CHAPTER 7
Cathy stayed at Thrushcross Grange five weeks: till Christmas. By that time her ankle was cured, and her manners much improved. Mrs. Earnshaw visited her often, and began her plan of reform by offering her fine clothes and flattery, which she took readily.
So, instead of a wild, hatless little savage jumping into the house, and rushing to squeeze us all breathless, there alighted from a handsome black pony a very dignified person, with brown ringlets and a long riding-habit, which she was obliged to hold up with both hands so that she might sail in.
Hindley exclaimed delightedly, ‘Why, Cathy, you are quite a beauty! You look like a lady now. Isabella Linton is not to be compared with her, is she, Frances?’
‘Isabella has not her beauty,’ replied his wife; ‘but she must mind not to grow wild again here. Ellen, help Miss Catherine off with her things.’
I removed the riding-habit, and there shone forth a grand silk frock and polished shoes. While her eyes sparkled joyfully when the dogs came bounding up, she dared hardly touch them lest they should paw her splendid garments. She kissed me gently: I was all flour making the Christmas cake, and she could not give me a hug; and then she looked round for Heathcliff. Mr. and Mrs. Earnshaw watched anxiously.
Heathcliff was hard to find. If he were careless, and uncared for, before Catherine’s absence, he had been ten times more so since. Nobody but I even did him the kindness to call him a dirty boy, and bid him wash himself once a week. His clothes held three months’ dust, his hair was uncombed, and his face and hands were dismally begrimed. He might well skulk behind the settle, on beholding such a bright, graceful girl enter the house.
‘Is Heathcliff not here?’ she demanded, pulling off her gloves, and displaying fingers wonderfully whitened with doing nothing and staying indoors.
‘Heathcliff, come forward,’ cried Mr. Hindley, enjoying his discomfiture. ‘Come and wish Miss Catherine welcome, like the other servants.’
Cathy flew to embrace him; she bestowed seven or eight kisses on his cheek before she stopped, and burst into a laugh, exclaiming, ‘Why, how very black and cross you look! and how funny and grim! But that’s because I’m used to Edgar and Isabella Linton. Well, Heathcliff, have you forgotten me?’
Shame and pride kept him silent.
‘Shake hands, Heathcliff,’ said Mr. Earnshaw, condescendingly; ‘once in a way that is permitted.’
‘I shall not,’ replied the boy, finding his tongue at last; ‘I shall not stand to be laughed at!’ And he would have left, but Miss Cathy seized him again.
‘I did not mean to laugh at you,’ she said. ‘Shake hands at least! Why are you sulky? It was only that you looked so dirty!’
She gazed concernedly at the dusky fingers she held in her own, and also at her dress; which she feared had been soiled.
‘You needn’t have touched me!’ he answered, snatching away his hand. ‘I shall be as dirty as I please: and I like to be dirty, and I will be dirty.’
With that he dashed out of the room, amid the merriment of the master and mistress, and to the serious disturbance of Catherine; who could not understand how her remarks should have produced such bad temper.
After playing lady’s-maid to the newcomer, and putting my cakes in the oven, and making the house and kitchen cheerful with great fires, befitting Christmas-eve, I sat down to amuse myself by singing carols. Joseph, grumbling, retired to pray, while Mr. and Mrs. Earnshaw showed Catherine some gay trifles bought for her to present to the little Lintons. They had invited them to spend the next day at Wuthering Heights, and the invitation had been accepted, on one condition: Mrs. Linton begged that her darlings might be kept carefully apart from that ‘naughty swearing boy.’
I smelt the rich scent of the spices; and admired the shining kitchen utensils, the clock decked in holly, the silver mugs ranged on a tray ready to be filled with mulled ale for supper; and above all, the purity of my scoured and well-swept floor. I inwardly applauded it all, and then I remembered how old Earnshaw used to give me a shilling at Christmas. From that I went on to think of his fondness for Heathcliff, and his dread lest he should be neglected; and that led me to consider the poor lad’s situation now, and made me change from singing to crying.
However, it made more sense to try to repair some of his wrongs than shed tears over them: so I got up and went to seek him. I found him feeding the ponies in the stable.
‘Make haste, Heathcliff!’ I said, ‘the kitchen is so comfortable; and Joseph is upstairs: let me dress you smartly before Miss Cathy comes, and then you can sit together, with the whole hearth to yourselves, and have a long chatter till bedtime.’
He never turned his head towards me.
‘Are you coming?’ I continued. ‘There’s a little cake for you.’
I waited, but getting no answer left him. Catherine supped with her brother and sister-in-law: Joseph and I had an unsociable meal, but Heathcliff’s cake and cheese remained on the table all night for the fairies. He worked till nine o’clock, and then marched to his chamber. Cathy came into the kitchen once to speak to him; but he was already gone.
In the morning he rose early; and carried his ill-humour on to the moors till the family had gone to church. Then he came in and exclaimed abruptly, ‘Nelly, make me decent. I’m going to be good.’
‘High time, Heathcliff,’ I said; ‘you have grieved Catherine: she’s sorry she ever came home, I daresay! It looks as if you envied her.’
The notion of envying Catherine was incomprehensible to him, but the notion of grieving her he understood.
‘Did she say she was grieved?’ he asked, looking very serious.
‘She cried when I told her you were out this morning.’
‘Well, I cried last night,’ he returned, ‘and I had more reason to cry than she.’
‘Yes: you had the reason of going to bed with a proud heart and an empty stomach,’ said I. ‘Proud people breed sorrows for themselves. You must ask pardon when she comes in. Go up and offer to kiss her; only do it heartily, and not as if you thought her a stranger. Edgar Linton shall look quite a doll beside you. You are younger, and yet you are taller and twice as broad across the shoulders; you could knock him down in a twinkling.’
