登陆注册
10441600000006

第6章 ANNE

ANNE BRONT? HAD A FANCY, SOMETHING too foolish to ever mention. Sometimes she imagined that there was a tiny mathematician in her mind. He was always busy, this little man, measuring the wideness of smiles, calculating the timbre of voices. He tallied his numbers on an ever-clicking abacus, and occasionally, to her great surprise, he would look up from his reckonings and tell her unknowable things. This person is lying. That person is afraid. Today her little man told her that Emily was keeping secrets.

"You're quite certain that all the story papers have been returned?" Anne asked as she laid out the breakfast things.

"Safe under the floor again," Emily replied without turning around. She was staring out the window, a bouquet of spoons in her hand. Grasper, the family's Irish terrier, had his paws on the sill, as if he, too, saw something diverting in the fog.

"Every page?"

"Every page."

The parsonage was so small that it had been difficult to find a place to examine their stolen property. In the end they had spent the previous afternoon reading stories in Papa's study, where the family piano was, taking turns at playing scales so that no one would become suspicious.

Anne set the family's plain white china around the little table. One bowl was chipped, and she put it at her own place, turning the flaw toward herself. "And the animals. Have they been … ?"

"All fed."

Anne watched as Emily ran a hand over Grasper's ears, noticing that her sister's skirts were wet with dew; she must indeed have been outside this morning, feeding Jasper, the tame pheasant they kept in the yard.

"I didn't see Snowflake," Emily added. "But I expect he's still out murdering things."

"And did you … ," Anne began.

"And, and, and," Emily repeated. "Don't we get enough scolding from Charlotte?"

Anne held her tongue. Emily didn't deserve harassment; her older sister might be dreamy, but she didn't shirk her chores. Still, Anne liked to be assured that everything was perfectly in its place. The Bront?s had nothing fine—everything was plain and functional—but Anne loved how neat and orderly their home was, especially on mornings like this one, when the fog surrounded them like an endless, gray sea. Somehow order made her feel that no matter what dangers lurked outside, the parsonage was their snug little fortress, where nothing evil could touch them.

Finished with her work, she looked at her nearly perfect table and refrained from mentioning the missing spoons. Emily seemed to have forgotten she was holding them.

"What exactly is so interesting out there?" she asked instead, coming up behind her sister.

"The fog. It's like a living thing this morning. See how it pours itself over the stone wall?"

Anne could barely see the wall, though there was only a short stretch of green lawn between it and herself. The churchyard beyond, with its small monuments and crooked gravestones, was all but lost.

"It makes me think of the gytrash," Emily said.

The gytrash. The ghost dog of the moors, who tore out the throats of unsuspecting travelers. Anne had always hated that story. She frowned and peered out into the grayness. It had been foggy for so many days that there was a sort of unreality descending on the parsonage. The town of Haworth, which lay beyond the church, was beginning to feel like a fairy tale, while the stories Tabby told of fairy hobs and ghost dogs seemed as near as they had in childhood. Anne put her hand up against the cold glass, her breath fogging the pane. "Yes. I think I see what you mean."

Crack! Something sounded just above their heads. Anne jumped, making a little scream, and Grasper yelped. A second report split the air.

"It's only Papa," Emily said, laughing. Their father slept with his pistols loaded, and they must be discharged for safety, or so he said. He shot them out of his bedroom window every morning. "Did you think it was the spectral hound?"

Anne tried to laugh, too, but her heart was beating fast.

"Oh, heavens, the spoons." Emily looked at her fist as if the spoons had just appeared there. Quickly she dispensed them around the table. Grasper followed, getting underfoot. In name he was their father's dog, but, like all their pets, he circled Emily like a planet around a star.

Emily moved to the birdcage in the corner of the room. "You should make a remark today, Anne."

Anne stayed at the table, aligning cutlery and making final adjustments to a vase of wildflowers. "Oh. I don't know."

"Try. It could be something very simple."

Though her conversations with Emily were easy and natural, with others Anne could only manage a few stilted words—and at meals with Charlotte and Branwell bickering, and Aunt Branwell scolding, and everyone talking at once, even those few words seemed to dry up and blow away.

Emily put her fingers through the bars of the birdcage, making tutting noises. Rainbow and Diamond, the tame finches she had raised, fluttered and chirped. "Tell them we saw the gytrash in the fog. That would make for wonderful conversation."

