by Alison Case
‘What did you do?’ asked the master with some alarm. I had stopped by the door, too rapt in listening to think of my duties.
Hindley grinned. ‘Well, I managed to get to the inn before they could accost me outside, and they followed me in. There, they began jostling and shoving me from one to another of them, trying to make cause for a fight. I put them off long enough to get a sense of who else was in the room, and heard some good Yorkshire speech coming from one corner. That was all I needed. I pulled all the coins from my pockets and slapped them onto the bar – over a pound, it was, which is a large sum to these sort of men. I took care in taking out the money to pull my pockets inside out, as if by accident, so it was clear I had no more on me. “Innkeep,” I said loudly, in the broadest Yorkshire I could muster. “I have some orders for you, so please attend carefully.” Well, the place fell dead silent – I had everyone’s ears, which was just what I wanted. I split the coins into two equal piles. “This,” I said, pushing one pile towards him, “is to provide care for a poor soul outside, who was beaten and robbed by a gang of thugs, six against one, which is cowards’ odds.” I got some black looks at this from the guilty parties, I can tell you, and my heart was in my mouth, but I went on as if I didn’t see them. “So the Samaritan did for a man in the same case, in our Saviour’s story,” I said, “and I would follow His footsteps.” Now one or two of them began to look abashed, but the rest were as hard-faced as before. “I don’t know who committed this act,” I went on, looking each of them in the face so they could be sure I knew them full well, “but I know it was not Yorkshiremen, for no Yorkshireman would treat a solitary traveller so.” At this the men in the corner cheered and raised their glasses, and I knew I was nearly home. Then I pushed the second pile of coins towards the landlord. “And this,” I said, “is to provide the like care for me, should I prove to have enemies here that I know not of. But if I haven’t, and all men here are my friends, it is to provide ale for every man here alike, until it is all spent, for when a man is in funds, he ought to treat his friends, as every good Yorkshireman knows.” Then everyone cheered, of course, and the Yorkshiremen cheered loudest of all, and claimed me as a member of their band henceforth. So the six who had laid plans against me thought it best to abandon them and enjoy the free ale, for they had nothing to gain by attacking me.’
‘That was well done,’ said the master, nodding seriously, ‘it was well done to imitate our Saviour by caring for the injured traveller, and to lead the other men away from evil-doing. But to spend half your money on drink, in one night? Was that wise?’ There was no criticism in his voice, though – he seemed truly curious to know what Hindley thought.
‘It might seem not, sir,’ said Hindley carefully, ‘but I had to show the men that they had nothing to gain by robbing me, for my money was all gone already. And my generosity got me something mere money could never buy – membership of a band. I travelled and worked with them for the rest of the time, and they kept me safe, and taught me much that I could never have learned for myself. And if one of us was too ill or injured to work for a time, the others would take care of him, and share their wages with him, until he could work again.’
‘Did that happen to you?’
‘No, I was lucky, but it well might have.’ Hindley laughed. ‘When you have a large group of men swinging razor-sharp scythes in a field day after day, to the point of exhaustion and sometimes past it, it’s no surprise there are accidents now and again. They think little of it. If the cut is not dangerously deep, they don’t even fetch the surgeon, but get two drams of whisky, “one for the wound and one for the pain”, they say, and stitch it up themselves with a needle and silk they carry with them for the purpose. The man who causes the accident, be it to himself or another man, is teased mercilessly for a few days, for not being able “to tell John Bull from John Barleycorn”, and you may be sure he takes better care, after that.’
‘Well, thank Heaven you are home safe again, anyway,’ said the master feelingly. At this point, a loud hissing from the kitchen told me that the stew was bubbling over, and I rushed out to tend to it. I was kept occupied in the kitchen for some time, for some of the stew had burned to the bottom of the pot, and I had to transfer the remainder to a fresh pot right away, or it would all taste scorched. Then I had to clean up the stew that had boiled over onto the hearth, and set the burned pot to soak, and put a basin of the hot stew outside the door for a bit, so Hindley would not scorch his mouth on it. All the while I was cursing my own carelessness, which had kept me out of the room during a conversation that might have great bearing on my own future as well as Hindley’s.
