Nelly Dean

by Alison Case

  ‘Or Mr Smythe?’

  Bodkin hesitated. ‘He has his flaws, certainly, but they have no bearing on this marriage, except in that they made the rest of us the more keen to get Anna out of his house. She has not had an easy time of it, at home.’

  ‘Really? He is always so unctuous to his customers – we used to call him Mr Smooth.’

  ‘Well, I suppose his customers get the smooth, and his daughter the rough. But if you breathe a word of that outside of this room, Nelly, I will never speak to you again. Anna has a strong sense of filial duty, and she would be deeply grieved for anyone to think she complained of him.’

  ‘No, of course not. And if anyone tries to tell me that your marriage is founded on anything but sincere affection and mutual respect, I will fly out at them in a fury, and say that Miss Anna Smythe is a sweet, generous girl with a strong sense of duty, and Dr Robert Kenneth is a kind-hearted and highly responsible young man, and they have every prospect of being extremely happy together. How is that?’

  ‘Very well, if you mean it.’

  ‘I do, Bodkin, and very sincerely.’ And then, all at once, I felt my lip begin to quiver, and tears welling in my eyes that were not from laughter. ‘I must go,’ I said quickly, turning aside and fumbling with my bag, ‘I have several errands still to run.’ Bodkin saw how it was, and he saw me to the door without further discussion.

  I walked home wondering how much he knew, or had guessed. I thought that Dr Kenneth could be trusted with my secret, and had still no good reason to think otherwise. But I could not help noticing that in the whole of our conversation, Bodkin had not once mentioned Hindley.

  At home, my duties expanded to include attending a sickroom again. At first my thoughts were as wayward as ever, but seeing the master, who had always been a pillar of strength, reduced to an invalid dependent on me for the most simple services, tugged at my heartstrings, and I was relieved to find that I longed quite sincerely for his recovery under my care. He was irritable, and snapped often, and since I was usually nearest, he snapped at me as often as not. But I did not take it to heart, for I knew then that it was only his illness. He knew it too, and in his quieter moments he would thank me for my service, and beg my pardon for the trouble he gave me, which always brought tears to my eyes. During this time, he never mentioned Hindley, nor said anything to suggest that he knew of our past together, but he always talked as if I were to be a permanent fixture as housekeeper at the Heights. He would beg me to take good care of Heathcliff, and steer him on the right path, as if it were in my hands to do so, and at times he would even talk to me about tenants and rents as if I had the management of the estate. Probably it was only because his mind was wandering, but I began to fancy that he was changing his mind about Hindley and me, and resigning himself to our marriage.

  My guilty thoughts of what might follow on the master’s death now began to be replaced with more gratifying daydreams: I imagined myself, through some exhausting and heroic feat of nursing, rescuing him from death and entirely restoring him to health, as I had once done for Heathcliff. Hindley, recalled from school to what he believed to be his father’s deathbed, would arrive to find all danger past, and myself kneeling at his father’s bedside for his blessing. His father, looking up with tears in his eyes, would tell Hindley to kneel with me, join our hands, and bless us both together, and our wedding would follow as soon as the master was recovered enough to come to church.

  But Mr Earnshaw’s illness was no feverish conflagration to be beaten back with frantic effort, as Heathcliff’s had been. It was rather a slow sapping of the vital force, like a fruit tree that withers and sheds its leaves from no visible cause, no matter how the farmer tries to save it. My daydreams were a comfort to me, and allowed me to go about my duties in a better spirit, but they did not fool me. The master was dying, slowly but inexorably.

