I realized I had made a terrible mistake. But then a new thought struck me – the rough young man who was sitting beside me must be Heathcliff’s son and the lady’s husband.
«Mrs. Heathcliff is my daughter-in-law,» said Heathcliff, confirming my guess.
«Ah, now I see,» I said, turning to the lad who was busy slurping his tea, «so you, sir, are the fortunate husband of this good fairy.»
But this was worse than before. The young man turned crimson and clenched his fist, as though he wanted to punch me in the face.
«Wrong again, sir,» said Heathcliff. «We neither of us have the privilege of owning this ‘good fairy’ as you call her. Her husband is dead. I said she was my daughter-in-law, so she must have married my son.»
«And this young man is —»
«Certainly not my son!»
«My name is Hareton Earnshaw,» he growled angrily, «and you’d better make sure you respect it.»
After that, no one said another word and we finished our meal in dismal silence.
The moment supper was over, I went straight to the window to check the weather. While we had been eating, the storm had grown much worse and now the sky was almost black. Thick snowflakes were whirling outside the window and I couldn’t even see as far as the gate. There was no way I could find my way back to the Grange that night. I would have to spend the night at Wuthering Heights.
No one in that wretched house tried to make me welcome or even offered to find me a place to sleep, but eventually the housemaid, Zillah, took pity on me. She found me a candle and some blankets and led me upstairs, showing me into a small, cold room that was almost completely empty of furniture.
I was just about to thank her, when she whispered to me, «Make as little noise as possible, sir. The master doesn’t like anyone staying in this room.»
Too tired to be curious about this warning, I slumped down on a window-seat and stared out at the snow. The ledge where I had placed my candle had a few tattered books piled up in one corner and seemed to be covered with writing scratched into the paint. At first, I took no notice of the scratches, but then I realized that they spelled out a name, repeated many times in all kinds of letters, large and small – Catherine Earnshaw, again and again, and then Catherine Linton, and sometimes Catherine Heathcliff. I puzzled over the names until my eyes began to close, but five minutes later I was jolted awake by the smell of burning leather – one of the books had fallen on top of the candle flame.
Drowsily, I opened the book and saw a name written in the front – Catherine Earnshaw, and underneath a date from over twenty years before. I soon discovered that all the books belonged to the same girl. They were a collection of schoolbooks, histories and sermons, most of them very dull. I was just dropping off to sleep again when I noticed a note scribbled in a margin[6]…
«I wish my father was still alive. Hindley is so cruel to us. He makes H. work in the fields all day and never allows us to play together. H. and I are going to rebel. We will take our first steps tomorrow…»
But then the writing ended and I dozed off again, dreaming of a swarm of Catherines – Catherine Earnshaw, Catherine Linton, Catherine Heathcliff – all jumbled up together, until my head was spinning.
Finally, I managed to drag myself into bed. But just as I was drifting off to sleep I became aware of a loud, insistent noise. Somewhere outside, a branch was knocking against the window, scratching and thumping in time to the wailing of the wind.
Eventually, I could bear it no longer. I climbed out of bed, determined to break off the branch and put an end to the noise. But when I tried to open the window, I found that it had been sealed tightly shut[7]. By this time, I was so desperate to stop the knocking that I pushed my knuckles right through the glass. Then I stretched out my hand, ready to grasp the branch… but instead my fingers closed on a small, ice-cold hand!
I tried to pull back, but the icy fingers tightened their grip[8], and I heard a melancholy voice moaning,
«Let me in – let me in!»
«Who are you?» I shouted, struggling to be free[9].
«Catherine Linton,» the shivery voice replied. «I’ve come home. I lost my way on the moor, but now I’ve come home.»
I peered out into the snow and saw, very faintly, the outline of a young girl’s face, staring back at me!
Terror made me cruel, and finding it impossible to shake off the creature’s hand, I rubbed the delicate wrist across the broken glass, until the ledge was covered in blood. But still the hand kept its grip, driving me mad with fear, while the voice continued to wail, «Let me in!»
«How can I let you in,» I said grimly, «if you hold my hand so tightly? You’ll have to let me go if you want to come in.»
As soon as the fingers relaxed, I snatched back my hand and blocked up the hole with a pile of books. Then I covered my ears to keep out the sound of the terrible wailing.
I kept my ears covered for more than quarter of an hour, but the moment I listened again, I heard the mournful cry once more.
«Go away!» I shouted, «I’ll never let you in – not if you beg for twenty years!»
«But it is twenty years,» moaned the voice. «I’ve been wandering the moors for twenty years!»
Then the scratching began again and the books on the ledge started to shake. I tried to jump up, but found I couldn’t move, so I opened my mouth and yelled as loudly as I could.
