Wuthering Heights
coloured up at the news, and cast his eyes over his hands and clothes.
The train-oil and gunpowder were shoved out of sight in a minute. I saw
he meant to give her his company; and I guessed, by his way, he wanted
to be presentable; so, laughing, as I durst not laugh when the master
is by, I offered to help him, if he would, and joked at his confusion.
He grew sullen, and began to swear.
“Now, Mrs. Dean,” Zillah went on, seeing me not pleased by her manner,
“you happen think your young lady too fine for Mr. Hareton; and happen
you’re right: but I own I should love well to bring her pride a peg
lower. And what will all her learning and her daintiness do for her,
now? She’s as poor as you or I: poorer, I’ll be bound: you’re saving,
and I’m doing my little all that road.”
Hareton allowed Zillah to give him her aid; and she flattered him into
a good humour; so, when Catherine came, half forgetting her former
insults, he tried to make himself agreeable, by the housekeeper’s
account.
“Missis walked in,” she said, “as chill as an icicle, and as high as a
princess. I got up and offered her my seat in the arm-chair. No, she
turned up her nose at my civility. Earnshaw rose, too, and bid her come
to the settle, and sit close by the fire: he was sure she was starved.
“‘I’ve been starved a month and more,’ she answered, resting on the
word as scornful as she could.
“And she got a chair for herself, and placed it at a distance from both
of us. Having sat till she was warm, she began to look round, and
discovered a number of books on the dresser; she was instantly upon her
feet again, stretching to reach them: but they were too high up. Her
cousin, after watching her endeavours a while, at last summoned courage
to help her; she held her frock, and he filled it with the first that
came to hand.
“That was a great advance for the lad. She didn’t thank him; still, he
felt gratified that she had accepted his assistance, and ventured to
stand behind as she examined them, and even to stoop and point out what
struck his fancy in certain old pictures which they contained; nor was
he daunted by the saucy style in which she jerked the page from his
finger: he contented himself with going a bit farther back and looking
at her instead of the book. She continued reading, or seeking for
something to read. His attention became, by degrees, quite centred in
the study of her thick silky curls: her face he couldn’t see, and she
couldn’t see him. And, perhaps, not quite awake to what he did, but
attracted like a child to a candle, at last he proceeded from staring
to touching; he put out his hand and stroked one curl, as gently as if
it were a bird. He might have stuck a knife into her neck, she started
round in such a taking.
“‘Get away this moment! How dare you touch me? Why are you stopping
there?’ she cried, in a tone of disgust. ‘I can’t endure you! I’ll go
upstairs again, if you come near me.’
“Mr. Hareton recoiled, looking as foolish as he could do: he sat down
in the settle very quiet, and she continued turning over her volumes
another half hour; finally, Earnshaw crossed over, and whispered to me.
“‘Will you ask her to read to us, Zillah? I’m stalled of doing naught;
and I do like—I could like to hear her! Dunnot say I wanted it, but ask
of yourseln.’
“‘Mr. Hareton wishes you would read to us, ma’am,’ I said, immediately.
‘He’d take it very kind—he’d be much obliged.’
“She frowned; and looking up, answered—
“‘Mr. Hareton, and the whole set of you, will be good enough to
understand that I reject any pretence at kindness you have the
hypocrisy to offer! I despise you, and will have nothing to say to any
of you! When I would have given my life for one kind word, even to see
one of your faces, you all kept off. But I won’t complain to you! I’m
driven down here by the cold; not either to amuse you or enjoy your
society.’
“‘What could I ha’ done?’ began Earnshaw. ‘How was I to blame?’
“‘Oh! you are an exception,’ answered Mrs. Heathcliff. ‘I never missed
such a concern as you.’
“‘But I offered more than once, and asked,’ he said, kindling up at her
pertness, ‘I asked Mr. Heathcliff to let me wake for you—’
“‘Be silent! I’ll go out of doors, or anywhere, rather than have your
disagreeable voice in my ear!’ said my lady.
“Hareton muttered she might go to hell, for him! and unslinging his
gun, restrained himself from his Sunday occupations no longer. He
talked now, freely enough; and she presently saw fit to retreat to her
solitude: but the frost had set in, and, in spite of her pride, she was
forced to condescend to our company, more and more. However, I took
care there should be no further scorning at my good nature: ever since,
I’ve been as stiff as herself; and she has no lover or liker among us:
and she does not deserve one; for, let them say the least word to her,
and she’ll curl back without respect of any one. She’ll snap at the
master himself, and as good as dares him to thrash her; and the more
hurt she gets, the more venomous she grows.”
At first, on hearing this account from Zillah, I determined to leave my
situation, take a cottage, and get Catherine to come and live with me:
but Mr. Heathcliff would as soon permit that as he would set up Hareton
in an independent house; and I can see no remedy, at present, unless
she could marry again; and that scheme it does not come within my
province to arrange.
* * * * *
Thus ended Mrs. Dean’s story. Notwithstanding the doctor’s prophecy, I
am rapidly recovering strength; and though it be only the second week
in January, I propose getting out on horseback in a day or two, and
riding over to Wuthering Heights, to inform my landlord that I shall
spend the next six months in London; and, if he likes, he may look out
for another tenant to take the place after October. I would not pass
another winter here for much.
