Nelly Dean

by Alison Case

I tried also to encourage Hindley to return home as soon as possible, not discounting his understandable breach with his father, but stressing anew his responsibilities to me. He nodded solemnly at this, but told me that, for the sake of his pride and honour, he must have a chance to stand on his own two legs and look about him a little, by living on his own earnings for a time, before he set foot again under his father’s roof. With this I was obliged to content myself. Then he untied the red neckerchief from around his own neck, and tied it around mine.

  ‘Wear this for me,’ he said, ‘and think of me whenever you see it.’

  ‘I will be thinking of you always anyway,’ I said, and with that we kissed and parted.

  I arrived at the Heights while the family were out at church. One of the maids was about, though, and told me that, as I had expected, the master had been told I was bringing food to a sick family, and had been caught there by the storm. There was little work to be done, for we were to sup off the leftovers of the feast. I made myself a cup of tea and settled by the fire with some knitting to occupy my hands while my mind raced over recent events, as I tried to compose myself for the family’s return. By the time they came in, I had succeeded to the degree that I could rise calmly and greet them, making vague reference to the storm and the Dagleys, and reporting at the same time on Mrs Dagley’s health. I had planned also to make some surprised remark at Hindley’s absence, to cover my knowledge of his flight, but when the time came, I found my courage failed me. The master didn’t seem to notice – he merely grunted at my remarks, and disappeared upstairs until supper.

  After supper, though, he came and found me in the kitchen, where he sat down at the table and motioned me to join him, sending the other maid away at the same time with a wave of his hand. I sat down with my heart thumping in my chest like an off-kilter mill wheel. He looked me steadily in the eyes.

  ‘Where is Hindley?’ he asked calmly.

  ‘I – I don’t know,’ I stammered, truthfully enough, but inwardly I was cursing the blood I felt racing to my cheeks to betray me.

  ‘You know something, though,’ he said.

  I looked down and shook my head in confusion, my face flaming. I could not speak.

  ‘I am not angry with him, Nelly, nor with you either,’ said the master gently.

  I ventured to glance upwards at him. His face looked careworn and sad.

  ‘What I said was wrong and cruel. I know that. I knew it the moment I said it – I should know better than to attempt a jest. And if I didn’t know it then, I have been told it since by every strong-minded matron for five miles around, and half their husbands as well.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘The very curate today took as his text, “the labourer is worthy of his hire”, and I don’t think he took his eyes off me through the whole of his sermon – and he has only been here a week.’

  I could not help smiling at this, but I remained silent.

  ‘If you don’t know exactly where he is, you must know something of his plans,’ the master went on. ‘I know you spoke to him before he left.’

  This gave me some sense of where I stood, and emboldened me to reply. I told him what Hindley had told me in the stable: that he planned to follow the harvest north, finding work and lodgings as a common labourer for as long as it lasted.

  ‘And then?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said honestly. ‘I think – I hope – that then he will come home. That is what I encouraged him to do, when … when I found I could not dissuade him from leaving at all.’

  The master nodded thoughtfully. I took a deep breath, and felt my heart begin to settle down.

  ‘Did he have any money with him?’

  ‘He was going to take some things with him to pawn tomorrow, like Mrs Earnshaw’s father’s gold watch, and his silver penknife. I persuaded him to leave the watch with me, and to take some money I had – as a loan,’ I added hastily, and at the same time produced the watch from my pocket.

  Mr Earnshaw took the watch and looked at it thoughtfully, turning it over and over and tracing the engraving with his finger, in a way that made me wonder if he had ever seen it before.

  ‘How much did you give him?’

  ‘Let me see,’ I said, trying to look thoughtful. I knew to a farthing what I had given him, being habitually precise in such matters, but I was afraid of seeming mercenary, so I waited a moment before responding. ‘About one pound and six shillings,’ I said, omitting, for the same reason, the odd tuppence ha’penny that made up the real total.