When I returned with the steaming bowl of stew for Hindley, he had apparently just asked about what had been going on in his absence, for the master was telling him that we had all prayed daily for his safe return, and then drifted into the minutiae of livestock welfare, and some repairs to the high barn. The master’s determination to do better by Hindley seemed to take the form, just now, of presuming that he shared his father’s deep interest in farming and stock management. Hindley, for his part, was doing his best to attend, and contribute observations from his travels on how things were done on other farms in different parts of the country. But I could see that he was having difficulty staying awake. It was only to be expected, for when a man suddenly goes from being cold, wet, hungry and fearful of his future, to being warm, dry, safe, and well fed, sleep comes as a matter of course. But the master was so eager to put his own fatherly repentance into action, he could not see how Hindley’s eyelids were drooping as he spoke. I decided to intervene. I took a deep breath outside the door, and put on my best imitation of a fussy older woman before bustling in, speaking non-stop.
‘Oh Master Hindley,’ I said, ‘you must be half killed with tiredness after all your travels, and longing to get some sleep in your own bed at last, and you too, sir, for you’ll be up at dawn, I know, even if Master Hindley sleeps in, as well he might, for it will be a wonder if he doesn’t catch cold, with that soaking he had …’ and on and on in the same vein. It worked. Hindley took the chance to announce himself bound for bed, and the master followed suit.
In the days that followed, Mr Earnshaw showed himself determined to go on as he had begun: to make things right with his son, and pay off all his arrears of fatherly affection and encouragement. Hindley blossomed under his attention. His month of self-sufficiency and travel had given him more self-confidence, with less bluster in it than he had before. He had also gained a greater interest in farming in general, and some practical experience in it that in some respects differed from his father’s, so that they were able to converse on a more equal footing. In the past, Mr Earnshaw had been prone to lecture Hindley about such things as the rotation of crops or the diseases of sheep, and Hindley had treated the information much as he did book-learning, with a predetermined despair at ever being able to learn it properly. Now, though, he had come to think of farming as something he might learn by doing it, as he had fiddling or dancing, and he went at it with a better spirit.
Heathcliff and Cathy looked glum enough the next morning, upon learning of Hindley’s return. But Heathcliff had been startled at the master’s blow the night before, and sensed that the lay of the land had shifted, so he and Cathy made some pretence of pleasure in front of the master, whatever they said behind his back, and took care to steer clear of Hindley himself, thenceforward. So upon the whole the house was more peaceful and cheerful than it had been in many years, and I would have been perfectly happy, were it not for the secret I harboured in my belly.
During the weeks of Hindley’s absence, I had thought often of his return, and of our marriage and the birth of our child as following hard upon it, but I had given little thought to what lay in between. Now Hindley was home, and experiencing for the first time what it was like to be the apple of his father’s eye. How would he feel to learn we had a child coming, and that he must grieve his father, and probably lose his good opinion, by telli
ng him of it, and that soon? My heart sank at the thought, and for the first time I sincerely hoped that I might be wrong. I knew, from overhearing the talk of women in the village, that wives often would not tell their husbands they were with child for two or three months after they knew themselves, in case it came to naught, and though I dared not wait quite that long, I resolved to hold off at least three or four weeks longer before saying anything to Hindley.
