The Tenant of Wildfell Hall

In the autumn of 1827, the talk of our quiet country neighbourhood was all of one thing: Wildfell Hall had a tenant at last.The Hall was an old, dark house of Elizabeth’s time, standing alone on a windy hill above the village.It had stood empty and half ruined for many years, and children were afraid to go near it after dark.

Now a single lady had taken a few of its rooms and moved in quietly, with one old servant and a young child.Her name was Mrs. Graham, and she said she was a widow.She kept entirely to herself, saw no visitors, and gave no account of where she had come from.

Naturally, this was enough to set every tongue in the parish moving.My mother, my sister Rose, and the vicar’s wife discussed her endlessly over their tea.Some pitied her; some thought her proud; a few hinted that a woman so secret must have something to hide.

I told them I had no interest in the matter, which was not quite true.I first saw her the following Sunday, at church.She sat apart, dressed plainly in black, with her little boy close beside her.

Her face was pale and rather stern, but it was a striking face, not easily forgotten.She looked at no one and spoke to no one, and left as soon as the service ended.On the walk home, everyone had an opinion about her, and none of them was kind.

I found myself defending a woman I had never met, simply because the others were so sure of her faults.Wildfell Hall and its silent tenant had caught my curiosity, and I could not quite let them go.