CHAPTER XXXI
Yesterday was bright, calm, and frosty. I went to the Heights as I
proposed: my housekeeper entreated me to bear a little note from her to
her young lady, and I did not refuse, for the worthy woman was not
conscious of anything odd in her request. The front door stood open,
but the jealous gate was fastened, as at my last visit; I knocked and
invoked Earnshaw from among the garden-beds; he unchained it, and I
entered. The fellow is as handsome a rustic as need be seen. I took
particular notice of him this time; but then he does his best
apparently to make the least of his advantages.
I asked if Mr. Heathcliff were at home? He answered, No; but he would
be in at dinner-time. It was eleven o’clock, and I announced my
intention of going in and waiting for him; at which he immediately
flung down his tools and accompanied me, in the office of watchdog, not
as a substitute for the host.
We entered together; Catherine was there, making herself useful in
preparing some vegetables for the approaching meal; she looked more
sulky and less spirited than when I had seen her first. She hardly
raised her eyes to notice me, and continued her employment with the
same disregard to common forms of politeness as before; never returning
my bow and good-morning by the slightest acknowledgment.
“She does not seem so amiable,” I thought, “as Mrs. Dean would persuade
me to believe. She’s a beauty, it is true; but not an angel.”
Earnshaw surlily bid her remove her things to the kitchen. “Remove them
yourself,” she said, pushing them from her as soon as she had done; and
retiring to a stool by the window, where she began to carve figures of
birds and beasts out of the turnip-parings in her lap. I approached
her, pretending to desire a view of the garden; and, as I fancied,
adroitly dropped Mrs. Dean’s note on to her knee, unnoticed by
Hareton—but she asked aloud, “What is that?” And chucked it off.
“A letter from your old acquaintance, the housekeeper at the Grange,” I
answered; annoyed at her exposing my kind deed, and fearful lest it
should be imagined a missive of my own. She would gladly have gathered
it up at this information, but Hareton beat her; he seized and put it
in his waistcoat, saying Mr. Heathcliff should look at it first.
Thereat, Catherine silently turned her face from us, and, very
stealthily, drew out her pocket-handkerchief and applied it to her
eyes; and her cousin, after struggling awhile to keep down his softer
feelings, pulled out the letter and flung it on the floor beside her,
as ungraciously as he could. Catherine caught and perused it eagerly;
then she put a few questions to me concerning the inmates, rational and
irrational, of her former home; and gazing towards the hills, murmured
in soliloquy:
“I should like to be riding Minny down there! I should like to be
climbing up there! Oh! I’m tired—I’m _stalled_, Hareton!” And she leant
her pretty head back against the sill, with half a yawn and half a
sigh, and lapsed into an aspect of abstracted sadness: neither caring
nor knowing whether we remarked her.
“Mrs. Heathcliff,” I said, after sitting some time mute, “you are not
aware that I am an acquaintance of yours? so intimate that I think it
strange you won’t come and speak to me. My housekeeper never wearies of
talking about and praising you; and she’ll be greatly disappointed if I
return with no news of or from you, except that you received her letter
and said nothing!”
She appeared to wonder at this speech, and asked,—
“Does Ellen like you?”
“Yes, very well,” I replied, hesitatingly.
“You must tell her,” she continued, “that I would answer her letter,
but I have no materials for writing: not even a book from which I might
tear a leaf.”
“No books!” I exclaimed. “How do you contrive to live here without
them? if I may take the liberty to inquire. Though provided with a
large library, I’m frequently very dull at the Grange; take my books
away, and I should be desperate!”
“I was always reading, when I had them,” said Catherine; “and Mr.
Heathcliff never reads; so he took it into his head to destroy my
books. I have not had a glimpse of one for weeks. Only once, I searched
through Joseph’s store of theology, to his great irritation; and once,
Hareton, I came upon a secret stock in your room—some Latin and Greek,
and some tales and poetry: all old friends. I brought the last here—and
you gathered them, as a magpie gathers silver spoons, for the mere love
of stealing! They are of no use to you; or else you concealed them in
the bad spirit that, as you cannot enjoy them, nobody else shall.
Perhaps _your_ envy counselled Mr. Heathcliff to rob me of my
treasures? But I’ve most of them written on my brain and printed in my
heart, and you cannot deprive me of those!”
Earnshaw blushed crimson when his cousin made this revelation of his
private literary accumulations, and stammered an indignant denial of
her accusations.
“Mr. Hareton is desirous of increasing his amount of knowledge,” I
said, coming to his rescue. “He is not _envious_, but _emulous_ of your
attainments. He’ll be a clever scholar in a few years.”
“And he wants me to sink into a dunce, meantime,” answered Catherine.
“Yes, I hear him trying to spell and read to himself, and pretty
blunders he makes! I wish you would repeat Chevy Chase as you did
yesterday: it was extremely funny. I heard you; and I heard you turning
over the dictionary to seek out the hard words, and then cursing
because you couldn’t read their explanations!”
The young man evidently thought it too bad that he should be laughed at
for his ignorance, and then laughed at for trying to remove it. I had a
similar notion; and, remembering Mrs. Dean’s anecdote of his first
attempt at enlightening the darkness in which he had been reared, I
observed,—“But, Mrs. Heathcliff, we have each had a commencement, and