CHAPTER 13
For two months the fugitives remained absent. In those two months, Mrs. Linton overcame the worst of a brain fever. No mother could have nursed an only child more devotedly than Edgar tended her. Day and night he watched her, patiently enduring her irritable nerves and shaken reason; and, though Dr. Kenneth remarked that she had been saved from the grave only to cause constant future anxiety, Edgar was full of gratitude and joy when Catherine’s life was declared out of danger. Hour after hour he would sit beside her, under the illusion that as she returned to bodily health, her mind would settle back to its right balance also.
The first time she left her chamber was at the start of March. Mr. Linton had put on her pillow a handful of golden crocuses; her eye caught them in waking, and shone delighted as she gathered them eagerly together.
‘These are the earliest flowers at the Heights,’ she exclaimed. ‘They remind me of soft winds, and warm sunshine, and nearly melted snow. Edgar, is there not a south wind, and is not the snow almost gone?’
‘The snow is quite gone, darling,’ replied her husband; ‘the sky is blue, and the larks are singing, and the becks and brooks are all brim full. I wish you were up those hills: the air blows so sweetly, I feel that it would cure you.’
‘I shall be there only once more,’ she said; ‘and then I shall remain for ever. Next spring you’ll look back and think you were happy today.’
Linton tried to cheer her; but she let the tears stream down her cheeks. We knew she was really better, and, therefore, decided that this sadness might be removed by a change of scene. The master told me to light a fire in the parlour, and to set an easy-chair in the sunshine by the window. Then he brought her down, and she sat enjoying the heat, and revived by the familiar objects round her.
By evening she seemed exhausted; yet she would not return to her bedroom, and I had to arrange the parlour sofa for her bed. We fitted up this room for her, where you lie at present, and she was soon strong enough to move from here to the parlour, leaning on Edgar’s arm.
I thought she might recover; and there was double cause to desire it, for on her existence depended that of another. We hoped that in a little while Mr. Linton’s heart would be gladdened, and his lands secured, by the birth of an heir.
I should mention that Isabella, six weeks after her departure, sent her brother a short note, announcing her marriage with Heathcliff. It appeared dry and cold; but at the bottom was scribbled an obscure apology, asserting that she could not help it.
Linton did not reply to this. In a fortnight more, I got a long letter, which was odd coming from the pen of a new bride. I’ll read it: for I keep it still.
Dear Ellen, it begins, – I came last night to Wuthering Heights, and heard, for the first time, that Catherine has been very ill. I must not write to her, I suppose, and my brother is either too angry or too distressed to answer my letter. Still, I must write to somebody, and the only choice left me is you.
Tell Edgar that I’d give the world to see his face again – that my heart returned to Thrushcross Grange twenty-four hours after I left it, and is full of warm feelings for him, and Catherine! But they need not expect me, although not through any lack of affection for them.
I want to ask you two questions: the first is, How did you manage to preserve the common sympathies of human nature when you lived here? I cannot recognise any feeling which those around me share with me.
The second question is this – Is Mr. Heathcliff a man? If so, is he mad? And if not, is he a devil? Please explain, if you can, what I have married. You must call to see me, Ellen, very soon. Don’t write, but come, and bring me something from Edgar.
Now, you shall hear how I have been received in my new home. Despite its lack of comforts, I should dance for joy, if their absence was the total of my miseries!
It was dark when we arrived at the farm-house, and your old fellow-servant, Joseph, came out to receive us by the light of a candle. He raised his torch to my face, squinted malignantly, and turned away to lead the horses into the stables.
Heathcliff stayed to speak to him, and I entered the kitchen – a dingy, untidy hole; it is changed since it was in your charge. By the fire stood a strong, ruffianly child, in dirty clothes, with a look of Catherine about his eyes and mouth.
‘This is Edgar’s nephew,’ I reflected. ‘I must shake hands, and kiss him.’
I approached, and, attempting to take his chubby fist, said, ‘How do you do, my dear? Shall you and I be friends, Hareton?’
An oath, and a threat to set Throttler on me if I did not ‘frame off’ rewarded me.
