by Alison Case
The walk back to Wuthering Heights was a good deal easier than the one the night before, for the path went more downhill than up, and the provisions were now in my belly instead of on my back, but most of all, my heart was lightened. Hareton was safe, and I had saved him. It was true what Mr Earnshaw had said, that I was born to be the salvation of the family.
Had someone I knew chanced to pass me in the first mile or so of my walk, I would have joyfully blurted out the whole story of my success, I am sure, but it did not take long before more sober reflection kicked in. How was I to explain this miracle? So far as anyone but Elspeth knew, there was only one way a young woman could qualify herself as a wet nurse, and that was by bearing a child herself. If word that I was nursing Hareton got out, all sorts of speculation would ensue. True, I had not been seen to be obviously with child, but I had thickened about the waist in recent years, and in the absence of other believable explanations, it might well be concluded that I had concealed a pregnancy and then disposed of the infant. Nothing could be proved, of course, but it would set a cloud over my head that I would be hard-pressed to dispel. Explaining what I had actually done would be little better: half would disbelieve me, and the other half condemn me for dealing in witchcraft – even Elspeth might suffer as a consequence. And who could say how Hindley would respond? There was nothing for it, then: I must maintain strictest secrecy on the matter. It was a depressing conclusion – I was already weary of dealing in secrecy, lies, and half-truths for Hareton’s sake, and it saddened me, too, that I would have to shut myself out from the fellowship of other mothers, who loved to share stories and advice about the nursing of children, and whose cosy confabulations I had often envied.
At the first sign of dejection, though, I began upbraiding myself: ‘What a greedy heart you have, after all, Nelly,’ I said to myself. ‘A day ago you were prepared to give anything, do anything, if only you could find a way to save this child, and now, the minute your unlikely boon is granted, you begin repining for the next thing you have not!’ This was a salutary line of reflection, and I pursued it for a mile or so, to good effect. Then Hareton began crying, and I stopped to nurse him. I needed no better reminder of how much I had to be thankful for, and for the remainder of my walk I did not dwell on the difficulties of my situation, except to consider how they were to be managed.
When I arrived home it was mid-morning, and only Maggie was about. She seemed glad to see me, and immediately offered me tea and porridge, and took Hareton from me so that I could eat and drink, all of which was very welcome.
‘Is Mr Earnshaw up yet?’ I asked.
‘Not yet,’ she said, sounding relieved. ‘And neither are Cathy nor Heathcliff, strange to say.’
‘Oh, they are out already,’ I said. ‘They left as early as I did, to be sure of being gone before the master could give them something to do.’ Whether Cathy and Heathcliff would sustain this story when they returned, I had no idea, but I thought it best to preserve Cathy’s dignity so far as I could.
‘And how is this little one?’ asked Maggie. ‘Was your errand this morning something to do with him? Or is that something I ought not to ask about?’
‘It was, and it is,’ I said. ‘But I will tell you this much: it was successful, and I will be able to feed Hareton at home here from now on, with no further difficulties.’
‘Oh, I am glad of that!’ exclaimed Maggie, but I could see that it was hard for her to contain her curiosity about the details.
In truth, I reflected, Maggie would be my greatest difficulty in keeping my nursing of Hareton a secret. She was much with me during the day, for most of the work she did was under my supervision, and now the very qualities that had first led me to employ her – her cleverness, curiosity, and eagerness to be of help – seemed likely to be fatal to the maintenance of my secret.
Soon we heard movement upstairs, suggestive of Hindley’s rising, and Maggie hastened to make fresh tea, and prepare the bread and butter with which he usually preferred to start the day. She had just readied the tray to bring into the house, when the door to the kitchen opened and Hindley came in instead. He looked dreadful: haggard and bleary-eyed. We both froze, expecting some orders from him, but instead he collapsed into a chair and held his head in his hands.
‘May I get you some tea, sir?’ asked Maggie tentatively.
‘Yes, tea – hot and strong,’ he replied hoarsely. She hurried to obey. Hindley raised his head and looked at me, his expression unreadable.
‘I had a very strange dream last night,’ he said at last.
‘What did you dream?’
