She was waiting for them in the drawing room and she had with her a large, flat parcel wrapped in brown paper. Unfolding the paper, Emily found two prints depicting scenes which she recognised immediately. One showed the fountain in the Park in Brussels, and the other the Grand Place in the old town. They were not very skilled depictions, and Anne appeared a little surprised at the interest which Charlotte and Emily showed in them.
"A shop in Cornhill had dozens of them - from all over Europe." Charlotte explained.
Suddenly Anne realised what the images must show, and picked up the image of the Park with greater interest, imagining Charlotte and Emily in place of the faceless figures which the artist had drawn gazing into the pool. It was one of the places which had always seemed vivid in her head from her sisters' descriptions, both at the time and later, when Charlotte had used Brussels as a setting in her novels and she and Emily had had long discussions about where characters might live or what the weather was like there. When Charlotte had asked her how the setting came across to someone who wasn't familiar with it, she'd found it hard to even answer the question -- it seemed to her, if not as familiar as Yorkshire, at least as familiar as Gondal and Angria. But now Charlotte and Emily were talking about a time when they'd taken a walk in the Park with their pupils and encountered some musicians, and Anne felt left out again.
"I wish I could have gone," she said.
Anne had said this sometimes at the time with no resentment, for no one in the family had even considered that she should give up her job. Now, however, Emily looked at her rather thoughtfully.
"You could afford to go back now," Emily pointed out to Charlotte. "Remember when you said that you would if you ever made enough money?"
Charlotte did not remember saying this to Emily, but she certainly remembered a time when she had thought about it obsessively. The thought had lost all its appeal in the intervening years, especially now that Villette had been translated into French.
"We don't have so much money," she said. "Better to keep it for Switzerland, or some other place we've never seen."
"The Rhine, perhaps," suggested Anne. This led to a long discussion of the scenery, the castles and the paintings they would like to see, a mostly hypothetical one as it would take many years to save enough money. Emily listened to Charlotte talk about Dresden in a way that reminded her of how she had once persuaded her to come to Brussels, despite Emily's natural dislike of cities. She knew better now what she liked, but still, when she heard Anne talk of the mountains and rivers she would like to see, she began to have an idea.
***
On every day except Sunday, George Smith woke and came down to breakfast earlier than anyone in his household, except of course the servants who laid the fires and set out the breakfast to begin with. His usual meal of toast, kippers and scrambled egg was laid out on the table as usual at 6, along with a pot of fresh coffee and a pile of the letters which he had brought home from the office the night before and only had time to glance through after dinner. He flipped through them with one hand as he poured the coffee with the other -- there was the latest request from Bombay for more money to tide over the Indian operation, a letter from one of the contributors to the new Dictionary of National Biography, begging for an extension to his deadline, an invitation from Thackeray to dinner next week -- that would have to be turned down, unless he had unusual luck in arranging the reviews for next month's Cornhill Magazine -- a letter from a solicitor about the new contract with Mudie's Circulating Library. He'd been unable to concentrate on the legal terms and figures the night before and set about making a new attempt now, propping it against the coffee pot while he cut up his toast. He'd got almost to the end of the second page when he was distracted by Emily Bronte entering the room.
"Good morning," she said abruptly from the doorway and then strode over to the table without waiting for him to reply.
"Good morning, Miss Bronte," he replied as she sat down opposite him. There was only enough really food laid out for one, but he politely offered her some anyway and she took the remaining two slices of toast and some egg, and she watched him intently and silently as he poured out coffee for her. What on earth was she doing down so early? She had never usually sought his company, quite the reverse in fact, on the couple of occasions she had accompanied her sisters to London or he had visited the old Parsonage in Haworth. She clearly suffered from the same shyness which afflicted Anne and Charlotte, but did not seem to make their effort to overcome it. Sometimes, too, he thought he saw something wilder behind it, although perhaps that was simply because he knew her to be the author of 'Wuthering Heights' and the even more scandalous 'Henry Collins', which had been so shocking that circulating libraries had refused to stock it and eventually her publisher had been forced to withdraw it. He knew how Charlotte hated her sister to be judged only on her books, and he had great respect for Charlotte's opinions.
"Do you intend to go out today, Miss Bronte?" he asked.
"I don't know yet," said Emily. She pushed a piece of toast back and forth on her plate, frowned, and sighed, as though she were building up to something. Then she seemed to make up her mind.
"Supposing," she said, now looking to one side as though she couldn't speak and meet his eyes at the same time, as Charlotte often did with people she didn't know. "Supposing an author had published one or two books under a false name. And he wished to publish a third book under a different false name. Would he be paid the same as any other established author, or would he be treated as a beginner?"
George was immediately intrigued. "Well," he said "it would be a rather unusual situation. Your sister Charlotte made a similar request when we published Villette, but of course the name of Currer Bell is rather valuable from a business as well as a literary point of view."
"Yes, I know you said no then. But if the author wouldn't accept any other terms."
George decided to be direct. The conversation clearly wouldn't get anywhere otherwise. "Miss Bronte, have you written another novel?"
Emily looked rather relieved to be asked. "Yes. Three more actually, but the last one's not completed."
"And you wish to publish them?"
"I've been keeping them in case we're need of the money. And now I feel we could use it."
George considered the offer. He had a strong suspicion that, if her new novels were anything like the ones which had already been published, her hand would quickly be detected in them regardless of what name was printed on the title page. In fact, the discussion which such an unconfirmed identification would prompt would probably lead to better publicity even than the simple reappearence of 'Ellis Bell' would have done. He would have to point out this risk before publication, but he saw no need to do so before he'd had the chance to actually read the novels.
"There should be no difficulty about a new pseudonym," he said. "If you allow me to see the manuscripts I can give you further advice."
It looked as though he would have something more interesting to read than business letters after all.