  I did think that Hindley ought to be sent for, but knew not how to bring it about. I was shy of speaking Hindley’s name to the master again, and shy too, of acknowledging to his face that I knew he was dying, but whom else was I to ask? I wrote to my mother, for the first time in many months, to tell her the master was dying, and, braver with a pen than with my voice, said that Hindley should come home, but I had small hope of her bringing that about, for many reasons. At last I thought of Joseph, whose influence with his master was now at its peak. He was at his bedside almost as often as I was, not to provide comfort or ease, it seemed, but to take them away, by whispering to him urgently about matters I could not overhear. His talk made the master groan and clutch his head in anguish, so that I wished I could banish Joseph from the sickroom altogether, except that the master would not permit it. I did not like to make an ally of Joseph, now or ever, but it struck me that he was inclined to Hindley’s favour, as the son and heir to the Earnshaw family, whose dignity he claimed as his own, and now he faced the prospect of Hindley becoming his own master soon. I also had no reason to think that Joseph knew anything about my former relations with Hindley, which was an added inducement.

  So, one morning, as Joseph sat over his porridge at breakfast, I sat down opposite him and composed myself to be as polite and respectful as I knew how.

  ‘Joseph,’ I said. ‘There is something that has been worrying me, and I wonder if you might be able to help.’

  ‘If it’s your soul, yo’ve good cause to worry, and there’s naught I can do for yo.’

  ‘I don’t mean that,’ I said, swallowing my irritation. ‘But I wonder that the master has not thought to send for Hindley. Dr Kenneth says that he has not many more weeks, and it would be right for Hindley to be home before … to receive his father’s blessing, as his firstborn.’ I hoped that the vaguely Biblical reference might impress Joseph favourably.

  ‘Hoo’s got all the blessing hoo’s like to get, poor lad,’ said he. ‘Yon black devil’s child has stolen all the rest, an’ hoo’s birthright too, more than likely.’

  ‘But shouldn’t Hindley be at home, then, as soon as possible?’

  Joseph eyed me suspiciously. ‘What’s it to yo?’ he snarled.

  ‘I just thought it would be right, and the master’s so … preoccupied, I thought it might not have crossed his mind, so perhaps you could do something about it.’

  ‘I have me orders fro’ the master, and they don’t cover sendin’ for Hindley on the say-so of a household wench.’

  I didn’t argue – I knew it would only harden Joseph’s position. ‘You must do as you think best, of course,’ I said politely, and took my leave, hoping I had at least planted a seed in his mind. If it took root, though, I never learned. Whether it was by design or by oversight, Hindley was not sent for until it was too late.

  When Mr Earnshaw finally died on that chill October evening, I wept quite bitterly and sincerely. I had not loved him as deeply as I did the mistress – he was not a man to be loved so by his dependants, stern and distant as he habitually was – but he had been the head of my little world for as long as I could remember, and more like a father to me than certainly my own father had been. But even in my sorrow, I could not quell the flicker of excitement that came too, with the thought of what would follow. And so I wept for him, and for Heathcliff, who had good reason to fear for his future, but I wept too for my lost innocence, and my corrupted heart, that would never know peace again.

  FOURTEEN

  Hindley was expected home the afternoon before the funeral, and as you may imagine, I was not the only one agitated about his arrival. The servants were all jumpy in expectation of their new master, dropping their work and hastening to the window at each of a dozen false reports of his arrival. Cathy and Heathcliff were rocketing around like billiard balls, running back and forth to the little hill that gave the best vantage on the road, and debating continually how best to greet Hindley on his return.

  ‘You must greet him seriously and kindly, as befits a sister who shares his grief,’ I said finally. ‘There is nothing difficult about it.’

  ‘But wha
t about Heathcliff?’ she asked. ‘Should he be friendly, or only strive not to be noticed?’

  ‘Friendliness will never come amiss,’ I said, ‘but there is no need for him to intrude himself. Heathcliff, you must smile and nod, but you need not say anything, and you should keep a little behind Cathy.’ But of course Cathy must raise objections to anything that seemed to place Heathcliff below the family, and Heathcliff must look scornful at the idea of smiling at Hindley. I affected to be irritated at all their fussing, but really I was glad of anything that could take my mind off my own tumultuous thoughts and feelings.

