Wuthering Heights
for the evenings you have spent with the Lintons, the dots for those
spent with me. Do you see? I’ve marked every day.”
“Yes—very foolish: as if I took notice!” replied Catherine, in a
peevish tone. “And where is the sense of that?”
“To show that I _do_ take notice,” said Heathcliff.
“And should I always be sitting with you?” she demanded, growing more
irritated. “What good do I get? What do you talk about? You might be
dumb, or a baby, for anything you say to amuse me, or for anything you
do, either!”
“You never told me before that I talked too little, or that you
disliked my company, Cathy!” exclaimed Heathcliff, in much agitation.
“It’s no company at all, when people know nothing and say nothing,” she
muttered.
Her companion rose up, but he hadn’t time to express his feelings
further, for a horse’s feet were heard on the flags, and having knocked
gently, young Linton entered, his face brilliant with delight at the
unexpected summons he had received. Doubtless Catherine marked the
difference between her friends, as one came in and the other went out.
The contrast resembled what you see in exchanging a bleak, hilly, coal
country for a beautiful fertile valley; and his voice and greeting were
as opposite as his aspect. He had a sweet, low manner of speaking, and
pronounced his words as you do: that’s less gruff than we talk here,
and softer.
“I’m not come too soon, am I?” he said, casting a look at me: I had
begun to wipe the plate, and tidy some drawers at the far end in the
dresser.
“No,” answered Catherine. “What are you doing there, Nelly?”
“My work, Miss,” I replied. (Mr. Hindley had given me directions to
make a third party in any private visits Linton chose to pay.)
She stepped behind me and whispered crossly, “Take yourself and your
dusters off; when company are in the house, servants don’t commence
scouring and cleaning in the room where they are!”
“It’s a good opportunity, now that master is away,” I answered aloud:
“he hates me to be fidgeting over these things in his presence. I’m
sure Mr. Edgar will excuse me.”
“I hate you to be fidgeting in _my_ presence,” exclaimed the young lady
imperiously, not allowing her guest time to speak: she had failed to
recover her equanimity since the little dispute with Heathcliff.
“I’m sorry for it, Miss Catherine,” was my response; and I proceeded
assiduously with my occupation.
She, supposing Edgar could not see her, snatched the cloth from my
hand, and pinched me, with a prolonged wrench, very spitefully on the
arm. I’ve said I did not love her, and rather relished mortifying her
vanity now and then: besides, she hurt me extremely; so I started up
from my knees, and screamed out, “Oh, Miss, that’s a nasty trick! You
have no right to nip me, and I’m not going to bear it.”
“I didn’t touch you, you lying creature!” cried she, her fingers
tingling to repeat the act, and her ears red with rage. She never had
power to conceal her passion, it always set her whole complexion in a
blaze.
“What’s that, then?” I retorted, showing a decided purple witness to
refute her.
She stamped her foot, wavered a moment, and then, irresistibly impelled
by the naughty spirit within her, slapped me on the cheek: a stinging
blow that filled both eyes with water.
“Catherine, love! Catherine!” interposed Linton, greatly shocked at the
double fault of falsehood and violence which his idol had committed.
“Leave the room, Ellen!” she repeated, trembling all over.
Little Hareton, who followed me everywhere, and was sitting near me on
the floor, at seeing my tears commenced crying himself, and sobbed out
complaints against “wicked aunt Cathy,” which drew her fury on to his
unlucky head: she seized his shoulders, and shook him till the poor
child waxed livid, and Edgar thoughtlessly laid hold of her hands to
deliver him. In an instant one was wrung free, and the astonished young
man felt it applied over his own ear in a way that could not be
mistaken for jest. He drew back in consternation. I lifted Hareton in
my arms, and walked off to the kitchen with him, leaving the door of
communication open, for I was curious to watch how they would settle
their disagreement. The insulted visitor moved to the spot where he had
laid his hat, pale and with a quivering lip.
“That’s right!” I said to myself. “Take warning and begone! It’s a
kindness to let you have a glimpse of her genuine disposition.”
“Where are you going?” demanded Catherine, advancing to the door.
He swerved aside, and attempted to pass.
“You must not go!” she exclaimed, energetically.
“I must and shall!” he replied in a subdued voice.
“No,” she persisted, grasping the handle; “not yet, Edgar Linton: sit
down; you shall not leave me in that temper. I should be miserable all
night, and I won’t be miserable for you!”
“Can I stay after you have struck me?” asked Linton.
Catherine was mute.
“You’ve made me afraid and ashamed of you,” he continued; “I’ll not
come here again!”
Her eyes began to glisten and her lids to twinkle.
“And you told a deliberate untruth!” he said.
“I didn’t!” she cried, recovering her speech; “I did nothing
deliberately. Well, go, if you please—get away! And now I’ll cry—I’ll
cry myself sick!”
She dropped down on her knees by a chair, and set to weeping in serious
earnest. Edgar persevered in his resolution as far as the court; there
he lingered. I resolved to encourage him.
“Miss is dreadfully wayward, sir,” I called out. “As bad as any marred
child: you’d better be riding home, or else she will be sick, only to
grieve us.”