‘I dreamed that I came home late at night, and called out for someone to help me take my boots off, but no one came. I thought you were all asleep, so I bellowed louder, to wake one of you, but still there was no answer.’
My heart was pounding. Then I saw the door from outside open a crack, and Cathy’s face peek through. She caught sight of Hindley, and I shot her a warning look, so she gently closed the door again without coming in.
‘I went upstairs, then,’ Hindley continued, his voice still strangely expressionless and his eyes fixed on mine, ‘and began throwing open doors to get someone up, but all the rooms were empty, the beds unslept-in. Except for yours, Nelly, and that was locked fast. I banged on it and called for you, but you did not answer.’ I held his gaze, willing myself to look only mildly interested, but I felt the blood draining from my face. I could scarcely breathe. Maggie brought the tea then, and Hindley stopped to drink some, so I was able to take a few moments to collect myself.
‘That is strange indeed,’ I said carefully, inwardly praying that he really thought it only a dream.
‘That’s not the strangest part,’ said Hindley. ‘I stopped banging, and put my ear to the door, to try to hear you within, but instead I heard wailing coming from down the hall, in the direction of my own room. I walked down there slowly, for the wailing filled me with dread. In my room, there, in the bed, was—’ Here Hindley stopped, and buried his head in his hands again. ‘My wife,’ he choked out. ‘She was lying in the bed, and it was she who was wailing. “My baby,” she kept crying, “where is my baby? They have taken my baby away!” I looked around, and saw the cradle in the corner of the room, with the child in it, wrapped in blankets. “He is right here!” I cried, and snatched him up and gave him to her. But when she put aside the blankets, it was not Hareton there, but a stone, wrapped up in swaddling clothes. She screamed then, and I was afraid for her, for she mustn’t excite herself, the doctor said so, and I held her and tried to calm her, but she screamed and screamed. God help me, I still hear her screaming.’
Hindley’s hands raked and clutched at his hair, tugging it so fiercely I wondered he did not pull it out, as his breath came in ragged gasps. Maggie had stopped, looking frightened, halfway to bringing Hindley his breakfast. I was struck dumb, too, overwhelmed with the relation, until at last pity for Hindley’s pain moved me to speech.
‘Hareton is right here, sir,’ I said soothingly. ‘See? Here is your son, real and alive – he is no stone, is he?’ Hindley looked up to where I had perched Hareton on the table for him to see.
‘He is so small,’ he said wonderingly. ‘Why is he so small? He looks smaller now than the day he was born.’ Hindley seemed dazed, as if he were still unsure whether he were dreaming or waking.
‘No smaller, sir, only not much larger,’ I said. ‘He went through a bad patch with his digestion, for a couple of weeks there – that is why I called in Dr Kenneth, you remember – but he is past the worst of it now, and should be putting on weight fast enough from here on.’ I had adopted a brisk, matter-of-fact tone, deciding that this was the best way to reassure Hindley, and I motioned Maggie to give him his breakfast. ‘But that was certainly an odd dream, sir, and I don’t wonder that it gave you a bit of a turn.’
‘A bit of a turn, yes,’ said Hindley, shaking his head as if to dispel the vision. ‘Maggie, fetch me a dram of brandy to put in this tea. That’ll
clear my head.’
‘I’ve never known brandy to clear anyone’s head, sir,’ I could not resist saying, ‘especially not when it’s begun at breakfast!’
‘Nonsense! It’s the best thing there is for driving out the cold horrors – I should know. Spirits against spirits, to keep up the spirits – that’s the thing, eh, Maggie?’ Poor Maggie only curtseyed and fled the room, presumably to fetch the brandy. Hindley was back to himself, apparently, or at least to the self he had been of late. I was sorry to see it, and could not resist saying so.
‘It’s small wonder your wife haunts you with fears for her child, when she sees how you abuse yourself with drink since she was taken from you,’ I said. ‘Take warning while you still can, sir, and devote yourself to building a good life for your son. That is the best way to ensure that Mrs Earnshaw’s spirit will rest in peace.’
