The Secret Adventures of Charlotte Brontë (16 page)

With great trepidation do I embark upon recording the significant events of my life, for there is grave danger in hinting at what I have experienced. Furthermore, I am afraid that my narrative will show me to be a despicable sinner. Will I offend readers with a tale so sordid? Will they disbelieve me? These risks I must take, in the hope that writing my history will close a disgraceful chapter of my life. Perhaps they who would condemn me for the things I did will instead understand and pity me. And perhaps my words will reach the attention of someone able to combat an evil that is gaining destructive power even as I write.

My story begins when I met the man who became the master of my soul. I was at the time familiar with the nature of men, yet did not know that men such as He existed. The others had been coarse and ugly, but He was a creature from a different world. Dark was He, yet radiant, and possessed of great strength. From the very first moment, His strange beauty captivated me. His eyes—so fierce, so luminous—penetrated deep inside me. His voice was like velvet and steel, probing the recesses of my mind. Many questions did He ask me, and many secrets did He elicit.

I confessed to Him, as I had never been able to confess to any other soul, how, when I was a child, my father would creep into my bed at night. If I did not keep still Papa would beat me with his fist. He whispered that I was his darling and clamped one hand over my mouth to silence my cries. Oh, the tearing pain! He said that unless I promised not to tell anyone, he would send me to a prison for bad girls because I had tempted him. Even had I not feared his threat, how could I tell anyone of my shame?

When Papa died, my mother grieved, for she had loved him and I had kept my promise. His death impoverished us, and we were forced to go to work. I pretended to mourn him, but I was secretly relieved that he could never hurt me again. At night I dreamt that I was running through the mill, past rows of whirling, screeching spinning machines. They sucked me into their engines, and the mill exploded in a thunderous burst of bricks, metal shards, and boiling water. I would awake in terror. Every day as I worked in the mills I feared that my dream would come true and death would be my punishment for rejoicing that Papa was gone.

I never told anyone of this, other than the man to whom I made reference earlier. From Him I could hide nothing; nor did I want to, for He seemed the one person in the world who knew me and accepted me with all my faults. It was as if, when He coaxed from me the secrets of the horror and suffering I’d kept hidden from the world, I stood naked before Him with every scar on my soul visible. Every piece of myself that I gave Him purchased His favor in some inexplicable way, and I desired His favor above all else. I lived for His visitations, and I began to want Him in a way that I had never before wanted any man. His very presence reduced me to a state of hot, quivering need; His command was my law.

When He asked me to steal money from my employer, I did. At my next post, I was governess in a household that included a puppy, much beloved by the children. To test my loyalty, He ordered me to kill the dog. I was aghast, for I’d grown fond of it and its young owners. He didn’t say that if I refused, He would abandon me—I could read it in His eyes. My need proved stronger than my conscience. One night I strangled the puppy. The poor creature squirmed and squealed in my hands until it expired. How sick I felt over betraying its trust; how guilty to watch the children grieve after the small corpse was found in the churchyard, where He had instructed me to lay it!

Yet all this faded to insignificance the moment I was reunited with Him. He caressed my cheek, and I thrilled to the touch that I’d longed for. Never had He given any sign that He wanted me, but now I saw desire in His eyes. He slowly undressed me, and the brush of His fingers kindled a fire in me. I wanted to cry out with impatience; I wanted to flee in terror, but His gaze held me still and silent: I could only submit.

I swooned at the warmth of Him. Everywhere His hands touched me, flames leapt under my skin; I shuddered and moaned. He knew secrets of my body which I did not know myself. Willingly did I pleasure Him; eagerly did I open myself to Him. And when He entered me, there was no pain as in times past—only ecstasy.

But how could I commit such a sin as enjoying a man outside the bonds of holy matrimony? Should feminine virtue have not restrained me? Alas, I cared nothing for God, nor propriety, nor anything except Him. When He said, “What would you do for me?” I answered with all my heart: “Whatever you wish.” He was my master, the source of all the meaning in my life. I was His devoted slave.

He introduced me to prominent men who hailed from all over the kingdom and the Continent. I entertained them at balls, taverns, gambling dens, and in bedchambers. The purpose of this was never explained to me, yet I deduced that my actions allowed my master to gain advantage over these men. Every one of them was damaged in some way by his association with me, while my master reaped the fruits of my labor. To what miserable depths did He sink me!

But I could not afford to care. The first time He ordered me to bed a man, I said I could not, for I wanted only Him. His countenance darkened, but His voice was quiet as He said, “You shall obey me.” And my resolve crumbled because I saw that if I opposed His will, He would destroy me as He had destroyed other persons who defied Him. I obeyed, for the privilege of being with Him and keeping alive.

I trained myself to feel nothing towards the men I helped Him ruin. When I was presented to Lord John Russell, it mattered not that he was England’s Prime Minister; I viewed him as but more prey for my master. But even a slave may reach the limit of her obedience; even a fallen woman retains a shred of morality. The time finally came when my love for my master was tested.

He sent me to work as governess in the house of Joseph Lock, a Birmingham gun merchant. Mr. Lock was honest, kind, and a devout Christian. His wife was a fair, generous mistress to me, and their boys were affectionate and well behaved. They showed me the joy of an ordinary life. My heart began to ache for what I could never have, even as I sought to engage the affections of Mr. Lock. At first he resisted, ignoring my flirtatious gazes, avoiding me. Hating myself for the harm I would do him and his family, I went into his office, where he was working alone. He took me there on the floor, so great was the need I had aroused in him. Afterward, he wept, begging God to forgive his adultery.

Months passed, and our secret liaisons continued. His spirits declined, and his unsuspecting wife fretted over him, and how I pitied them both! He was clay in my hands, as was I in my master’s. Then one night he told me what our affair had cost him, and what my master had gained by it. Mr. Lock knew only part of the story, but I deduced the rest from talk I’d overheard at my master’s house. Shocked I was, for I had never suspected the breadth of His ambition; yet here was proof that He aspired to the power of kings. My discovery was the beginning of my disenchantment. I began to understand that I must free myself of Him, or consign my soul to eternal damnation. Still, I loved Him, and could not find the strength to break away—until He gave me His next command.

[Here some lines were scratched out.]

I was stunned by the audacity of His scheme. However, I did not doubt that He could succeed, for if He could compromise the Prime Minister, there seemed nothing He could not manage. The evil of it horrified me. How could I deliver helpless innocents into His grasp? How could I allow myself to be used as an instrument to shake the foundations of the world and bring disaster upon the kingdom?

I cannot, in spite of my fear of Him. To leave Him will cause me great agony, but leave I must, though my defiance will unleash the deadly force of His fury upon me. I write this on the eve before deserting my post at Mr. Lock’s house. As soon as I pay a last visit to my mother, I will journey to London, then out of the country. I must tell no one where I am going. In truth, I myself do not know my ultimate destination. I only know that I must travel far and fast. I can already feel His mind sensing my traitorous thoughts. He is always watching me, and as soon as I am gone from Birmingham, He will send His minions after me, for He cannot allow me to live, knowing what I know.

May God protect me and forgive my sins.