Wuthering Heights
sharply, “_I’ll_ make the porridge!” I removed the vessel out of his
reach, and proceeded to take off my hat and riding-habit. “Mr.
Earnshaw,” I continued, “directs me to wait on myself: I will. I’m not
going to act the lady among you, for fear I should starve.”
“Gooid Lord!” he muttered, sitting down, and stroking his ribbed
stockings from the knee to the ankle. “If there’s to be fresh
ortherings—just when I getten used to two maisters, if I mun hev’ a
_mistress_ set o’er my heead, it’s like time to be flitting. I niver
_did_ think to see t’ day that I mud lave th’ owld place—but I doubt
it’s nigh at hand!”
This lamentation drew no notice from me: I went briskly to work,
sighing to remember a period when it would have been all merry fun; but
compelled speedily to drive off the remembrance. It racked me to recall
past happiness and the greater peril there was of conjuring up its
apparition, the quicker the thible ran round, and the faster the
handfuls of meal fell into the water. Joseph beheld my style of cookery
with growing indignation.
“Thear!” he ejaculated. “Hareton, thou willn’t sup thy porridge
to-neeght; they’ll be naught but lumps as big as my neive. Thear,
agean! I’d fling in bowl un’ all, if I wer ye! There, pale t’ guilp
off, un’ then ye’ll hae done wi’t. Bang, bang. It’s a mercy t’ bothom
isn’t deaved out!”
It _was_ rather a rough mess, I own, when poured into the basins; four
had been provided, and a gallon pitcher of new milk was brought from
the dairy, which Hareton seized and commenced drinking and spilling
from the expansive lip. I expostulated, and desired that he should have
his in a mug; affirming that I could not taste the liquid treated so
dirtily. The old cynic chose to be vastly offended at this nicety;
assuring me, repeatedly, that “the barn was every bit as good” as I,
“and every bit as wollsome,” and wondering how I could fashion to be so
conceited. Meanwhile, the infant ruffian continued sucking; and
glowered up at me defyingly, as he slavered into the jug.
“I shall have my supper in another room,” I said. “Have you no place
you call a parlour?”
“_Parlour_!” he echoed, sneeringly, “_parlour_! Nay, we’ve noa
_parlours_. If yah dunnut loike wer company, there’s maister’s; un’ if
yah dunnut loike maister, there’s us.”
“Then I shall go upstairs,” I answered; “show me a chamber.”
I put my basin on a tray, and went myself to fetch some more milk. With
great grumblings, the fellow rose, and preceded me in my ascent: we
mounted to the garrets; he opened a door, now and then, to look into
the apartments we passed.
“Here’s a rahm,” he said, at last, flinging back a cranky board on
hinges. “It’s weel eneugh to ate a few porridge in. There’s a pack o’
corn i’ t’ corner, thear, meeterly clane; if ye’re feared o’ muckying
yer grand silk cloes, spread yer hankerchir o’ t’ top on’t.”
The “rahm” was a kind of lumber-hole smelling strong of malt and grain;
various sacks of which articles were piled around, leaving a wide, bare
space in the middle.
“Why, man,” I exclaimed, facing him angrily, “this is not a place to
sleep in. I wish to see my bed-room.”
“_Bed-rume_!” he repeated, in a tone of mockery. “Yah’s see all t’
_bed-rumes_ thear is—yon’s mine.”
He pointed into the second garret, only differing from the first in
being more naked about the walls, and having a large, low, curtainless
bed, with an indigo-coloured quilt, at one end.
“What do I want with yours?” I retorted. “I suppose Mr. Heathcliff does
not lodge at the top of the house, does he?”
“Oh! it’s Maister _Hathecliff’s_ ye’re wanting?” cried he, as if making
a new discovery. “Couldn’t ye ha’ said soa, at onst? un’ then, I mud
ha’ telled ye, baht all this wark, that that’s just one ye cannut
see—he allas keeps it locked, un’ nob’dy iver mells on’t but hisseln.”
“You’ve a nice house, Joseph,” I could not refrain from observing, “and
pleasant inmates; and I think the concentrated essence of all the
madness in the world took up its abode in my brain the day I linked my
fate with theirs! However, that is not to the present purpose—there are
other rooms. For heaven’s sake be quick, and let me settle somewhere!”
He made no reply to this adjuration; only plodding doggedly down the
wooden steps, and halting before an apartment which, from that halt
and the superior quality of its furniture, I conjectured to be the best
one. There was a carpet—a good one, but the pattern was obliterated by
dust; a fireplace hung with cut-paper, dropping to pieces; a handsome
oak-bedstead with ample crimson curtains of rather expensive material
and modern make; but they had evidently experienced rough usage: the
vallances hung in festoons, wrenched from their rings, and the iron rod
supporting them was bent in an arc on one side, causing the drapery to
trail upon the floor. The chairs were also damaged, many of them
severely; and deep indentations deformed the panels of the walls. I was
endeavouring to gather resolution for entering and taking possession,
when my fool of a guide announced,—“This here is t’ maister’s.” My
supper by this time was cold, my appetite gone, and my patience
exhausted. I insisted on being provided instantly with a place of
refuge, and means of repose.
“Whear the divil?” began the religious elder. “The Lord bless us! The
Lord forgie us! Whear the _hell_ wold ye gang? ye marred, wearisome
nowt! Ye’ve seen all but Hareton’s bit of a cham’er. There’s not
another hoile to lig down in i’ th’ hahse!”
