The young Brontës, who were now almost men and women, had been brought up in comparative luxury. They were well educated, but they understood neither farming nor dealing, and the land had been so neglected that it could not support a family, even if the requisite capital for its cultivation had not been lost. In this emergency Welsh requested an interview with the whole family. He declared that he had a proposal to make which would restore their fallen fortunes. He had been forbidden the house, but, as it was supposed that he was going to give back the money which he must have stolen, his request was reluctantly granted.
Welsh appeared at the interview dressed up in broadcloth, black and shiny as his well-greased hair, and in fine linen, white and glistening as his prominent teeth. The effect was ludicrous to those who had always known the man. His sinister expression was intensified by a smile of satisfaction which gave emphasis to the cast in both eyes, and to his jackal-like mouth.
He began at once, in the grand cattle-dealer style, to express sympathy with the family, and to declare that upon one condition only would he continue the dealing and supply their wants. This condition was that Mary, the youngest sister, should become his wife—a proposal which was rejected with indignant scorn. Many hot and bitter words were exchanged, but as Welsh was leaving the house, he turned and said, “Mary shall yet be my wife, and I will scatter the rest of you like chaff from this house, which shall be mine also.” With these words he passed out into the darkness.
The interview had two immediate results. It revealed the threatened dangers, and roused the brothers to an earnest effort to save their home. Welsh had robbed them, but he must not be permitted to ruin and disgrace them. They had many friends, and in a short time the three brothers were employed in remunerative occupations, two of them in England and one in Ireland. They were thus able to send home enough to pay the rent of the farm, and to maintain the family in comfort.
The landlord of Brontë’s farm was an “absentee,” the estate being administered by an agent. He was the great man of the district, local magistrate, grand juror, and “Pasha” in general. A parliament of landlords had given him despotic powers in the collection of rent, and in all matters of property, limb, and life. The agent of those days was served by attorneys, bailiffs and sub-agents. Welsh was appointed to a vacancy as sub-agent, in return for a large bribe paid to the agent.
The sub-agent’s business was to act as buffer between the tenant and the “Squire,” as the agent was called. He was generally a man without heart, 280 conscience, or bowels. Selected from the basest of the people, he had nominal wages, never paid and never demanded; but he managed to squeeze a large amount out of the tenants, first by alarming them, and then by promising to stand their friend with the rapacious agent. He cringed and grovelled before the “Squire,” but at the same time was the chief medium of information concerning the condition of the tenants, and their ability to pay their rents. One of his duties was to mix in their festivities, when whiskey had opened their hearts and loosened their tongues, and discover their ability to pay an increased rent.
Welsh was the very man for this post. He had lived by cunning and treachery, and in his new occupation had great scope for serving both himself and his master. He seldom saw his tenants without letting drop the fatal word, “eviction.” But, while serving the “Squire,” and recouping himself from the tenants for the bribe he had paid him, he never forgot for a moment his double purpose of securing his late master’s farm, and with it, the person of Mary Brontë. He straightway drew the agent’s attention to the derelict condition of the farm, and to the likelihood of the rent falling into arrears, and declared himself willing to undertake the burden of his late master’s desolate homestead. The agent promised Welsh that the farm should be transferred to him, on payment of a certain sum, in case the Brontës were not able to pay the rent; but the rent did not fall into arrears. The agent’s demands were punctually met, and besides this, considerable sums of money were spent in improving the house and the land. In consequence of this the rent was raised, but the increased rent was paid the day it fell due, and again raised.
Finding himself foiled, Welsh changed his tactics, and turned his attention to the other object of his quest, Mary Brontë.
In the neighborhood there lived a female sub-agent called Meg, as base and unprincipled as himself. Her services were utilized in many ways; in conveying bottles of whiskey to farmers’ wives who were getting into drinking habits, and in aiding farmers’ sons and daughters to dispose of eggs and apples and meal purloined from their parents in return for trinkets which they wished to possess. She had also great skill in furthering the wicked designs of rich but immoral men. She was the “spey-woman” who told fortunes to servant-girls, and lured them to their destruction. Like the male sub-agents, such women were supposed to have the black art, and to have sold themselves to the devil.
Meg came often to tell the servants’ fortunes, and had many opportunities of assuring Mary of Welsh’s love and goodness. She told how he had restrained the agent for several years from evicting them, by the payment of large sums. All of this seemed incredible to the simple-minded girl, but the harpy was able to show receipts for the money thus expended.