‘Hey, Throttler, lad!’ whispered the little wretch, rousing a bull-dog from its lair in a corner. ‘Now, wilt thou be ganging?’ he demanded.
In fear of my life, I stepped outside to wait for the others. Mr. Heathcliff was nowhere visible; and Joseph, whom I asked to accompany me in, screwed up his nose and replied – ‘Mim! mim! mim! Did ever Christian body hear aught like it? Mincing un’ munching! How can I tell what ye say?’
‘I say, I wish you to come with me into the house!’ I cried, highly disgusted at his rudeness.
‘Not me! I got summut else to do,’ he answered with contempt, and continued his work.
I walked round the yard to another door, at which I knocked. It was opened by a tall, gaunt, unkempt man; masses of shaggy hair hung on his shoulders; and his eyes, too, were like a ghostly Catherine’s with all their beauty annihilated.
‘What’s your business here?’ he asked grimly. ‘Who are you?’
‘My name was Isabella Linton,’ I replied. ‘I’m married to Mr. Heathcliff, and he has brought me here.’
‘Is he come back, then?’ he asked, glaring like a hungry wolf.
‘Yes – just now,’ I said; ‘but he left me here, and I am frightened of the bull-dog in your kitchen.’
‘It’s well the hellish villain has kept his word!’ growled my host. I wanted to slip away, but he ordered me in, and shut the door.
There was a great fire, and that was the only light in the huge apartment. Its floor had become grey; as had the once brilliant pewter-dishes, now dark with tarnish and dust. I asked if I might call a maid; but Mr. Hindley Earnshaw walked up and down, with his hands in his pockets, quite forgetting my presence.
You’ll not be surprised, Ellen, at my feeling very cheerless, remembering that four miles distant lay my delightful home, containing the only people I loved on earth; and there might as well be the Atlantic between us, instead of those four miles! The cause of my worst despair was finding nobody who would be my ally against Heathcliff! I had sought shelter at Wuthering Heights almost gladly, because it was better than living alone with him; but the people here will not interfere.
Meanwhile the clock struck nine, and still my companion paced to and fro, groaning now and then. I could not help weeping, till Earnshaw halted, and gave me a stare of newly-awakened surprise.
I exclaimed – ‘I’m tired with my journey, and I want to go to bed! Where is the maid-servant?’
‘We have none,’ he answered; ‘you must wait on yourself!’
‘Where must I sleep, then?’ I sobbed.
‘Joseph will show you Heathcliff’s chamber,’ said he. Then he added in the strangest tone – ‘Be so good as to lock your door and bolt it!’
‘Why, Mr. Earnshaw?’
‘Look here!’ he replied, pulling out a pistol with a knife attached to the barrel. ‘That’s a great tempter to a desperate man, is it not? I cannot resist going up with this every night, and trying his door. If once I find it open he’s done for. When the time comes, not all the angels in heaven shall save him!’
I surveyed the weapon inquisitively, thinking how powerful I should be with such an instrument! I took it from his hand and touched the blade. He looked astonished at the covetous expression on my face. Snatching it back, he returned it to its hiding-place.
‘I don’t care if you tell him,’ said he.
‘What has Heathcliff done to you
?’ I asked. ‘How has he wronged you? Why don’t you tell him to leave?’
‘No!’ thundered Earnshaw; ‘if he tries to leave me, he’s a dead man! Am I to lose all, without a chance of retrieval? Is Hareton to be a beggar? Oh, damnation! I’ll have his gold, and then his blood; and hell shall have his soul!’
Your old master is clearly on the verge of madness, Ellen. Shuddering, I escaped into the kitchen. Joseph was bending over the fire, peering into a large pan; a bowl of oatmeal stood close by. I guessed that the pan held our supper, and, being hungry, I resolved it should be eatable; so, crying out, ‘I’ll make the porridge!’ I removed it out of his reach. ‘Mr. Earnshaw,’ I continued, ‘tells me to wait on myself: so I will, rather than starve.’
‘Good Lord!’ he muttered, sitting down. ‘If I must have a mistress set o’er my head, it’s time to be flitting!’