Almost immediately, the door was wrenched open and Heathcliff burst into the room[10]. His face was as white as the walls around him and he was trembling from head to foot.
«Is anybody there?» he said in a half-whisper.
«It’s only your guest,» I announced, pulling myself together[11], «I was having a bad dream.»
«God damn you, sir!» he replied, shaking so hard that he had to put down his candle. «Who showed you into this room? I’ve a good mind to turn them out into the snow this minute![12]»
«It was your housemaid, Zillah,» I replied, dressing myself quickly, «and you can turn her out if you like, sir. I’m sure she deserves it, for letting me sleep in a room that’s swarming with ghosts and goblins!»
«What do you mean?» roared Heathcliff. «And what do you think you’re doing here? Lie down and finish the night, but for heaven’s sake don’t make that noise again. It sounded as though you were having your throat cut!»
«If the little fiend had got in, she probably would have strangled me to death!» I replied crossly.» I won’t put up with your horrible ghosts a moment longer. And as for that vixen, Catherine Linton, or Earnshaw, or whatever she’s called – she must have been a wicked little fiend. She told me she’d been walking the earth for twenty years – I expect she was being punished for her sins!»
«How dare you talk like that under my roof!» thundered Heathcliff.
«Don’t worry, sir,» I replied, pulling on the rest of my clothes as fast as I could. «I don’t intend to spend another moment in this house!»
Heathcliff took no more notice of me. In seconds, he was at the window, forcing it wide open[13] with incredible strength.
«Come in! Come in!» he sobbed, leaning out into the snow. «Oh, my heart’s darling, hear me this time. Cathy, my darling, come in at last!»
But the ghost behaved as ghosts usually do, and showed no sign of ever having being there at all. Now there was nothing outside the window except the snow and wind, whirling around wildly in the dark. And, as I watched, the snowflakes blew into the room, and danced around madly, filling it with icy cold and blowing out the candle.
Heathcliff arrives
I spent the rest of the night trying to get some sleep on a hard kitchen bench, but as soon as it was light, I seized the chance to escape from Wuthering Heights. The moors were covered in billows of snow, and I lost count of the number of times I blundered off the path[14], sinking up to my waist in snow. When I finally reached the Grange, the clock was chiming twelve and I was too numb even to think. Nelly Dean, the housekeeper, made a great fuss of me, and I was soon sitting in my study, as feeble as a kitten, and almost too weak to enjoy the cheerful fire.
I stayed by the fire all afternoon, too exhausted to work, going over my strange adventures at Wuthering Heights[15]. Every time I closed my eyes I saw the faces of the people I had met… mysterious, brooding Heathcliff, young, sulky Catherine and clumsy, silent Hareton. Why did they hate each other so much, and why were they all living up at the Heights together? But most of all I wondered about the wild, dark-haired girl at the window. Was she a ghost or a fiend? And what was she doing wandering over the moors?
Eventually, I decided to give up all thoughts of studying for the day, and when Nelly arrived with my supper, I asked her to sit with me for a while, hoping she would tell me more about the Heights.
«I understand you’ve lived at the Grange for a long time,» I began. «Did you say it was eighteen years?
«Yes, sir – I came to look after my mistress when she married.»
«And who was your mistress, Nelly?» I asked.
«Her name was Catherine Earnshaw.»
(«Catherine Earnshaw!» I thought to myself. «Could this be the ghostly girl I’d seen at the window?»)
«And what happened to Catherine Earnshaw?» «She died, sir, soon after her marriage to Mr. Linton, but she had a daughter and I stayed on to look after her until she married and went to live at the Heights.»
«So is that the young lady I saw last night?»
«Yes, sir, she’s my young Miss Catherine, who I cared for all her life. But tell me, how is the poor girl now?»
«Mrs. Heathcliff? Well, I thought she looked healthy enough, and very beautiful, but she didn’t seem happy.»
Nelly sighed, «And what do you think of Heathcliff, Mr. Lockwood?»
«A rather rough fellow, I thought. Don’t you agree?
«Oh, he’s as rough as a saw-edge and as hard as the rocks on the moor[16]! But he’s rich too.»
«Whatever can have happened to make him like he is?»
«Well that’s a long story, sir. His life is like a cuckoo’s… I know all about it, except where he was born and who his parents were, and how he grew so rich that he pushed all the other birds out of the nest.»