The soft thing looked askance through the window: he possessed the
power to depart as much as a cat possesses the power to leave a mouse
half killed, or a bird half eaten. Ah, I thought, there will be no
saving him: he’s doomed, and flies to his fate! And so it was: he
turned abruptly, hastened into the house again, shut the door behind
him; and when I went in a while after to inform them that Earnshaw had
come home rabid drunk, ready to pull the whole place about our ears
(his ordinary frame of mind in that condition), I saw the quarrel had
merely effected a closer intimacy—had broken the outworks of youthful
timidity, and enabled them to forsake the disguise of friendship, and
confess themselves lovers.
Intelligence of Mr. Hindley’s arrival drove Linton speedily to his
horse, and Catherine to her chamber. I went to hide little Hareton, and
to take the shot out of the master’s fowling-piece, which he was fond
of playing with in his insane excitement, to the hazard of the lives of
any who provoked, or even attracted his notice too much; and I had hit
upon the plan of removing it, that he might do less mischief if he did
go the length of firing the gun.
CHAPTER IX
He entered, vociferating oaths dreadful to hear; and caught me in the
act of stowing his son away in the kitchen cupboard. Hareton was
impressed with a wholesome terror of encountering either his wild
beast’s fondness or his madman’s rage; for in one he ran a chance of
being squeezed and kissed to death, and in the other of being flung
into the fire, or dashed against the wall; and the poor thing remained
perfectly quiet wherever I chose to put him.
“There, I’ve found it out at last!” cried Hindley, pulling me back by
the skin of my neck, like a dog. “By heaven and hell, you’ve sworn
between you to murder that child! I know how it is, now, that he is
always out of my way. But, with the help of Satan, I shall make you
swallow the carving-knife, Nelly! You needn’t laugh; for I’ve just
crammed Kenneth, head-downmost, in the Black-horse marsh; and two is
the same as one—and I want to kill some of you: I shall have no rest
till I do!”
“But I don’t like the carving-knife, Mr. Hindley,” I answered; “it has
been cutting red herrings. I’d rather be shot, if you please.”
“You’d rather be damned!” he said; “and so you shall. No law in England
can hinder a man from keeping his house decent, and mine’s abominable!
Open your mouth.”
He held the knife in his hand, and pushed its point between my teeth:
but, for my part, I was never much afraid of his vagaries. I spat out,
and affirmed it tasted detestably—I would not take it on any account.
“Oh!” said he, releasing me, “I see that hideous little villain is not
Hareton: I beg your pardon, Nell. If it be, he deserves flaying alive
for not running to welcome me, and for screaming as if I were a goblin.
Unnatural cub, come hither! I’ll teach thee to impose on a
good-hearted, deluded father. Now, don’t you think the lad would be
handsomer cropped? It makes a dog fiercer, and I love something
fierce—get me a scissors—something fierce and trim! Besides, it’s
infernal affectation—devilish conceit it is, to cherish our ears—we’re
asses enough without them. Hush, child, hush! Well then, it is my
darling! wisht, dry thy eyes—there’s a joy; kiss me. What! it won’t?
Kiss me, Hareton! Damn thee, kiss me! By God, as if I would rear such a
monster! As sure as I’m living, I’ll break the brat’s neck.”
Poor Hareton was squalling and kicking in his father’s arms with all
his might, and redoubled his yells when he carried him upstairs and
lifted him over the banister. I cried out that he would frighten the
child into fits, and ran to rescue him. As I reached them, Hindley
leant forward on the rails to listen to a noise below; almost
forgetting what he had in his hands. “Who is that?” he asked, hearing
some one approaching the stairs’-foot. I leant forward also, for the
purpose of signing to Heathcliff, whose step I recognised, not to come
further; and, at the instant when my eye quitted Hareton, he gave a
sudden spring, delivered himself from the careless grasp that held him,
and fell.
There was scarcely time to experience a thrill of horror before we saw
that the little wretch was safe. Heathcliff arrived underneath just at
the critical moment; by a natural impulse he arrested his descent, and
setting him on his feet, looked up to discover the author of the
accident. A miser who has parted with a lucky lottery ticket for five
shillings, and finds next day he has lost in the bargain five thousand
pounds, could not show a blanker countenance than he did on beholding
the figure of Mr. Earnshaw above. It expressed, plainer than words
could do, the intensest anguish at having made himself the instrument
of thwarting his own revenge. Had it been dark, I daresay he would have
tried to remedy the mistake by smashing Hareton’s skull on the steps;
but, we witnessed his salvation; and I was presently below with my
precious charge pressed to my heart. Hindley descended more leisurely,
sobered and abashed.
“It is your fault, Ellen,” he said; “you should have kept him out of
sight: you should have taken him from me! Is he injured anywhere?”
“Injured!” I cried angrily; “if he is not killed, he’ll be an idiot!
Oh! I wonder his mother does not rise from her grave to see how you use
him. You’re worse than a heathen—treating your own flesh and blood in
that manner!”
He attempted to touch the child, who, on finding himself with me,
sobbed off his terror directly. At the first finger his father laid on
him, however, he shrieked again louder than before, and struggled as if
he would go into convulsions.
“You shall not meddle with him!” I continued. “He hates you—they all
hate you—that’s the truth! A happy family you have; and a pretty state
you’re come to!”
“I shall come to a prettier, yet, Nelly,” laughed the misguided man,
recovering his hardness. “At present, convey yourself and him away. And
hark you, Heathcliff! clear you too quite from my reach and hearing. I
wouldn’t murder you to-night; unless, perhaps, I set the house on fire:
but that’s as my fancy goes.”