But Dain seems eager to supply the answer. ‘Yes, it seems so as one of her diary papers has a self-portrait sketch of her in there.’ He gestures to the room, and I head over to have another look. For some reason, Iamdrawn to this room.
‘Wow, it’s really small. Wasn’t she tallish?’
‘Yes, five foot seven—the tallest of the sisters. That’s the stool she used to take out on the moors with her to write,’ he says, coming over to stand next to me. ‘There’s also some graffiti on the walls, which we think were made by the children when they were younger.’ He points, and I peer in further and see some scratchings, but they’re too faint to make out. I believe if he believes.
‘She liked lying in bed at night and looking up at the stars.’ His tone turns dreamy. ‘Without any light pollution, the sky would’ve been awash with them. The view from this window inspired her to write the poem “Stars”, which was included inPoems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell, published in 1846.’
I glance up at him, impressed. He does seem to know his Brontë stuff.
‘Are you in Haworth for the day or staying forlonger?’ he asks conversationally when we’ve moved back onto the landing.
He seems knowledgeable, maybe even an academic, and his obvious enthusiasm for the Brontës is rubbing off on me. So I feel in a safe space to admit, ‘For a few days. I’m actually hoping to find a topic for my DPhil.’
Dain’s dark-brown eyes lock on mine. ‘Oxford?’
I nod, mentally kicking myself for not saying ‘doctorate’ and hoping he won’t pigeonhole me as an intellectual snob because I don’t think I am.
‘What did you do yourmaster’s in?’ he enquires.
‘Feminism in nineteenth-century American literature.’
He leans against the stair banister and folds his arms likehe’s settling into debate mode. ‘You can’t go wrong with the Brontës. They’re endlessly fascinating, and there’s plenty of background research material.’
‘Hmm, I’d have to bereallyinterested in the topic to write 100K on it. But they are an intriguing bunch of women.’
Dain frowns as if ‘intriguing bunch of women’ isn’t a phrasehe’d use to describe them. ‘Have you read the big three:Wuthering Heights,Jane Eyre,andThe Tenant of Wildfell Hall?’
I nod, relaxing a little as he’s easy to talk to. ‘I’m re-readingWuthering Heightsat the moment. We did it for high school English, and my take on it now is a little different, but I’m enjoying it.’
Dain gives a quick pleased smile, and his face glows. I stare at him, a little bewitched. He is quite something. ‘That’s one of my faves. I’d also suggest readingAgnes GreyandVillette. Both give excellent insight into Anne’s and Charlotte’s strong characters and the plight of women at the time. For biographies, there’sTheLife of Charlotte Brontëby Elizabeth Gaskell, though she chose to use artistic license for some of it ...’ His dark eyes gleam with amusement. ‘And alsoThe Brontësby Juliet Barker. It’s more based on fact than flights of fancy.The Brontë Cabinetby Deborah Lutz is also fascinating. Some of the objects she mentions are in the display room next door. We have a good selection of titles in the bookshop downstairs too if you want to buy any physical copies.’
‘OK.’ As he’s speaking, I’m busily typing the books he suggested in my notes app while sneaking glances and wondering how to keep the conversation going.
‘If you want to pick my brains, we could also have a session in the Black Bull. It’s where Branwell used to drink,’ he says casually. It appears he’s thinking along the same lines.
I pause in my typing, my eyes flicking to his.Did he just ask me out?I know instantly that (a) I want to go and (b) it’s going to be difficult to get it past Klint.
Luckily, Dain takes my silence for ignorance rather than rejection. ‘Do you know anything about their brother?’
I push down my stomach flutters and try to act nonchalant. ‘A little. He wasn’t a great artist and caused them all a lot of misery with his drunken rants—I’ve seen theTo Walk Invisiblemovie.’
‘That was damning. He’s often scorned, but in my opinion, he was an important creative catalyst. If it wasn’t for Branwell, I doubt we would’ve had characters like Heathcliff, Rochester or Huntingdon. He was an integral part of their life, physically and emotionally.’
Dain is speaking my language. ‘I was just thinking something along those lines.’
He smiles, looking expectant, and I know he’s waiting for an answer to his invitation to the pub. To bide my time, I shakily type ‘BRANWELL CATALYST’ in my notes app while he watches.
I clear my throat. ‘OK, well, picking your brains might be a good idea. I’m Lizzy Doyle, by the way.’
‘Dain Whitmore.’ He doesn’t unfold his arms to shake my hand, so I keep mine anchored by my side. I don’t think touching him is a good idea by the way my stomach flips when I think of it.
‘Whereabouts are you staying?’
I tell him the name of the hotel, and he raises an eyebrow. ‘Ah. I hope you’re not the nervous type?’
I don’t reply as I’m not sure what he means by asking that and because Iamthe nervous type.
The couple who entered after me have come part-way up the stairs. They pause to look at Branwell’s portrait of the sisters, and I hear them discussing it in low voices.
