‘Sure.’
As she’s changing the coffee filter, I see her notebook is still open. There are a couple of verses of what looks like poetry, but the writing is upside down and too small to make out. God, I’m nosey.
‘Are you staying in Haworth?’ she enquires conversationally as she froths the milk.
‘Yes, just out of the village.’ I tell her the name of the hotel.
‘Nice. Holiday?’
‘No, my boyfriend, Klint, is writing his doctoral thesis on nineteenth-century steam engines. So we’re here for a few days. We’ve been visiting museums in various towns up this way so he can see some working ones. Haworth’s steam train is also a big draw.’Not that he appreciated riding on it.
‘Sounds interesting.’ She takes the cover off the cake and cuts a generous slice.
I shrug. ‘If you’re into steam.’ That comes out sounding resentful, so I add a brighter ‘We live in Oxford, so I’m enjoying seeing some different countryside’.
‘Have you visited the parsonage yet?’
‘I did, yesterday. You must be over the Brontës, working so closely to the house.’
She shakes her head. ‘I love them. Read all their books a million times, and I still can’t get enough.’
Her eyes shine, and I blink, surprised. Wow, she isn’t putting it on either. Her enthusiasm reminds me of Dain’s, and it encourages me to say, ‘I’m thinking of doing my own thesis on them. Maybe something about how their books reflect the hardships women faced at that time.’
‘Oooh, yes. You could also mention the circumstances in which they wrote. The sanitary conditions up there were terrible. I believe they were constantly getting sick.’
‘Yes, I’ve been readingThe Life of Charlotte Brontë,and it touches on it. I had a few other titles recommended to me as well.’
The girl smiles benignly, handing over my coffee and cake. ‘You met Dain, didn’t you?’
‘Uh, yes. How did you know?’ I say with a smile.
‘He’s always loading tourists up with books. I think he single-handedly sold all the copies ofWuthering Heights,Jane Eyre, andThe Tenant of Wildfell Hallin the parsonage bookshop this summer. They had to order more copies.’
My smile falters.Oh, so I’m not special.She seems to know an awful lot about him.Are they friends?I wonder.Or is she his girlfriend?She seems more on a par with him lookswise.
‘Did you tell him you want to do some research?’ she asks.
‘Yes, he said I could pick his brains if I needed to.’ I take a sip of my latte. It’s delicious. It’s a pity I got it to go. I’d like to talk to her more, especially if she knows Dain. That’s probably why he was in here.
As if she’s reading my thoughts, the girl says seriously, ‘You totally need to talk to him.’
‘Do I?’
She nods emphatically. ‘Yes! He’s very knowledgeable about the Brontës. You’d be doing yourself a disservice if you didn’t. I’m Joelle, by the way, his ex.’
‘Lizzy,’ I offer. Aha, I knew it! Butex-girlfriend? Interesting.
‘OK, I will then. I wasn’t sure about it as I didn’t want to take up his time.’
Joelle laughs. ‘Are you kidding? If you want to talk about the Brontës, he’ll make time.’ She leans forward and lowers her voice, as if telling me a secret. ‘If you ask me, I think he’s slightly obsessed ...’
My heart thuds. OK, that clinches it—fate in the form of his ex-girlfriend urging me to get in contact. I need to message him. And soon.
Chapter 5
The blood ran down and soaked the bedclothes:
still it wailed, ‘Let me in!’
