Charlotte by Martina Devlin - read an extract

We present an extract from Charlotte, the new novel by Martina Devlin - the author talks to Miriam O'Callaghan above.

Charlotte Brontë, who dazzled the world with some of literature's most vital and richly-drawn characters, spent her brief but extraordinary life in search of love. She eventually found it with Arthur Bell, a reserved yet passionate Irishman. After marrying, the pair honeymooned in Ireland – a glimmer of happiness in a life shadowed by tragedy.

Martina Devlin’s new novel weaves back and forth through Charlotte’s life, reflecting on the myths built around her by those who knew her, those who thought they knew her, and those who longed to know her. Above all, this is a story of fiction: who creates it, who lives it, who owns it.

'Jane Eyre is getting married to Arthur. And they're coming to Ireland on their honeymoon.’ Mama, known the length and breadth of King’s County for her composure, was wide-eyed with astonishment at the news in her letter.

‘Our Arthur?’ I asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Marrying Charlotte Brontë?’

‘That’s what I said. The Jane Eyre authoress.’

‘The most famous writer in the world?’

‘Don’t exaggerate, Mary.’

‘She’s caused a sensation!’

‘If you say so, my pet.’

We were drinking tea at the breakfast table – me considering whether to choose pale blue or pale pink for my new summer gown, Mama reading her letters. I had noticed one from Arthur among her stack, but he was twelve years my senior and his communications rarely interested me. They droned on about Sunday4 school prizes and godless parishioners, or walks on the moors with the parsonage hounds. Mr Brontë this and Mr Brontë that. I’d have paid attention to any mention of Charlotte Brontë, but it was always the old parson he talked about. If not for that memorable surname, we’d never have joined the dots whenthe novels were published. Arthur had said nothing about the parson’s daughters being writers.

Mama threw down the letter and tested her fingertips against her coronet of plaits.

‘How could he!’

‘You’re always saying it’s high time he took a wife, Mama.’

‘But not just any wife. You, Mary! He’s meant to marry you!’

‘He’s never shown the least interest in me.’

‘That’s because you don’t encourage him.’

‘Arthur’s like a brother to me. Kinder than a brother – he never dropped earwigs down the back of my neck like Richard did. Besides, I don’t believe I’d care to be a minister’s wife.’

‘What you get and what you want are two different things.’

‘You got what you wanted with Papa.’

‘Your poor papa. He was the kindest of men. Goodness knows what he thinks of Arthur’s marriage plans, looking down on us all.’

‘I expect he’d say it’s a suitable match.’

‘I hope she doesn’t find us too provincial here. I don’t know how we’re supposed to keep her entertained.’

‘At least we’ve read her novels.’

‘I cast an eye over them, I admit. But I prefer poetry.’

‘You devoured them, Mama. Especially Jane Eyre. You can’t have forgotten Denis Coughlan driving us into Parsonstown to buy each instalment?’ I quoted my favourite passage from memory. ‘Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong! – I have as much soul as you, – and full as much heart!It’s – I don’t know – it puts me in raptures! I long to press herself between the book’s pages like a dried flower!’5

‘Don’t gush, Mary.’

‘When I read it, I fancied Jane was confiding in me. We were sitting together, and she was trusting me with her story.’

‘But who are you meant to marry now? Arthur’s perfect for you. How can he be so inconsiderate?’

‘Mama, I’ve never wanted to marry Arthur. I can’t imagine being his wife. It’s too silly for words.’

‘You don’t know what’s best for you.’ A gusty sigh. ‘Too late now.’

‘What else does the letter say?’

She picked it up from the table and read aloud. ‘In the course of our trip, I hope to show Banagher to my new wife. May we spend a week with all of you in Cuba Court, Aunt Harriette? I can’t wait to introduce Charlotte to my family.’

‘It’s nice he’s bringing her here to pay her respects to you.’

A sniff. ‘It means we aren’t invited. He won’t have any of his kin standing beside him on his wedding day.’

‘Hasn’t he asked Alan?’

‘Apparently not.’

‘You’d think he’d want his brother as best man.’

‘One of those parson friends of his is doing the honours.

He says it’s because everything’s happening quite soon, on the twenty-ninth of June. He’s in a tearing hurry.’

‘That’s not like Arthur. Usually, he takes a mortal age to make up his mind to anything.’

‘It must be that Jane Eyre person, afraid he’ll slip through her fingers.’

‘Charlotte Brontë, Mama. You mustn’t keep calling her Jane Eyre. She might take offence if you do it to her face. You’ll write back and tell Arthur to bring her, won’t you? Think of the excitement in the parish!’

‘Arthur’s wife will always be welcome here. This is his home.’

‘May I read the letter?’ She handed it over.

I wish you could be with us, Aunt Harriette, but time is in short supply, and Haworth is remote – it takes a determined explorer to reach the Yorkshire moors. If we marry quickly, Mr Brontë can spare me from my duties for a month’s holiday. I intend us to do some touring. My bride-to-be, while otherwise perfect, is woefully ignorant about Ireland ’s charms, and we can’t have that.

‘Arthur will be in his element poring over train timetables and drawing up their itinerary, Mama. I wonder where else he’ll bring her? Dublin, I suppose, to stay with Alan.’

‘I remember him telling me her father’s an Irishman, from County Down. I expect they’ll go north.’

‘Of course. Arthur likes to do the right thing.’

‘The right thing would be marrying you. Oh, no use crying over spilled milk. Is there time to sew a new counterpane for the Blue Room, do you think?’

Counterpanes! At a time like this! ‘I wonder how it can have happened, Mama?’

‘What, dear?’

‘Arthur bagging Charlotte Brontë.’

‘He’s good-looking and good-natured. Why shouldn’t he win her?’

‘But poor, like most curates.’

‘After donkey’s years as her father’s curate, I suppose proximity led to affection.’

I handed back the letter. ‘But he resigned his position last year. The last time we saw Arthur, he was talking about becoming a missionary. Maybe he intends to make Charlotte a missionary’s wife. That would certainly inspire another novel!’

Charlotte is published by Lilliput Press