  The master nodded and reached into his pocket for the money, telling the coins out carefully on the table. I shook my head and tried to refuse, but he insisted.

  ‘Please, Nelly, I have driven my son from my home with harsh words he did not deserve. Let me at least feel that I have some hand in feeding and sheltering him on the road.’ Of course I could not refuse such a plea as that, so I took up the coins and deposited them in my own pocket. To my surprise, the master then handed the watch back to me as well. I refused to take it, and must have looked as puzzled as I felt.

  ‘Hindley entrusted the watch to you. You hold it for him. I need no security for the money.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ I whispered. It was as much as I could trust myself to say. I felt my eyes filling with tears, and my lip quivering in spite of all my efforts to control it. To my great relief, Mr Earnshaw got up to leave. At the door he paused and looked back at me.

  ‘You’re a good girl, Nelly,’ he said. ‘You’ve been a good influence on Hindley, always. You are like a sister to him, I know. Thank you.’

  I tried to speak, but my throat was closed. He left.

  As soon as he was gone, the maid entered, obviously keen to hear the news, but I was in no state for gossip. I told her hastily that I was ill and going to bed, and she must finish up in the kitchen alone. Then I fled upstairs to my room, where I could cry in private, and try to think through the tumultuous events of the past two days.

  For the first two weeks or so of Hindley’s absence, Mr Earnshaw did not seem too concerned, though at family prayers he never omitted to have us all pray for his safe return. In about the third week, though, he began to fret noticeably. Particularly when foul weather kept him confined to the house, he would look out of the window often, and express a hope that Hindley was well housed, at least. He questioned me again and again about what Hindley had told me of his plans, though I could only repeat what I had said many times already. Even his references to Hindley during family prayers became warmer: he was ‘my firstborn child’, or ‘my son and heir’, or, if the weather was particularly bad, ‘the poor wanderer’. You would never have guessed, to hear him then, that for some years previously he had not had a good word to say to or about him. His favouritism towards Heathcliff, too, started to abate a little, and I was beginning to think that Hindley’s flight might turn out to be the wisest thing he had ever done to improve relations with his father.

  All this was very well, but I too was becoming increasingly anxious for Hindley’s return. Not only did I share the master’s fears for Hindley himself, but I had a new concern of my own: that I might be with child. The thought worried me, to be sure, but it also carried a measure of excitement, and I fluttered between the two states like a shirt on a clothesline, flapping first one way, and then the other, as the winds of my thoughts blew me. If it were true, it was certain that Mr Earnshaw would be angry with both of us, and disappointed in me, which was painful to think of. But I also knew that Hindley wished to marry me, and I had no doubt but that the master would expect him to do so, if I were expecting Hindley’s child. His stern rectitude would never put the family’s pride above a moral duty. Also, he had vowed that I should always have a home at Wuthering Heights, and I knew he had strong views on the sacredness of vows. And had he not told me already that I was a good influence on Hindley? And that I was born to be the salvation of the family? Without a child on the way, he would never permit Hindley to marry so young, but marriage and a child, I believed, wer
e just what Hindley needed to settle down. Thus, while the short term was frightening to think of, the long term held promise, and this I endeavoured to keep in mind.

  You may think that I should have felt the shame of the situation more deeply than I did. But views on this matter were not so strict among country people in those days. Folk of the lower orders were less concerned with getting a child too soon than with not getting one at all. I have seen many a young man stand proudly at the altar by the side of a bride not four months from her confinement, who would have been ashamed to show his face in the village if a year of marriage showed him with still ‘no hip to his rose’. The gentry held higher standards, of course, and I had been taught better, but still, I had also seen both the master and the mistress treat my mother with respect despite the circumstances of her marriage. On the whole, then, I was neither so fearful nor so ashamed as perhaps I should have been.

