The Mist on Bronte Moor

Chapter 17


Thy phantom face is dark with woe;

Tears have left ghastly traces there:

Those ceaseless tears! I wish their flow

Could quench thy wild despair.

—E.J. Brontë





Branwell stayed with his father in the study through dinner. Tabby served them a full tray of meat, potatoes, and apple pudding.

I picked at my food, wondering when Branwell and I would have time alone together again. Charlotte ate in silence, her face creased in thought. Emily remained preoccupied with Grasper for the entire meal. For each bite she took, she fed two bites to Grasper under the table. My plate was still half-full when Emily pushed back her chair and jumped up.

“I’ve been dying to get out all day.” She yanked her cape off the hook and slipped it on. “Anyone coming?”

“Shouldn’t we wait for Branwell,” I said as casually as I could.

“Oh, he’s far too busy working on his translation of Homer. He won’t come out for hours.”

I slumped in my chair.

Anne sighed. “I wish I could go with you, but Aunt needs my help with a sample.”

Emily turned to Charlotte who sat staring into her teacup. “What about you?”

Charlotte glanced up. “What?”

“Are you coming for a walk?”

“Not today.” Charlotte gulped down her tea and pushed back her chair. “Glass Town has been invaded by the French and needs my attention.”

Emily nodded as if Charlotte’s excuse was perfectly reasonable.

I glanced hopefully toward the empty passageway before getting up. Emily stopped me. “Finish your dinner,” she said. “You’ll need your strength.”

Still standing, I shoved a few more pieces of meat and potatoes into mouth before putting on my coat.

Emily grabbed two red apples off the kitchen table and tossed one to me. “Put it in your pocket. You’ll want it later.”

I slipped the apple into my pocket.

Emily whistled for Grasper who still chomped food under the table. His ears pricked up at her call and he scampered toward her, wagging his tail and yapping in an excited high pitch.

“Go on!” Emily commanded as she opened the back door. Grasper bounded outside.

My eyes flitted back to the hallway one last time before I followed Emily outdoors.

I walked up to the edge of the moors with Emily and then quickly fell behind. It was impossible to keep pace with her strong, swift strides. Usually, when we walked together, she slowed down so I could keep up. Now, she marched ahead with purpose. I didn’t ask her where we were going nor did I care. My thoughts were on Branwell. I smiled at the memory of him throwing down his sketchpad and chasing me until we were both breathless. I could still feel the weight of his body pressed against mine and the softness of his lips—the taste of him.

I sighed and peeked at Emily. We had arrived at the waterfall, and I wanted to stop for a moment. But Emily marched on and crossed the stone bridge without hesitating. She must have been lost in some deep thoughts of her own because she walked in silence with her head bent. Normally she was all smiles and energy on the moors.

My thoughts drifted back to Branwell, and we hiked on for at least two miles. I didn’t pay too much attention to where we were going until the path steepened considerably. Only then did I scan my surroundings. We were headed for Top Withins.

I sprinted after Emily. “What are we doing at Top Withins?” I hissed as I came up behind her.

She whirled around. “Quiet! Keep your head bent and walk as fast as you can. We must pass by to get where we are going.”

“And where is that?” I asked.

“You’ll see,” she said.

We continued to climb the hill.

“Is this really the only route we can take?”

“No,” Emily said, “but it’s the route I favor, and I shan’t change it for anyone!”

I clenched my jaw. This girl really was the most stubborn person I’d ever met.



Once at the top, the wind almost blew us back down the hill. We struggled against it as we hurried past the farmhouse, taking care to keep a safe distance. There was no sign of Harthorn or the wolf, and we managed to pass by undetected. My heart rate slowed to normal, and we trudged on in silence, although I was curious to know where we were going.

The trail became extremely rugged and difficult to tackle. We trekked through thick mud, long wild grass, and crossed another stream—this time without a bridge. I was knackered and my body ached. It didn’t help that the path started to rise and narrow rapidly. The wind picked up again. My chest burned and my breathing came heavier. I couldn’t take much more. I was about to call out to Emily, when she slowed her walk and stepped in line with me.

“I’ve got something to show you,” she said.

“Do you?” I grimaced. The last time she’d had something to show me, I’d ended up locked in a remote farmhouse with a nutter and his wolf.

“Down there.” Emily pointed.