As it happens, though, I did not wait quite that long. One day in the middle of November, about two weeks after Hindley’s return, he begged off accompanying his father to the high barn to look after some improvements there, having twisted his ankle painfully the day before. Two men being needed for the work at the barn, Mr Earnshaw took Joseph with him instead. That took away the sharpest of the prying eyes at home, and I looked forward to a good stretch of private time with Hindley. So I hurried Cathy and Heathcliff through their lessons, and granted them a half-holiday, knowing they would use it to disappear onto the moor together. Hindley likewise limped through his chores as quickly as he might, and we agreed to meet for an hour or two in his old loft above the stable. We embraced there and talked for a while, sharing much that we had not had privacy to tell each other since his return. I had thought that private talk was all he had in mind, but it soon became clear that he had other ideas, and expected to return to our former intimacies. I refused, and told him that I had come to regret what took place in the fairy cave. He pressed me, urging that he considered us as good as married already, and assuring me that ‘the lads’ had told him a way to prevent me from getting with child. At this I could not help bursting into tears and telling him it was too late for that. And so my secret was out. Hindley’s face froze.
‘Are you sure?’
‘As sure as I can be this early.’
‘You mean you might be wrong?’
‘I might be, or it might come to nothing – you know, end of itself.’ I was blushing, not being accustomed to talking of such subjects even with women, let alone with Hindley.
Hindley let out a deep breath. ‘Well, let us hope it will.’ At this I felt my eyes filling with tears.
‘Is that really what you most want?’ I asked quaveringly. It was a foolish question, for I knew that would be best for both of us. But I craved Hindley’s assurance that a child would be welcome, nonetheless. Hindley saw what was wanted, and made some effort to reassure me, but I could see that his heart was not in it. In fact, he was having difficulty restraining his irritation. My face was in my hands, but I heard him stand up, and strike the wall with his fist.
‘Damn!’
‘I’m sorry!’ I wailed, and gave myself over to sobbing entirely. This was not the scene I had pictured.
Hindley stomped about a little longer, cursing his luck and mine, but eventually his better nature prevailed. He sat down by me again, put his arms around me, and spoke soothingly to me for a time, until we were both calm. Then we began to consider what we should do. The longer we waited to tell the master, the more chance there was that my fears might be proved groundless, and leave us nothing to confess. Yet if they weren’t, and we waited too long, there would be an appearance of deceit in our not telling him sooner, and the scandal of the child’s birth not long after our marriage would be that much more evident. In the end, Hindley concurred with my own calculation, and we decided that two more weeks was the outermost limit of our secrecy, during which time Hindley would do everything within his power to build on his father’s new approval and affection for him. At the end of that period, Hindley would break the news to his father privately, representing himself as having just learned of it from me, and suggesting that I, in my maidenly ignorance, had only just become conscious of it myself. He would say nothing of Pennistone Crag or the fairy cave, but take the responsibility upon himself for having overcome my modesty at the height of my concern for him, in this very room, before he left Wuthering Heights. We hoped that, by thus associating our failing with the immediate aftermath of the master’s cruel jest, he might come to accept our news as yet another consequence of his own deeply regretted act.
Looking back on those weeks now, it seems as though I spent the whole of them with my heart in my mouth. Both Hindley and his father were doing their best to get on and think well of each other, to be sure, but they were pushing aside a lifetime of contrary beliefs and habits to do so, and the strain was beginning to tell. I would see the master clench his fists to restrain himself, when Hindley made some offhand remark, indicative of poor attention or careless thought, or I would catch Hindley flashing comical faces at me behind his father’s back, while he pretended to attend to what he was saying, and hold my breath, lest the entire edifice of mutual goodwill come crashing down at once.
It was also at about this time that the master’s strength began visibly failing, and his irritability rising accordingly. Heathcliff and Cathy, too, I knew were no friends to Hindley’s good standing. I kept them out of the way as much as I could, but when they were about, I could see them watching for any chance to provoke an indiscretion that might bring Hindley down in his father’s eyes. Much as I feared the effects of our revelation, I came almost to look forward to it, as an end to the dreadful suspense I was in.