‘I’ll thank you to leave my wife’s name out of your reproaches,’ said Hindley coldly. ‘It’s not your dreams she’s haunting, but mine.’ He got up then, and turned to go into the house. He met Maggie in the doorway, holding the brandy bottle; he took it from her, and continued on his way. Not long after, we heard the front door slam.
Maggie turned back to me. ‘What was I to do?’ she whispered. ‘If he asks me for it, I must obey, mustn’t I?’
‘Of course you must,’ I sighed. ‘You did nothing wrong, lass.’
‘But that was a queer dream, wasn’t it?’ she went on. ‘What do you make of it? Do you think that it was really his wife’s ghost, who came to him?’
‘And that all the rooms in the house were empty, and Hareton a stone?’ I forced myself to laugh.
‘Well, perhaps they were empty,’ Maggie said. ‘With Joseph gone, perhaps Cathy and Heathcliff had gone out – they do like to sneak off sometimes, you know, and—’
‘Nonsense, child,’ I said sharply. ‘You forget I was home myself. Do you think I wouldn’t have heard him, if he were banging on my door? It was only a bad dream, brought on by too much drink. It’s a wonder he doesn’t have them more often.’
‘Of course,’ said Maggie apologetically. Decidedly, the girl was too quick.
Cathy and Heathcliff crept down the back stairs, then, having determined that Hindley was in front. Evidently they had sneaked up to their rooms while Hindley was with us, to hide the evidence of their adventure. At any rate, Cathy, at least, was in fresh clothes, and both had washed and tidied their hair.
‘I suppose you two will be wanting some breakfast,’ I said, ‘though you have both slept in so late, I should more properly call it lunch.’ I glanced at Maggie as I spoke, and Cathy caught my meaning clearly enough.
‘We are both positively starving,’ she said. ‘All that sleeping gives one quite an appetite, you know.’
I sighed. Cathy’s arch manner was like to give them away as fast as if they spoke of their adventure outright. Asking her to keep a secret was like asking a basket to hold water.
‘Maggie, would you go out and pull weeds in the north-east corner of the garden today? I passed by it as I was coming in, and the kale is quite overgrown with them.’ Maggie nodded and moved towards the door. ‘And don’t forget the straw hat,’ I added, as she headed out without it, ‘the sun is shining today.’
‘So now, let us tell you about our adventures,’ said Cathy as soon as the door was shut.
‘Let me guess,’ I replied. ‘The night was warm, but very dark. The Gytrash did not make an appearance. The stars were bright and extremely numerous, and you fell asleep before you could finish counting them. Is that close?’
‘Close enough,’ said Cathy, somewhat annoyed, ‘but that is not the most interesting part. For after we fell asleep, Heathcliff and I both had exactly the same dream, and a very queer one, too.’
‘Stop right there,’ I cried. ‘I will hear no more dreams this morning!’
‘But it was about you, and baby Hareton.’
‘All the more reason not to hear it. I have just heard Mr Hindley’s nightmare on the same subject, and I still have the horrors from it. It is bad luck to hear so many bad dreams in one day. It will turn the milk.’
‘I didn’t say it was bad, only that it was queer. And I never heard that telling dreams could turn milk – I think you made that up just now. But what was Hindley’s dream, that it has frightened you so?’
‘If you want to know that, ask your brother – or Maggie,’ I added, fearing she might take me at my word, ‘she heard it too. But don’t tell her yours, for you will be sure to let slip where you had it, and she ought not to be asked to keep secrets from the master.’
‘But whom am I to tell, then? It was so strange that we should both have just the same dream on the same night!’
‘Not so strange, really, for you had been together all the day before, seen all the same sights, and had all the same conversations. And the memory of dreams is very pliable on waking – probably you started to tell yours, and Heathcliff caught at some little similarity with his own, and imagined the rest to be in perfect concordance. There is no surprise in that.’
‘If it is all so perfectly rational and unsurprising, I don’t know why you are afraid to hear it. You really are very inconsistent, Nelly. One minute you are full of superstitious fears, and the next you are the height of rational scepticism.’
‘Well, we are all like that sometimes, aren’t we?’ I said, putting down their breakfast in front of them. ‘You are not very consistent yourself, for one minute you order me about like a servant—’
‘Which you are,’ Cathy interjected.