Anne blushed at the idea. "I wouldn't have Papa think I still believe in such things."

"Who saw a gytrash?" Tabby bustled in carrying a tray. She was a large woman of about sixty, with a wide, red face and a stomach that enveloped the cords of her apron. Tabby was the family servant, but to Anne, who had known her all her life, she was more like a member of the family.

"We did," Emily said. "Right outside."

Tabby set down her tray and put her hands on her hips, taking in Emily's wry smile. "That's nowt to make fun about." She picked up a spoon and waved it at Emily to make her point, disturbing the lovely order of Anne's table.

"The Heatons at Ponden Hall were quite bothered by a spirit a few years back." She put a finger to her chin. "Not the gytrash, though. This'un came as a headless dwarf, I believe. Or were it a burning barrel rolling down t'ill?"

Emily giggled. "If I were a thing of fog and shadow and could take any form I wanted, it would not be a barrel rolling down a hill."

Tabby pursed her lips. "Now you mind me, young miss. These things are not t' be mocked. Old Tom sends out his minions in many forms—the white lady dragging her chain, the dusky calf, the ghost of a loved one. It's the see-er who chooses the appearance, not the spirit. Whatever you're fearing most, that's the form it takes." She began to take things off her tray—a cone-shaped loaf of sugar, a saltcellar, a pitcher of cream—each one landing with a thump on the table. "Is ther making a remark this morning, Anne?"

Anne looked shyly to the floor. "I'm not sure what I'd say."

Tabby thrust the empty tray under her arm. "How's about: The porridge is 'specially good today."

"Is it?"

"What a question. It's 'specially good every day."

Anne was saved from arguing the grammatical sense of this by a series of bumps and scrapes from upstairs—the unmistakable sounds of Branwell moving his easels about. He must be inspired to paint today.

"Ee 'eck!" Tabby said. "Are both t' men up already? I mun get that porridge off the fire." She smiled. "Or I'll make a lie o' your remark."

When she was gone, Anne gave a semblance of order to the things Tabby had deposited so haphazardly onto the table, and then she joined Emily, who was standing at the window again.

"I used to long to see the gytrash," Emily said.

"Surely not."

Emily's hand found hers and squeezed. Her fingers were ice cold. "I would ask Charlotte to tell me the story again and again, though it always terrified me."

"I can't imagine why you'd want to hear it," Anne said.

Emily looked at her with a frown. "Haven't you ever wanted to be devoured?"

The chill in Emily's hand seemed to travel through Anne's blood and across her body. Of course she hadn't. "No." She let her sister's hand go.

Just then, the little mathematician in Anne's mind looked up from his clicking abacus and blinked.

"Oh," she said. "I got it wrong, didn't I? We didn't steal those papers to read about Zamorna, did we? It's the villain. It's Alexander Rogue you love."

Emily made no answer, but Anne knew she was right. What she didn't know was why the idea should disturb her as much as it did. Rogue, Zamorna—they were both only fictional characters, weren't they? But in his stories, Rogue had done such cruel and terrible things. He was chaos. He was the black hound, tearing out throats on the moor. What sort of person could love that?

同类推荐
热门推荐
  • 佛说决罪福经

    佛说决罪福经

    本书为公版书,为不受著作权法限制的作家、艺术家及其它人士发布的作品,供广大读者阅读交流。汇聚授权电子版权。
  • 隐婚蜜爱:总裁大人宠妻无度

    隐婚蜜爱:总裁大人宠妻无度

    “顾少,您对还没结婚就喜当爹这件事有什么想说的吗?”“顾总裁,请问您知道您太太肚子里的孩子是谁的吗?”“顾总,请问外界传闻您准备离婚是真的吗?”顾深长眸微眯,语气若冰:“离婚?在我的字典里,没有离异,只有丧偶。”肚子里还怀着某小只的乔诗锦一咬牙,一跺脚,吞了半瓶安眠药准备自杀。谁知竟然因为孕吐全部吐出来了。上吊?摔得屁股铁青。割腕?忍不住打了个喷嚏,小手一抖,划破了顾深的手臂。乔诗锦可怜巴巴的抱着顾深的大腿:“留下这个孩子吧,我愿意当牛做马!”顾深捏起她的下巴,戏谑一笑:“你可别后悔。”嗳,同志!我是个孕妇,你别脱衣服啊,你别拉我裤子啊!喂,同志!救命啊,霸王硬上弓了!--情节虚构,请勿模仿
  • 极品妖孽:邪女王逆天重生