When the agreed-upon time came, though, Hindley began to put it off from day to day, with one excuse or another, until I thought I should go mad with the delay. I had also begun to suffer from sickness, especially in the morning, which was difficult to keep hidden, and this did nothing to improve my mood. At last I told Hindley that if he would not tell his father himself, in the next two days, I would do so myself, for I could not bear to wait longer. And then something happened, to take the matter out of my hands.
Ever since his return, Hindley had been singing the praises of a breed of sheep he had encountered on a farm in the northernmost part of Yorkshire, hardier than ours, he said, yet with longer, softer wool, and mutton of a sweetness he had never tasted. His description had made enough of an impression on his father, that, farm business being largely settled for the winter, he resolved to take Hindley on a trip to see these ‘woolly paragons’ for himself, and if they proved as fine as Hindley’s report, to purchase a ram to bring back, for the improvement of his own flock. They were to be gone a fortnight, which would bring them back a week before Christmas. Hindley was full of excitement for the trip, delighted that his father gave so much credit to his opinion, and eager to surprise the farmer, who had last seen him as a poor travelling labourer, in his new capacity as a gentleman’s son and heir. He begged me to delay our news a little longer, saying that two more weeks could make little difference.
‘It is not only two weeks, Hindley, but the week you have delayed already,’ I replied.
‘Well, three weeks, then. Anyway it makes little odds. And with Father out of the house, who is to notice your illness, and become suspicious?’
‘Yes, and who is to help me as you have done, on mornings when I can scarcely drag myself from my bed, or comfort me, when the weight of all this secrecy becomes almost more than I can bear?’
‘But both the work and the burden will be less, with him gone. You will have only the children to look after, and the other servants to mind.’
‘And Joseph, don’t forget, who will fancy himself in charge with the master gone. He sticks his nose into everything, and already thinks I am a whore, or a witch, or both.’
‘Oh, you can manage him well enough. Just threaten to cast a spell on him.’
‘You can jest, Hindley, but you must see how dreadful this is for me. You promised to talk to your father a week ago, and now you want to delay still longer?’
‘But if I tell him now, we will never go on this trip, and can you not see what a good thing it is for me, and how it will strengthen his respect for me? Surely that is essential, if he is to approve our marriage in the end?’
‘Well, will you promise to tell him before you both return, then?’
Hindley hesitated, but I was determi
ned.
‘Very well, then. I promise on my honour as a gentleman.’
‘Promise on the Bible,’ I said. ‘I know too little of gentlemen’s honour to trust in it.’ I ran and fetched the book from the house. ‘Here, put your hand on it, and promise solemnly.’
‘Well, since we are to be so formal about it, what exactly would you have me promise?’
‘Say that you solemnly promise, that before you both return to Wuthering Heights, you will tell your father that I am carrying our child, and that you wish to marry me.’
‘Very well then.’ Hindley put his hand on the book. ‘I solemnly promise, as God is my witness, that before I return to Wuthering Heights I will tell my father that you are carrying our child, and that I wish to marry you, for you are a marvellous girl, and will make me an excellent wife. Will that do?’
‘That will have to do,’ I said, smiling in spite of myself, ‘and now kiss me quickly, and be off, for I have work to do.’
The next day, Hindley and his father departed on their journey, and I settled myself for two weeks of suspense as to how the master would take our news, and what he would be like on their return. Of the main result – our marriage – I had little doubt, but how far we would be in disgrace, whether we would be sent away from the Heights, and for how long, and where, and how we would live in the meantime, were all questions that spun about in the back of my mind, through all my daily duties.
I little thought, though, when I bid Hindley farewell that morning, that I would not see him again for three long years, or that when he did return, he would bring a different wife.
TWELVE
I have some difficulty in writing the next part of my story, not only because of the bitter sorrow it was to me, but because, truth to tell, I am not entirely sure what did happen, and who, if anyone, had a hand in it. I suppose I can only tell what I experienced, and what I conjectured, and leave it to you to draw what conclusions you will.