  It was three years since Hindley and I had parted, in the firm belief that we would see each other in a week or two, and be wed not long after. During all that time I had heard nothing from him, or even about him. What had he been told about me? Did he know I had lost our child, or even that I was still at Wuthering Heights? Would he be surprised to see me? How would he greet me? And how would three years at school have changed him? I had plenty to keep my mind occupied and my heart beating fast, and had Cathy and Heathcliff not taken on themselves the office of lookout, I would probably have been running back and forth to the top of the hill myself.

  At last I heard Cathy’s shrill call from the hilltop: ‘I see him!’

  I ran up to join them. The horse and cart were still only a speck in the distance, so far as I could see, but Heathcliff had the eyes of a hawk. He was peering intently at the speck, shading his eyes with his hands.

  ‘There’s someone with him,’ he said.

  ‘Probably a boy, to take the cart back after,’ I said.

  ‘No,’ said Heathcliff, squinting intently, ‘it’s a woman.’

  ‘A woman? How odd! Perhaps it’s my mother,’ I said.

  By now Cathy was exclaiming that she saw her too, but my poorer eyesight could still make out nothing but a vague blur.

  ‘Whoever she is, she’s not your mother,’ said Heathcliff. ‘Too thin.’

  ‘It’s a lady!’ Cathy interjected, hopping with excitement. ‘She has a huge bonnet on, with a great big feather. I can see it from here!’

  ‘Yes,’ Heathcliff added, ‘and she’s leaning into him and hanging on his arm. Who do you suppose it can be?’

  I had often heard the expression, ‘his blood ran cold’, but I never knew until that moment how precise a description it was. Dread washed through my veins like an icy bath. I forced myself to speak.

  ‘We’ll find out who it is soon enough,’ I said brusquely. ‘Meanwhile, I have work to do.’ I turned to walk away.

  ‘Oh, but Nelly, don’t you want to see who it is? Whoever could it be? Could he be married? Don’t you want to know?’

  ‘It’s nothing to me,’ I said dully, and continued on my way. Hindley was bringing a woman home with him. She was dressed like a lady, and behaving as though she had some claim on him. What more did I need to know? I went into the kitchen, and looked about for something to do, but I could see nothing that appealed to me, and the presence of the other servants was oppressive. I wandered into the house, sat down, and took up some sewing, but my hands seemed made of lead. After a stitch or two, I laid it down, folded my hands in my lap, and tried to think. Hindley and his wife – or soon-to-be-wife, it hardly mattered which – were plodding towards the house. They would arrive in less than an hour. What was I to do?

  While I was thus reflecting, the front door banged open, and Heathcliff dashed in.

  ‘It’s true!’ he cried, ‘Hindley’s married, really and truly! The cart was plodding along at such a slow pace, we thought it would be an hour before we knew, so Cathy ran ahead to speak to them, and then ran back to tell me – what do you think of that?’ He didn’t wait for an answer, but turned and ran back through the door. It was just as well, for I could not have said a word.

  His news did have the effect of lifting me out of my torpor, though. Whatever I thought or felt, one thing was certain: I needed to get away from the house, and everyone in it, immediately. I felt a storm rising in my breast: dark clouds sweeping across the sky, the wind rising, and hints of thunder to come. Before it struck, I needed to be far away from curious eyes; I felt almost an animal instinct to flee. I grabbed my shawl and left through the back door, mumbling something about an errand. I heard some puzzled remarks, but I ignored them.

  I bent my steps in the opposite direction from the Gimmerton road, towards the emptiest part of the moors, so I soon found myself on the path that led by Pennistone Crags to Penniton, the same I had walked with Hindley, three years before. Then it had been autumn too, and the sights and sounds and smells were so much the same, and brought back that walk so vividly before me, that it might have been three weeks earlier, instead of as many years. In defiance of my spirits, the weather was fair: cool and clear, with only a light breeze at my back ruffling the heather, and a thin scattering of wispy clouds high above, like brushstrokes across the vivid blue.