I peeked down and saw for the first time that we were standing at the top of a steep valley. This was nothing unusual; the moors were full of hills, cliffs, and vales. But I’d never seen anything quite like this before. Embedded in the valley wall was a tower of rocks that looked as if it were the crumbling remains of a fortress or castle turret, which had once stood tall and proud. Moss covered the rocks, and tufts of dead grass hung from its crevices.

“What is that? Some kind of ancient ruin?” I asked.

“It’s called Ponden Kirk. It’s a quiet place to think and has the best view of the moors.” She sighed. “I’ve been coming here for years, until now.”

“What do you mean ‘until now’?”

“Every time I come, he’s here.”

“Who?”

Emily walked forward a few paces. I followed. We peered down the steep valley and squinted at the rock tower.

“Him.” She pointed.

A man dressed in black sat hunched over at the foot of the rock, his head buried in his hands.

I blinked. “Who is that?”

“Hugh Heaton,” Emily said.

“Hugh Heaton! You mean the one Tabby told us about?”

She nodded.

“How do you know?”

“I don’t. Not for certain. But it makes sense, doesn’t it? Why else would he be sitting there every day?”

“I don’t understand,” I said.

She blew out her breath. “He’s sitting by the fairy cave.”

“The what?” I asked, totally confused.

“There’s a chasm at the foot of these rocks known as the fairy cave. It’s a place favored by lovers. They come to swear their undying devotion and pass through the opening together as a symbol of their unity. Once that is done, they are bound to each other for life.”

I smiled, thinking of Branwell. If we came here together, we’d be united forever.

“If the lovers separate, for whatever reason,” Emily paused dramatically, “the consequences will be dire.”

“Dire?”

“Certain death for both,” she said.

“Oh, bollocks! That’s a load of rubbish.”

“Is it?” she asked. “Tabby has told us many a tale about lovers who . . .”

“Exactly,” I interrupted. “Old wives’ tales; there’s no truth to any of it.”

“We don’t know that.” Emily peered down the sloping valley. “Look at him. Doesn’t he resemble a doomed lover to you?”

I stared at the hunched figure. He certainly seemed miserable. “How long has he been coming here?”

“Three weeks, if not more. The last time I saw him was almost two weeks ago, on the day I found you.” Emily paused. “I’d planned to take Grasper for a quick walk before church but lost track of time. After a while, I ended up here, only to find him sitting by the fairy cave again. It was the third time that week. I’d seen him the week before that too.” Emily sighed. “So I left, and then I stumbled across you, sitting on the moors like a dazed bird that had fallen out of its nest.”

“Three weeks!” I said, my pity growing into irritation, which had more to do with my own fears of being separated from Branwell than Hugh Heaton’s inertia.

“What’s the point of that? She’s not dead. Shouldn’t he challenge Harthorn to a duel or whatever?”

Emily laughed. “A duel? Do you mean like David and Goliath?”

I rolled my eyes. I’d become a lot more familiar with Bible references since my arrival at the parsonage.

“All right, so that’s a rubbish idea. Still, we’ve got to talk to him. We have to at least tell him what we’ve seen. When he hears how Harthorn treats her—” I shook my head, at a loss for words.

“Indeed,” Emily said, “we must.”

Hugh shifted his body.

Grasper let out a low growl, which was lost in the wind.

Emily crouched down and yanked Grasper by the collar. “Quiet!”

Grasper whined and yelped. If Emily went down that valley, her dog was going to be a problem.

“I’ll go,” I said. “You’d better stay here with Grasper.”

“It’s a steep climb down and the wind is strong. You’ll have to be careful,” she warned.

“I’ll be fine.”

A look of relief passed over her face. Interacting with strangers wasn’t one of her strong points.

I started down the valley, walking slowly but not paying too much attention to where I put my feet. I should’ve taken Emily’s advice more seriously because after my second step, my foot skidded on the steep bank, and I landed with a thud onto my back.

“Heather!” Emily’s voice sounded in the distance.

With nothing to hold me, I slid quickly downward. Rocks jabbed me in the back while prickly brush and thorns tore into my stockings and lodged their spines in my skin.

I grasped wildly at whatever was around me and managed to grab onto some overgrown weeds. I lay on my back, my arms straining and my legs dangling beneath me. The wind lashed at my face and body; I couldn’t hold on forever. And if I didn’t get help, it would only be a matter of seconds before I tumbled down the valley.

“Help,” I shouted, too scared to move a muscle but hoping Hugh Heaton would hear me and come to my rescue. I turned my head slightly to the right. Where was he? Part of the brush I was holding on to gave way and my arm slipped an inch. I gasped. “Help,” I called again, straining my neck to see as much as I could without moving. Still no Hugh.