I was sure I wouldn’t sleep that night until I knew more. My head felt hot, but the rest of my body was icy cold, and I felt strangely excited by everything that had happened up at the Heights. I asked Nelly to stay with me and tell me more, so she settled herself comfortably and started her story…
Before I came to live at the Grange, she began, I lived at Wuthering Heights. My mother was housekeeper to old Mr. Earnshaw and his wife, and I ran errands[17] for the family and hung around the farm, doing any jobs they wanted me to do. We were so much part of the family, that I was even allowed to play with the children – young Master Hindley and Miss Cathy.
One summer morning, we were all playing together when Mr. Earnshaw came downstairs, ready for a journey,
«I’m going to Liverpool today. So what shall I bring you? You can choose anything you like, but it must be small because I’m walking there and back – sixty miles each way – and that’s a long hike!»
Hindley asked for a violin, and Cathy, who was only six years old but could ride any horse in the stable, chose a riding whip. The master didn’t forget me either, and promised to bring me a pocketful of apples. Then he kissed his children goodbye and set off across the moors.
The three days that Mr. Earnshaw was away seemed a terribly long time – and little Cathy asked again and again when her father would be home. We expected him back at tea time, but in the end it was just after eleven when the sitting room door opened and he burst into the room. He threw himself into a chair, laughing and groaning, and told us all to leave him alone because he was half dead.
«And on top of all the walking, I’ve been nearly punched to death!» he said, opening up his overcoat, which he held bundled up in his arms.
«Take a look at this,» he said to his wife, «I’ve never been so beaten by anything in my life!»
We all crowded around, and saw a dirty, ragged, black-haired boy! He was big enough to walk and talk, but he only stared around and muttered some nonsense at us that no one could understand. I was frightened, and Mrs. Earnshaw wanted to fling the creature straight out of doors.
«Are you insane?» she asked her husband angrily. «What made you bring this gypsy brat into our house, when we have children of our own to feed and care for?»
The master tried to explain what had happened, but he was half dead from exhaustion. All I could understand, in between his wife’s scolding and shouting, was that he had found the child starving and homeless in the streets of Liverpool, where he had picked it up and asked around for its owner. No one knew who the boy belonged to, and he was much too kindhearted to leave the child alone to its fate, so he decided to bring it home with him.
Eventually, my mistress grumbled herself calm and Mr. Earnshaw told me I must wash the creature and give it clean clothes to wear. Hindley and Cathy had been silent up until then, but now they both began searching in their father’s pockets for the presents he’d promised them. When Hindley pulled out what was left of his violin, he burst into tears like a baby, even though he was fourteen years old. And when Cathy learned that her whip had been lost, she took her revenge by making faces[18] at the creature, until her father told her to stop. Both the children refused to have the boy in their room, so when I had washed and dressed him I put him out on the landing, hoping he might be gone by the morning. But somehow he managed to creep into the master’s room and the next morning I was punished for my cruelty.
So this was how the cuckoo came to live in the Earnshaws’ nest. Mr. Earnshaw called him Heathcliff – the only name he ever had – and he and Miss Cathy soon became great friends. But Hindley hated him, and when I saw how the master made such a fuss of him I began to hate him too. Hindley and I teased and tormented Heathcliff whenever we could, and Mrs. Earnshaw never spoke up for him, even when she knew that we were in the wrong.
Heathcliff was a silent, patient child, perhaps hardened to bad treatment[19] by everything he’d suffered already in his life. He put up with Hindley’s punches without complaining, and my pinches simply made him draw in his breath in silence. When Mr. Earnshaw discovered what was happening to Heathcliff, he was furious, and he soon became much more fond of him than he was of his own children. So, from the very beginning, Heathcliff caused bad feelings in the family.
By the time Mrs. Earnshaw died, less than two years later, Master Hindley had learned to see his father as an enemy. He believed that Heathcliff had stolen his place in the family, and grew very bitter about the way his life had changed.
A few years after Mrs. Earnshaw died, my master became very ill. He spent most of his time in a chair by the fireplace, growing more and more irritable. He was especially angry with Hindley for treating Heathcliff so badly and in the end he decided to send his son away to college.
Once Hindley was out of the way, I thought at last we would have some peace, but Miss Cathy was much too wild to settle down quietly. She was always getting into mischief – singing and laughing and larking around, and teasing anyone who wouldn’t join in her games. She drove us all to distraction[20], but she had the sweetest smile and so no one could stay angry with her for long.
One thing was certain – young Cathy was much too fond of Heathcliff. She hated being apart from him, and Heathcliff felt just the same about her. She loved giving orders, and Heathcliff would do anything she wanted. It made her father furious, to see how she ruled over the boy.
One evening, when Cathy was quieter than usual, she came and sat on the floor beside her father and leaned her head against his knee. Heathcliff lay with his head in Cathy’s lap, while Mr. Earnshaw stroked her hair.