‘Which I am – and the next you want to confide in me as though I were your dearest friend, which I am not. Come, miss, surely it is enough that I connive in your adventures, and keep your little secrets from my master, without you making me the repository of your dreams as well.’
‘Leave it be, Cathy,’ said Heathcliff irritably, ‘she doesn’t want to hear it, and why should we share it with anybody but each other?’ Cathy made a sour face, but after that they both ate in silence.
I commenced preparing a bottle of milk for Hareton – for of course I needed to keep up the appearance that I was feeding him by hand. Then Heathcliff slipped off to wash, and Cathy seized the chance to sidle up to me.
‘I think that Edgar Linton is coming to visit later today,’ she whispered, ‘and it might be better if Heathcliff were not here. Can you think of something to get him out of the way for a couple of hours, before two o’clock today?’
‘I can’t promise anything, miss,’ I said, shaking my head at her duplicity, ‘but I’ll do my best.’
‘Thank you, thank you, thank you!’ she said, and then gave me her prettiest smile, and a little hug.
I had an errand I had planned to do myself that day, which was to let both Elspeth and Bodkin know that all was well with Hareton. On reflection, though, I thought this task might equally well be performed by Heathcliff – and certainly I would be glad to spend a quiet day entirely at home. I washed out the jug and the two little pots Elspeth had given me, and filled the former with fresh milk, and the latter with butter, put the cork in one and the lids on the others, and tied them all up with paper. These would convey my news as clearly as if I told her of it myself. What to send Bodkin was more of a puzzle, until I remembered the motley flag. I had indeed started to sew one for him, but never finished. I found it in the bottom of my workbasket, and settled in for a quiet half-hour’s sewing to complete it. Then I purloined some writing materials from Hindley’s desk, and wrote in my finest hand, ‘Dear Bodkin, thank you for your advice. All is well. Here is the flag I promised you. Long may it wave. Sincerely, Nelly Dean.’ I folded this up with the flag inside and sealed it with a wafer, then wrote ‘Dr Robert Kenneth’, on the outside.
Heathcliff came in for some oatcakes and cheese when it still wanted about a quarter-hour of two o’clock. Cathy was nowhere to be seen.
‘Heathcliff, I wonder if you might run a little errand for me this afternoon,’ I be
gan. ‘I need you to take this bag to Elspeth, and then deliver this letter to young Dr Kenneth in Gimmerton.’
‘Might as well,’ said Heathcliff gloomily, his mouth full of food. ‘She wants me gone. That pasty-faced little worm, Edgar Linton, is coming over.’
‘Did she say that?’
‘She didn’t have to. I can always tell.’ He slammed the table. ‘What does she see in him?’
‘Manners,’ I said, ‘and education. Both of which you might gain for yourself, if you would take the trouble.’
‘Fine clothes, and a rich estate, you mean,’ Heathcliff snorted, ‘neither of which I am likely to gain for myself.’
‘I wouldn’t say that. Look at Mr Thorne, my mother’s employer in Brassing. He began life with fewer advantages than you have had here.’
‘And had less standing in his way than I have now, I’ll wager,’ said Heathcliff. ‘I can’t leave Cathy, yet as long as I stay, Hindley will grind me down, and Linton outshine me.’
‘If you’ll take my advice,’ I began.
‘I won’t. I tried that before, and it only got me a beating. Give me the things, now, and I’ll be off. I should hate to cross paths with Linton coming in.’
‘Off with you then, lad, and here’s a shilling for you to spend in Gimmerton.’ In truth, I did feel sorry for him.
The rest of the day passed without incident. Edgar and his sister Isabella came and were received by Cathy with as much elegance and decorum as if she had not spent the previous night on the moors with her rough companion. Hindley stayed away all day. Hareton cried to be fed every two or three hours: evidently my milk was not yet plentiful enough to satisfy him for longer, or perhaps he was only making up for lost time. At any rate, I had to use all my wits to keep Maggie occupied elsewhere, every time I needed to nurse him. Joseph came home before nightfall, and the household returned to what then passed for normal. I never did find out what Cathy and Heathcliff had dreamed.