I had no choice. I’d have to try and turn onto my stomach so I could climb to the rock. Taking a deep breath, I let go of the brush in my left hand and swung my body over while grasping tightly onto the brush in my right hand. Once that was accomplished, I grabbed hold of a small rock jutting out of the hill and fumbled for a place to put my feet until they came to rest on a cluster of wild shrubs.

I stayed still for a minute, breathing heavily. Then I inched my way toward Hugh, clutching onto small rocks and shrubs for support. Every muscle in my body was on high alert. As I got closer, I saw him watching me.

“Thanks for the help,” I muttered to myself.

As if he’d heard my complaint, he extended his hand toward me. I inched forward then reached out and grabbed it.

“Thank you,” I said, as he pulled me to safety.

Hugh blinked at me as if I were an alien that had landed on his planet—which was sort of true.

My legs trembled, partly from the strain they’d been under and partly from the fear that I’d still not managed to shake off. I sank down and squeezed into a cramped space next to the fairy cave.

Hugh crouched beside me. “Who are you?” he asked.

He was only about seventeen or eighteen years old, but he had the look of a man exhausted by years of worry. “My name’s Heather. I came to see you.”

His dark eyes widened in surprise. “Me?”

“From Mr. Brontë’s parsonage,” I added.

His eyes immediately became empty black pools again. He nodded and hung his head as though he understood my mission completely.

“Tell the reverend I’m sorry, but I’ve not been well. I’ll come to church when I’m better.” He spoke in a whisper as if he’d lost his voice.

“I’m not here about church,” I said. “I’ve come about Harthorn.”

He jerked his head up, his eyes wide again. “Harthorn! What’s happened? Has that devil done something to my Clara?”

Clara. So that was her name.

“No,” I said quickly. “I mean not that I know of. I only wanted to tell you that I’ve seen her.”

He grabbed me by both arms. “Where?” He gave me a slight shake. “Where did you see her?”

“At Top Withins. There was a storm. We were lost, and Harthorn gave us shelter. Clara was there.”

He let go of me. His hands dropped to his sides as if he’d lost all his strength.

“How did she look?” he asked, his voice flat.

“Dirty,” I said.

He stared at the ground.

I peered at him. “She needs you. He keeps her prisoner in that place. And there’s a wolf guarding her.”

“I’ve failed her. She must despise me now.”

“She thinks you’re dead. Harthorn told her he killed you.”

This seemed to reignite his passion because he clutched his black curls in his fists and cried out, “What am I to do? If I go there, he will kill us both. He told me so himself.”

He faced me. “If he promised to kill only me, I’d go without a moment’s hesitation, but he will kill her if I so much as step foot on his land.”

“Would he really do that? He’d hang, wouldn’t he?”

“He doesn’t care if he hangs.” A tone of disgust crept into Hugh’s voice. “As long as he has his revenge. He’ll stop at nowt to make her mama pay for running off—although she’s already cold in her grave.” He dropped his head and twisted a gold band on his finger.

I watched him in his misery, fear growing in the pit of my stomach that I should ever be forced apart from Branwell. “But he leaves the house sometimes. He has to get food and once I—”

“That’s why he has the wolf,” Hugh interrupted. “It knows my scent. If I go near that house it will attack the both of us. That wolf is trained to kill.”

I bit my lip. “There must be something you can do? Maybe someone else can help her escape.”

“No one will cross Harthorn or his wolf. Folks around here don’t meddle in each other’s business. Clara has no kin except her near-blind aunt, and mine don’t approve of our love.” Hugh continued to twist the gold ring on his finger. “Anyway, we’re doomed.”

“You passed through the fairy cave together?”

He nodded. “I brought her up here almost a year ago, when her mother was still alive. She was fifteen and I seventeen, and now we’ve been separated by that devil. Our sacred promise is broken.”

“You don’t really believe that legend, do you?”

“Look at us. You tell me.” His face was etched in pain.

I ached for him. “Give me your ring,” I said.

He looked at me, startled.

“I’ll make sure Clara gets it. Then she’ll know you’re alive.”

“How?” he asked.

“I’m from the parsonage. Harthorn let me in his house once before, and he’ll do it again.” This was total bollocks, but I’d worry about that later.

Hugh’s face brightened a little. He pulled the ring off his finger and held it out to me but hesitated before dropping it in my hand.

“Be careful,” he said. “If Harthorn sees you with it, he will surely kill you.”