  For four weeks we fretted and wondered and prayed, but before the fifth week drew to a close, Hindley returned to us. It was on a Thursday evening, after supper. A chill rain had been falling steadily all day, and kept us all confined to the house. I was in with the family, taking advantage of the brighter candlelight there to do a difficult bit of stitching on a new pinafore for Cathy. The master was dividing his attention between the fire and the rain beating against the windows, his thoughts as clear as if he had spoken them aloud. Cathy and Heathcliff were playing quietly in the corner, except when she skipped over now and then to check on my progress and make suggestions – or orders, as she styled them.

  ‘I should like a double row of openwork hemming on the ruffles, like Mama had on her best nightdress,’ she said at one point.

  ‘I’m sure you would,’ was my only reply.

  ‘Well, will you do it then?’

  ‘No, I will not.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘For two reasons: first, because they take so long to do that you would have outgrown this by the time I finished them, and second, because the moment I did finish you would run outside, snag one on a bramble, and rip out half my work.’

  ‘Well, what about a single row, then?’

  ‘That addresses my first reason somewhat, but not my second. I’ll do no openwork for you until you learn to take better care of your clothes.’

  ‘Father, did you hear that?’ she cried out. ‘Nelly refuses to do as I ask!’

  ‘What did you ask of her?’ he replied, looking up.

  ‘An openwork hem for my pinafore.’

  ‘How can you think of such trivial things when your brother may be out alone in this terrible weather?’

  ‘What does that have to do with my pinafore?’ she replied, but she rejoined Heathcliff in the corner without waiting for an answer. There they began a whispered conversation, the purport of which (for it was perfectly audible from where I sat) was that life had become infinitely pleasanter for both of them since Hindley had left, and it would be a fine thing if he never returned. It was not the first time they had talked of this, but never before in the master’s hearing. I shushed them, and motioned towards the master, to indicate that he would be grieved to hear them, but that only caused Cathy to throw me a saucy look and raise her voice a trifle higher. I just shook my head then, and pretended not to hear them, as their talk became gradually louder and bolder. I saw where it would end, but I had done my bit to keep peace, so I left them to their fate.

  Sure enough, their conversation finally caught the master’s attention. As it happened, it was Heathcliff speaking at that moment, saying something about ‘crows picking Hindley’s bones clean on the moor’.

  ‘What did you say?’ the master roared, surging out of his chair. He did not wait for an answer, but hauled them both to their feet and boxed their ears soundly. Heathcliff’s eyes widened at the pain, and no doubt surprise, too, for the master had never struck him before, and Cathy began sobbing bitterly, whereupon they were both treated to a lecture on the unnaturalness of their feelings. I longed to tell the master that their feelings were only too natural – that if he had set out to sow hatred between them and Hindley, he could hardly have hit on a better plan than he had followed, these last few years. Nonetheless, I was not sorry to see the two of them punished, and the master taking Hindley’s part, for once. The lecture finished, the pair were sent off to their rooms, and the master and I were left alone.

  The master had just fallen back into his customary gloom, head in hands, staring into the fire, when we heard a commotion outside. The dogs that patrolled at night were growling and barking fiercely, as they would for an intruder, but then the sound changed to joyful yelping, and we heard a familiar voice calling them each by name, and sounding as pleased with the reunion as they were. The master and I both leaped up, but he reached the door before me. He flung it open, and the light from the room revealed Hindley himself, in the middle distance, soaking wet, crouched down and still greeting the excited dogs.

  ‘Hindley, thank God you’re home,’ shouted the master, and rushed out into the wet to greet him. I will not say that he ‘ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him’, like the father of the original Prodigal Son, but he came as close to it as his temperament would allow, embracing him heartily, and leading him towards the house with his arm around him, all with more animation than we had seen in him for some time. I hung back a little, aware of my lesser claims in the master’s eyes, but I was there when Hindley entered the house. He was plainly puzzled by the warmth of his father’s greeting, which was probably the last thing he had expected, and sent me a questioning look. I could only smile and nod encouragingly, to show that all was well.