I was so vexed, I flung my tray and its contents on the ground; and
then seated myself at the stairs’-head, hid my face in my hands, and
cried.
“Ech! ech!” exclaimed Joseph. “Weel done, Miss Cathy! weel done, Miss
Cathy! Howsiver, t’ maister sall just tum’le o’er them brocken pots;
un’ then we’s hear summut; we’s hear how it’s to be. Gooid-for-naught
madling! ye desarve pining fro’ this to Churstmas, flinging t’ precious
gifts uh God under fooit i’ yer flaysome rages! But I’m mista’en if ye
shew yer sperrit lang. Will Hathecliff bide sich bonny ways, think ye?
I nobbut wish he may catch ye i’ that plisky. I nobbut wish he may.”
And so he went on scolding to his den beneath, taking the candle with
him; and I remained in the dark. The period of reflection succeeding
this silly action compelled me to admit the necessity of smothering my
pride and choking my wrath, and bestirring myself to remove its
effects. An unexpected aid presently appeared in the shape of
Throttler, whom I now recognised as a son of our old Skulker: it had
spent its whelphood at the Grange, and was given by my father to Mr.
Hindley. I fancy it knew me: it pushed its nose against mine by way of
salute, and then hastened to devour the porridge; while I groped from
step to step, collecting the shattered earthenware, and drying the
spatters of milk from the banister with my pocket-handkerchief. Our
labours were scarcely over when I heard Earnshaw’s tread in the
passage; my assistant tucked in his tail, and pressed to the wall; I
stole into the nearest doorway. The dog’s endeavour to avoid him was
unsuccessful; as I guessed by a scutter downstairs, and a prolonged,
piteous yelping. I had better luck: he passed on, entered his chamber,
and shut the door. Directly after Joseph came up with Hareton, to put
him to bed. I had found shelter in Hareton’s room, and the old man, on
seeing me, said,—“They’s rahm for boath ye un’ yer pride, now, I sud
think i’ the hahse. It’s empty; ye may hev’ it all to yerseln, un’ Him
as allas maks a third, i’ sich ill company!”
Gladly did I take advantage of this intimation; and the minute I flung
myself into a chair, by the fire, I nodded, and slept. My slumber was
deep and sweet, though over far 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 the cause of my staying up so late—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; and he’d—but I’ll not
repeat his language, nor describe his habitual conduct: he is ingenious
and unresting in seeking to gain my abhorrence! I sometimes wonder at
him with an intensity that deadens my fear: yet, I assure you, 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 be Edgar’s proxy in suffering, till
he could get hold of him.
I do hate him—I am wretched—I have been a fool! Beware of uttering one
breath of this to any one at the Grange. I shall expect you every
day—don’t disappoint me!—ISABELLA.
CHAPTER XIV
As soon as I had perused this epistle I went to the master, and
informed him that his sister had arrived at the Heights, and sent me a
letter expressing her sorrow for Mrs. Linton’s situation, and her
ardent desire to see him; with a wish that he would transmit to her, as
early as possible, some token of forgiveness by me.
“Forgiveness!” said Linton. “I have nothing to forgive her, Ellen. You
may call at Wuthering Heights this afternoon, if you like, and say that
I am not _angry_, but I’m _sorry_ to have lost her; especially as I can
never think she’ll be happy. It is out of the question my going to see
her, however: we are eternally divided; and should she really wish to
oblige me, let her persuade the villain she has married to leave the
country.”
“And you won’t write her a little note, sir?” I asked, imploringly.
“No,” he answered. “It is needless. My communication with Heathcliff’s
family shall be as sparing as his with mine. It shall not exist!”
Mr. Edgar’s coldness depressed me exceedingly; and all the way from the
Grange I puzzled my brains how to put more heart into what he said,
when I repeated it; and how to soften his refusal of even a few lines
to console Isabella. I daresay she had been on the watch for me since
morning: I saw her looking through the lattice as I came up the garden
causeway, and I nodded to her; but she drew back, as if afraid of being
observed. I entered without knocking. There never was such a dreary,
dismal scene as the formerly cheerful house presented! I must confess,
that if I had been in the young lady’s place, I would, at least, have
swept the hearth, and wiped the tables with a duster. But she already
partook of the pervading spirit of neglect which encompassed her. Her
pretty face was wan and listless; her hair uncurled: some locks hanging
lankly down, and some carelessly twisted round her head. Probably she
had not touched her dress since yester evening. Hindley was not there.
Mr. Heathcliff sat at a table, turning over some papers in his
pocket-book; but he rose when I appeared, asked me how I did, quite
friendly, and offered me a chair. He was the only thing there that
seemed decent; and I thought he never looked better. So much had
circumstances altered their positions, that he would certainly have
struck a stranger as a born and bred gentleman; and his wife as a
thorough little slattern! She came forward eagerly to greet me, and
held out one hand to take the expected letter. I shook my head. She
wouldn’t understand the hint, but followed me to a sideboard, where I
went to lay my bonnet, and importuned me in a whisper to give her
directly what I had brought. Heathcliff guessed the meaning of her
manœuvres, and said—“If you have got anything for Isabella (as no
doubt you have, Nelly), give it to her. You needn’t make a secret of
it: we have no secrets between us.”
“Oh, I have nothing,” I replied, thinking it best to speak the truth at
once. “My master bid me tell his sister that she must not expect either
a letter or a visit from him at present. He sends his love, ma’am, and