I took no notice, but went briskly to work. Joseph watched me with growing indignation.
‘There!’ he cried. ‘Hareton, thou won’t sup thy porridge tonight; they’ll be naught but lumps.’
It was rather a rough mess, I own, when poured into the bowls. Hareton seized the jug of milk and drank from it. When I told him he should put it in a mug, he kept drinking and glowered at me defyingly.
‘I shall have my supper in another room,’ I said. ‘Have you no parlour?’
‘Parlour!’ Joseph sneered. ‘Nay, we’ve no parlours. If yah don’t like our company, there’s master’s; an’ if yah don’t like master, there’s us.’
‘Then I shall go upstairs,’ I answered; ‘show me a room.’
I picked up my bowl. With great grumblings, the fellow rose, and we mounted to the garrets.
‘Here’s a room,’ he said, flinging back a cranky door. ‘It’s good enough to eat porridge in.’
The room was a lumber-hole smelling of malt and grain, which were piled around in sacks.
‘Why, man,’ I exclaimed angrily, ‘this is not a place to sleep in. I wish to see my bedroom.’
‘Bed-room!’ he repeated, in a tone of mockery. ‘Yah see all t’ bedrooms there is – yon’s mine.’ He pointed into the second garret.
‘What do I want with yours? Mr. Heathcliff does not sleep up here, does he?’
‘Oh! it’s Master Hathecliff’s ye’re wanting?’ cried he, as if making a new discovery. ‘Couldn’t ye have said so? He allas keeps his locked, an’ nobody ever goes in but hisself.’
‘Well, there are other rooms. For heaven’s sake, let me settle somewhere!’
He made no reply. Plodding down the wooden steps, he halted at an apartment which, from the superior quality of its furniture, I assumed to be the best one. There was a carpet, its pattern hidden by dust; a fireplace hung with cut-paper, dropping to pieces; and a handsome oak bedstead with crimson curtains, which had been wrenched roughly from their rings, so that they trailed upon the floor. The chairs were also damaged, as were the panels of the walls.
‘This here is t’ master’s,’ announced my guide. My supper by this time was cold, and my patience exhausted. I insisted on being provided instantly with a room and a bed.
‘Where the devil?’ he began. ‘The Lord bless us! Ye’ve seen all but Hareton’s bit of a chamber. There’s not another hole to lie down in i’ th’ house!’
I was so vexed, I flung my porridge on the ground; and then sat on the stairs and cried.
‘Ech! ech!’ exclaimed Joseph. ‘T’ master’ll tumble over them broken pots; an’ then we’ll hear summut! Will Hathecliff bide such bonny ways, think ye?’
He went scolding to his den, taking the candle with him; and I remained in the dark. An unexpected aid appeared in the shape of Throttler. The dog pushed its nose against mine by way of salute, and then devoured the porridge, while I collected the shattered earthenware, and dried the spatters of milk with my handkerchief.
Soon I heard Earnshaw’s step, and stole into the nearest doorway. The dog could not avoid him, as I guessed by a piteous yelping. Luckily he passed by me, entered his chamber, and shut the door.
I found shelter in Hareton’s room until Joseph came up with Hareton to put him to bed. ‘There’s room for both ye an’ yer pride downstairs, now,’ he said. ‘Ye may have it all to yerself!’
Gladly did I take advantage of this. I flung myself into a chair by the fire, and slept. My slumber was over too soon. Mr. Heathcliff awoke me; he had just come in, and demanded, in his loving manner, what I was doing there? I told him that he had the key of our room in his pocket.
The adjective our gave mortal offence. He swore it was not, nor ever should be, mine – but I’ll not repeat his language! I sometimes wonder at him with an intensity that deadens my fear: yet a tiger or a venomous serpent could not rouse terror in me equal to that which he wakens. He told me of Catherine’s illness, and accused my brother of causing it, promising that I should suffer in Edgar’s place.
I hate him – I am wretched – I have been a fool! Do not utter one breath of this to anyone at the Grange. I shall expect you every day – don’t disappoint me! Isabella.
Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights: Abridged Page 14