  ‘Tea, Nelly, bring the poor lad tea,’ the master said hastily, for indeed Hindley looked wet to the bone.

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ I said, ‘but I think Master Hindley should change into dry clothes first, or all the tea in China won’t warm him.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course – run upstairs, lad, and get out of those wet clothes straight away.’

  Hindley headed up the stairs, still looking rather bemused. I ran into the kitchen to start the kettle, then came out again and started up the stairs, telling the master I would just see if Hindley needed anything.

  ‘Do that, Nelly,’ he said. ‘But tell Hindley to hurry. I want to hear about what he has been doing.’

  I leaped up the stairs and knocked at Hindley’s door, announcing myself at the same time.

  ‘Just a moment,’ Hindley called, and then, after some rustling, ‘you may come in now.’

  I entered the room. Hindley had got into dry trousers, and was just buttoning up a clean shirt. His work clothes were in a sodden pile on the floor. It was the first time in months I had seen him dressed in his own proper clothing, and it was a welcome sight. He seemed taller than I remembered, and certainly broader in the chest and arms, and his face was tanned from the months of outdoor work. He gave me a hearty hug and a kiss, and then returned to his toilette.

  ‘What in Heaven has come over Father?’ he asked, pitching his voice low. ‘I never expected such a greeting as that!’

  I quickly filled him in on the master’s change of heart, telling him at the same time to hurry downstairs, for his father was eager to hear of his travels.

  ‘And he is really not angry with me at all?’

  ‘Not in the least – he is angry with himself, for hurting you so.’

  ‘How much did you tell him?’

  ‘Only what you told me in the stable, that you were going to follow the harvest north. And about the watch,’ I added, thinking the master might mention it. ‘He asked me how much I had given you, and gave me the money back. But he had me keep the watch, to return to you. It’s in my room – shall I fetch it?’

  ‘Later perhaps. I should go down now and speak with him. Will you come too?’

  ‘I’ll hover about if I can, but he may want you all to himself. You can’t think how eager he is to be kind to you. Why, he even boxed Heathcliff’s ears for—’ I stopped sudd
enly, regretting my words. Why reawaken the old animosity so soon?

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Oh nothing, for forgetting to mention you in his prayers, or some little thing like that. It doesn’t matter for what – the point is that he struck Heathcliff on your account, which he never did before. It shows he is ready to give you the precedence you deserve.’

  ‘Well enough for now. But I will hear more of this from you later.’

  ‘Whenever you like,’ I said cheerfully, glad I would have time to arrange my words more carefully. ‘Have you combed your hair? Good. You go down the front stairs now. I’ll go down the back, and make the tea.’

  ‘And something to eat, please – I’ve been fasting since breakfast.’

  ‘Of course. There’s mutton stew I can heat up for you.’

  I went back to the kitchen to put the stew on to heat up, make tea, and butter some oatcakes for Hindley to eat in the meantime, but I left the door to the main room ajar. Through it I heard Mr Earnshaw speaking in low, earnest tones to his son. I couldn’t make out the words, but I guessed that he was making his apologies, and Hindley for his part was making some awkward sounds suggestive of acceptance. When I entered with the tea and oatcakes, the two seemed to have finished with that painful subject, for both were grinning with relief, and the master was just asking Hindley to tell him all about where he had gone and what he had done.

  It was a pretty sight, I must say, Mr Earnshaw leaning forward and eagerly questioning his son, and Hindley, leaning back and replying with easy confidence as he detailed his movements and work over the month of his absence.

  ‘Did you have any difficulties with the other men?’ his father asked.

  ‘At first. The travelling labourers generally go about in bands of six or seven, who come all from the same neighbourhood, so that they can look out for each other, and a man alone is in some danger from them. After my first day of work, I saw a group of them from somewhere in the south beat one man near to death and take all his money, merely for being alone, and of a different county from them. I had good reason to fear they intended do the same by me.’