  At first I felt only pain, my heart twisted into a hard knot that would scarcely let me breathe. I half ran, half walked along the path. I had just enough sense to get myself out of earshot of Wuthering Heights before I broke down and howled like a beast. I did not stop walking, though, I felt such urgency to get away, but stumbled forward, clutching my head and choking out tearless sobs. These and the exertion of walking gave me some relief at last, and I began to feel a measure of calm – enough, anyway, to begin picking apart the tangle of feelings that tormented me. Grief, anger, and shame were chief among them: grief at the final, decisive loss of all my dreams of a loving future with Hindley; anger at him for marrying in such haste without even waiting to see me, at the parents who had, I was now convinced, connived to keep us apart, and at myself, for harbouring hopes in spite of all my better judgement; most of all, a deep shame that my love, which I had been so sure he shared, could be spurned so casually. How arrogant my pretensions had been, and how foolish! For what was I, after all, but a plain-faced servant girl who had presumed too much on her early friendship with the heir, and imagined as some deathless love what was really only a childish fondness?

  When I had left the house, I had felt that I was leaving for good. It did not seem possible that I could ever look Hindley in the face again, let alone take up my old duties in the daily presence of him and his wife. Now I began to think through my situation more carefully. Where was I to go? If I continued on the path to Penniton, I could stay with Mrs White for a day or two, but what then? Gossips in the neighbourhood would busy themselves with my sudden disappearance just when Hindley arrived with his new bride, and my absence from my late master’s funeral tomorrow would be noted as well. They would draw the obvious conclusion, and I would not have even the comfort of knowing they were wrong. I could hardly seek a position in Gimmerton with that over my head, and I could not ask Hindley for a character that would enable me to seek work further off. My only choice would be to go to my mother in Brassing, and either work under her at the Thornes’, or try to use their connection to find work in the town. But would they be willing to do even so much in my favour, with such a story as I would have to confess about my departure without giving notice? And the thought of turning to my mother for help was galling, when she was herself, in my eyes, one of the chief authors of my predicament. Nor would she stint in her condemnation of my foolishness, which would be hard to bear. As I turned these thoughts over in my head, I found my steps slowing. I was never a great judge of distance – looking at an object from afar, I could not tell you, as Hindley always could, if it was two miles off, or five, or ten. But a sure instinct always told me when I had gone as far from the Heights as I could go and still return by nightfall. I was approaching that point now. It was time to choose.

  Looking back, I think that by the time I reached that point, I had already made my choice: I would return to Wuthering Heights, to hold my head high, defy Hindley and my shame both, and keep my place at least long enough to look about me, and decide what to do next. But I could not acknowledge that to myself then:
instead, I began searching for more acceptable reasons to do what I secretly wished to do. First I castigated myself some more for my presumptions, and solemnly sentenced myself to the mortification of taking up my humble duties under the eyes of Hindley and his wife, without a word of reproach or complaint. Then I reminded myself of my concern for the children, and especially Heathcliff, who would now be at Hindley’s mercy, and told myself that my prior good influence with both man and boy made it my duty to stay, and try to bring about peace between them. Finally, I reflected that the new Mrs Earnshaw would need guidance in learning how to run the household, and there was nobody fit to offer it but me. In short, I succeeded in making my return seem to myself an act of exemplary virtue and humility, when in truth it was compounded in equal parts of self-interest and pride. I turned round.

  On the walk back, I focused on calming myself sufficiently to meet Hindley without emotion, and thinking up a plausible excuse for my absence. When I reached the house it was twilight, and the cart stood empty outside the stable – the horse having clearly been put away in the stable already, and the contents carried in. I took a deep breath and entered the back door, into the kitchen.

  ‘Where have you been?’ I was greeted by the little kitchen maid. ‘The new master is here with his wife, and everyone wondered where you’d gone to!’

  ‘Oh, I had no idea they would arrive so soon!’ I said, affecting disappointment. ‘I had promised Mrs Dagley a paper of needles – she had broken her last one, and she wanted to repair her husband’s coat before the funeral tomorrow, so I walked over to bring them to her, and then of course she must tell me all about her health, you know how she goes on, and it was all I could do to prise myself away. I’m so sorry I missed their arrival! I suppose I must go in and present myself – are they in the house now, do you know?’