“No, indeed,” I said. Not yet, at any rate.
“Well, I’m glad he doesn’t have designs on you,” Papa said, relieved.
“Maybe he doesn’t,” Ellen said, “but maybe someone closer to home does.” She bent an accusing glare on Mr. Nicholls.
Papa froze, his teacup lifted halfway to his mouth. “Do you, Arthur?”
He stared at his curate, who sank low in his chair. I wanted to scold Ellen for stirring up trouble. I wanted to put my head on the table and groan.
“I-well, ah-” Mr. Nicholls blushed crimson all the way down to his clerical collar.
Papa set down his teacup. He rose from his chair in such a wrath that he reminded me of God expelling Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden. Ellen looked delighted but scared. I desperately sought a way to forestall disaster. Noticing a movement outside the open window, I pointed and said, “What is that?”
Papa paused, drawing his breath. We never heard what he meant to say to his curate who’d betrayed his trust by plotting to steal his daughter. He, Ellen, and Mr. Nicholls looked toward the window. There was the head of a man, who smiled cheerily at us.
“Hey!” Mr. Nicholls said. “Who are ye?”
I’d staved off an explosion that would have rocked the parish, but dismay filled me. “Oliver Heald.”
“At your service.” Mr. Heald doffed his hat. “Good morning, Miss Bronte.”
“Do you know this man?” Ellen asked.
“We met in London,” Mr. Heald said. “I’m one of her most fervent admirers.”
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I wanted to see where you live.”
Ellen sighed in exasperation. “Not this again.”
Mr. Heald wasn’t the only curiosity seeker who’d ever bearded me in my den. Once, the vicar of Batley had shown up, demanded to see me, bullied Martha into letting him into the parlor, and stayed an hour before consenting to leave. Another time, some society ladies and gentlemen had dropped by. They’d included two Members of Parliament who had literary pretensions and wanted to meet Currer Bell. Their nerve had astounded me, but not as much as Oliver Heald’s did.
“Mr. Heald, this is the third time you have imposed yourself upon me,” I said. “Of all the inconsiderate people I have met, you take the prize! Please go away.”
Mr. Heald ducked out of the window before I’d finished speaking. In a moment I heard the front door open, and Mr. Heald walked right into the dining room.
Ellen gasped. “How dare you?”
Mr. Nicholls rose and put himself between Mr. Heald and me. “Didn’t you hear Miss Bronte? She doesn’t want you here.”
“Sir, you are trespassing,” Papa said.
Mr. Heald just looked around in delight. “So this is your home.” He wandered into the parlor, touching the furniture. “Oh, everything is lovely!”
We rushed after him. Ellen said, “I shall fetch the police!”
Papa hurried upstairs, then came back with the pistol he carried to protect himself when he walked the moors. He brandished it at Mr. Heald. “If you don’t leave at once, I’ll shoot!”
“Oh, dear.” Mr. Heald looked taken aback, then smiled. “You must be the Reverend Bronte. I’m honored to make your acquaintance.” He extended his hand to Papa, who was so surprised that he shook hands. “May I have the pleasure of being introduced to your friends?” He indicated Ellen and Mr. Nicholls.
I said, “No, you may not!” A sudden thought startled me out of my indignation. “How did you happen to arrive in Haworth at the same time as I? Were you on the same train?”
“Well, yes,” Mr. Heald admitted.
“How did you find me? How did you follow me from London?”
“After Mr. Thackeray’s lecture, I followed you to your publisher’s house. I’ve been loitering outside it as often as I could, hoping for a glimpse of you. When I saw you come out last night-well, there you have it.”
That explained how he’d found me at the zoo. I had thought myself adept at spotting people following me, but Mr. Heald had proven me wrong. I began to fear that he and his intentions were not what he purported. He’d accosted me at the zoo moments before the terrifying chase began. Now he’d turned up again, soon after the events that had stemmed from my arrest. How had Wilhelm Stieber discovered that I was in Newgate Prison? He had to have been keeping track of me through his informants. Did they include Oliver Heald? Suddenly the irksome little man didn’t seem as harmless anymore.
“Who sent you?” I demanded. “Was it Wilhelm Stieber?”
“What?” His face was a picture of confusion. “Who?”
In my excitement I forgot to be discreet. “Are you working for Russia? Was it you who chased me at the zoo? Are you helping Wilhelm Stieber find Niall Kavanagh and his invention?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mr. Heald said.
Mr. Nicholls and Ellen looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. Ellen said, “My dear Charlotte, what are you talking about?” Papa’s face showed dawning, dismayed comprehension.
“Tell me!” I shouted.
Backing away from me in fright, Mr. Heald said, “Nobody sent me. I came on my own. I only wanted to see you.” He clasped his hands and extended them to me. “I swear!”
“You’ve upset Miss Bronte enough,” Mr. Nicholls said. He seized Mr. Heald by the arm, propelled him toward the door, opened it, and shoved him out. Mr. Heald tumbled down the steps. Mr. Nicholls slammed the door. “Good riddance!”
I went to the parlor window and saw Mr. Heald limp down the hill. He cast a wistful, hurt look at me. I turned to face Papa, Ellen, and Mr. Nicholls.
Mr. Nicholls was puffed up because he’d rid us of the trespasser. “Now, Miss Bronte, would you be so good as to tell us the meaning of what you just said?”
I supposed he had the right to ask, but I couldn’t tell him. “It didn’t mean anything. Please just forget it. I’m so tired that I’m not making sense.” Perhaps I was so tired that my suspicions about Oliver Heald were figments of my mind.
“Don’t make excuses,” Ellen said impatiently. “It’s clear that something bad happened to you in London.” Her eyes shone with excitement. “Did you stumble onto another murder?”
She knew about the murder that had plunged me into my adventures in 1848, for I’d told her about it and let her accompany me on some of my investigations.
“Are you in the sort of trouble that we had three years ago?” Papa said, concerned.
He knew the whole story. The only person present who knew nothing was Mr. Nicholls. “Murder?” All alarm, the curate looked at the rest of us. “What trouble?”
Ellen, Papa, and I exchanged looks. Theirs showed that they remembered that Mr. Nicholls wasn’t in on the story. Mine warned them that they’d been sworn to secrecy.
“We will not talk about this any further,” Papa said.
Mr. Nicholls bowed to Papa’s authority. “Very well,” he said, hurt because he’d been shut out of our circle. “But if Miss Bronte is in trouble, I want to help.”
After too many people had lately refused to give me the help for which I’d asked, I liked Mr. Nicholls a little better for his willingness. “Thank you, but there’s nothing you can do.”
“She’s right. She doesn’t need you.” Ellen moved to my side and put her arm through mine. “Charlotte, dear, let’s go upstairs. You can tell me everything, and we’ll decide what we’re going to do.”
“ We aren’t going to do anything.” I stepped free of Ellen. “It’s too dangerous for you.”
She laughed airily. “That’s what you said last time. And we had such fun.” She gave Mr. Nicholls a pointed look. “Haven’t you any duties elsewhere?”
He bristled. “As long as Miss Bronte is in danger, I’m staying.”
“Stay if you like,” I said, “but I must go.”
How I regretted my impulse to return to Haworth! I’d found no peace, and Wilhelm Stieber must have mounted a search for me. He would track me to Haworth-sooner rather than later if Oliver Heald were indeed his spy. I had made a dire mistake by laying my trail to my home; I’d brought the danger to my people. The only way for me to guard their safety was to leave immediately.