    极品妖孽:邪女王逆天重生

    【正文已完结】轩辕娥凰是废材,身为皇者却是废材,忠了皇室千年的臣子在她登基大典上准备改朝换代。置死地而生,逆天重生,她还是她,只是唤醒了血脉里逆天修道的天赋,威震八方。皇城四少之首的公子哥上官夜放下身段,来做贴身护花使者;神秘莫测的皇城工会少主独孤擎天愿百里红妆倒嫁上门,原本是死敌的魔界之皇东方熬乔装打扮,百般讨好加勾引,只为让她让爱上他……招惹下的桃花越来越多,拜托公子,请慢慢排队等我轩辕女王长大再说究竟是要单恋一株草?还是统统收入后宫一个都不放过?……修仙踏征途,破万难,除险阻,纵横三界……荐完结文《第一闪婚撞来的豪门老公》《欢喜冤家:司令千金闯情关》
  • 镇魔道人

    镇魔道人

    身是邪魔身,心是正道心。不忘初心,坚持正道,矢志不渝,勇敢前行……
  • 那年盛夏是心动

    那年盛夏是心动

    蓦然回首,再忆往昔,是初遇?是心动……一次你以为的初遇:悬崖上的遇见,注定了再见。“你只会是我的。”“没那么简单。”再遇,是一个绝对的乌龙。也使她遇见了两只小包子,时池:“wow^棺材脸和小白花怎么能造出这么可爱的小包子啊!”知道真相后:“麻麻麻麻,我要看奥特曼打小怪兽!”“麻麻不要!香芋要看美少女战士!”时池哭笑不得,他再一次说:“你只能是我的。有什么难的?”时池痴痴地看着那张脸,身边围着两个粉雕玉琢的孩子。是啊,有什么难的?我们就注定要在一起!
  • 小妾有点坏

    小妾有点坏

    她替姐姐嫁入轩辕府当轩辕老爷的第八房小妾,喝了点酒,晕忽忽的进了一间房。轩辕彻出外谈成生意回来没通知任何人!以为她是娘给他找来的小妾。于是,就这么将错就错下去。
  • 倾天剑圣

    倾天剑圣

    斩碎天堑、上云端,看那诸天笑我猖狂,战乱八荒仙穹不罢休,风卷残云圣道不息。染血轻衣,三尺银锋乍目,待我踏碎那云山,再归来笑骂这漫天诸神无用。王座上,屠戮玄穹……
  • 极品弃妃重生

    极品弃妃重生

    二十一世纪强悍而绝色的女雇佣兵,在一次任务中被炮火轰到了千年前的盛唐。绝世的宝刀收入怀中,失传百年的武林绝学让她成为了举世无双的顶尖高手。面对冷酷无情的修罗王爷,她朱唇微蹩:“你是我的,天下都是我的。”称霸江湖,手揽天下。江湖我要,皇宫我要,就连你,我也要了!
  • 儿童传播学

    儿童传播学

    意大利著名幼儿教育家蒙台梭利曾说:儿童是一个谜。儿童的奥秘吸引着广大学者孜孜不倦地探索,在心理学、教育学、社会学、生物学、脑科学等领域取得了一系列成绩。近年来,儿童研究也日益为传播学所关注。本书在系统收集前人研究成果的基础上,对儿童传播的本体、主体、受体、客体、载体、环境、效果等进行了全面地梳理与论述,为儿童传播学的研究勾勒出一个整体性的概观。这种系统、全面的整理,在国内尚不多见,对推动儿童传播学的建设与发展具有积极的意义。
  • 依依清梨浅如雪

    依依清梨浅如雪

    她是一个异世胎穿来的学霸,也是才闻三国的帝都神童,这辈子她本来以为可以撒泼打滚混吃等死,可事实并不如此。她被迫进宫做了六皇子的陪读,受到太子的保护,从此开启了宫霸的人生。太子变陛下,这个陛下有点怪啊,面对别人严厉冷肃,到了她这会脸红傲娇还色!“二哥,你大我十三岁,被人叫叔叔很正常。”“嫌朕老?”“啊……二哥你干嘛!”“为老不尊。”