EMILY BRONT? OPENED THE STUDY DOOR A crack, peering inside. "They're gone," she whispered. She and her sister Anne slipped in, closing the door behind them.
"Goodness, where is the floor?" Anne said.
Branwell's books and painting things littered the room, and his bed was unmade. By mutual agreement Tabby, the Bront? family servant, didn't enter the children's study, and so it was the only place in the parsonage where untidiness was allowed a foothold.
"I was wondering where all our teacups had gone," Emily said, looking around. "But for heaven's sake, Anne, you mustn't get distracted and begin straightening things." She opened the window to dispel the scent of linseed oil and turpentine. "Anne?"
Her sister was staring at the desk now, a mix of fascination and aversion on her face. "I shall never become accustomed to that."
Emily came up beside her. It was uncanny, she had to admit. Two papers sat on opposite sides of the desk, writing themselves. If their siblings had been present, Anne and Emily would have heard the scratching of their pen nibs across the pages—not to mention Branwell's nervous humming, mumbling, and foot tapping—but these words appeared in perfect silence.
"What should happen if the paper ran out?" Anne asked.
"Their writing is so small it never does." This wasn't entirely true. Once, Emily had seen a story of Branwell's write on top of itself again and again until the paper was black, but the sight had so unnerved her that she decided not to mention it to Anne.
"I don't like it."
"These are not the stories we've come to read," Emily said, turning away. With her foot, she pushed aside a braided rug and knelt down, lifting a loose floorboard. Underneath was a small space where Charlotte and Branwell kept their finished writings.
"Couldn't we simply ask to read their work?" Anne said. "They've always allowed it before. We don't have to steal."
Emily glanced again at the desk, eyes narrowing. Charlotte and Branwell were far away now, in fantastical worlds they refused to share.
"Admit that I'm willing to eat the crumbs from their table?" Emily lifted her chin. "Certainly not. And we're borrowing, not stealing."