Heathcliff’s face brightened a moment; then it was overcast afresh, and he sighed.
‘But, Nelly, if I knocked him down twenty times, that wouldn’t make him less handsome or me more so. I wish I had light hair and a fair skin, and was well-dressed, and had a chance of being rich!’
‘And cried for mamma at every turn,’ I added, ‘and trembled if a country lad shook his fist, and sat at home all day for a shower of rain. Oh, Heathcliff, you are showing a poor spirit! Come to the mirror. Do you see those two lines between your eyes; and those thick brows, that sink over your eyes, making them lurk glinting under their lids like devil’s spies? Learn to smooth away the surly wrinkles, to raise your lids frankly, making your eyes confident and innocent. Don’t get the expression of a vicious dog that expects only kicks.’
‘In other words, I must wish for Edgar Linton’s great blue eyes,’ he replied. ‘I do – and that won’t help me to them.’
‘A good heart will help you to a bonny face, my lad,’ I continued, ‘and a bad one will turn the bonniest face ugly. And now that we’ve done washing, and combing, don’t you think yourself rather handsome? Like a prince in disguise. Who knows but your father was Emperor of China, and your mother an Indian queen? And you were kidnapped by wicked sailors and brought to England!’
So I chattered on; and Heathcliff gradually lost his frown and began to look quite pleasant, when our conversation was interrupted by a rumbling sound in the courtyard. I ran to the door, just as the two Lintons descended from their carriage, smothered in cloaks and furs, and the Earnshaws dismounted from their horses: they often rode to church in winter. Catherine took a hand of each of the children, brought them into the house and set them before the fire.
I urged my companion to hasten now and show his
good humour, and he willingly obeyed; but by ill luck, as he opened the door, he met Hindley. The master, irritated at seeing him clean and cheerful, shoved him back, and angrily bade Joseph, ‘Keep the fellow out of the room – send him into the garret till dinner is over. He’ll be cramming his fingers in the tarts, if left alone with them a minute.’
‘No, sir,’ I answered, ‘he’ll touch nothing: and he should have his share.’
‘He shall have his share of my hand, if I catch him downstairs,’ cried Hindley. ‘Begone, you vagabond! What! you are attempting the coxcomb, are you? Wait till I get hold of those elegant locks – see if I won’t pull them a bit longer!’
‘They are long enough already,’ observed Master Linton, peeping from the doorway; ‘It’s like a colt’s mane over his eyes!’
He ventured this remark without meaning to insult; but Heathcliff was not prepared to take any impertinence from him. He seized a tureen of hot apple sauce and dashed it in the speaker’s face. Mr. Earnshaw snatched up the culprit and dragged him to his chamber; where, doubtless, he administered a rough remedy.
I got the dishcloth, and rather spitefully scrubbed Edgar’s face, saying it served him right for meddling. His sister began weeping, and Cathy stood by confounded.
‘You should not have spoken to him!’ she reproved Master Linton. ‘He was in a bad temper, and now he’ll be flogged: I hate him to be flogged! I can’t eat my dinner. Why did you speak to him, Edgar?’
‘I didn’t,’ sobbed the youth. ‘I promised mamma that I wouldn’t say one word to him, and I didn’t.’
‘Well, don’t cry,’ replied Catherine, contemptuously; ‘you’re not killed. My brother is coming: be quiet! Hush, Isabella! Has anybody hurt you?’
‘To your seats, children!’ cried Hindley, bustling in. ‘That brute of a lad has warmed me nicely. Next time, Master Edgar, take the law into your own fists – it will give you an appetite!’
The little party recovered at sight of the feast. They were hungry, and easily consoled. Mr. Earnshaw carved generous platefuls, and the mistress made them merry with lively talk. I was pained to see Catherine, with dry eyes and an indifferent air, cutting up her goose.
‘An unfeeling child,’ I thought; ‘I could not have imagined her to be so selfish.’ She lifted a mouthful to her lips: then she set it down: her cheeks flushed, and the tears fell. She slipped her fork to the floor, and hastily dived under the cloth to conceal her emotion. I did not call her unfeeling for long: for I saw that all day she was in purgatory, looking for a chance of paying a visit to Heathcliff, who had been locked up by the master.
In the evening we had a dance. Cathy begged that Heathcliff might be freed, as Isabella Linton had no partner: her entreaties were vain, and I was made to fill in instead. We got rid of all gloom in the excitement, and our pleasure was increased by the arrival of the Gimmerton band: a trumpet, a trombone, clarionets, bassoons, French horns, and a bass viol, besides singers. After the carols, we set them to songs and glees. Mrs. Earnshaw loved the music.
Catherine loved it too: but she said it sounded sweetest at the top of the steps, and she went up in the dark. I followed; they never noted our absence. Catherine mounted to the garret where Heathcliff was confined, and called him. He would not answer; but she persevered, and finally persuaded him to talk with her through the door. I let the poor things alone, till the songs were about to end; then I clambered up the ladder to warn her.
Instead of finding her outside, I heard her voice within. The little monkey had crept out by the skylight of one garret, along the roof, and into the skylight of the other, and it was with the greatest difficulty that I could coax her out again. When she came, Heathcliff came with her, and she insisted that I should take him into the kitchen, since Joseph had gone to a neighbour’s to get away from the sound of our ‘devil’s music.’
As Heathcliff had not eaten since yesterday’s dinner, I let him go down: I set him on a stool by the fire, and offered him good things: but he was sick and could eat little. He leant his chin on his hands in meditation. On my inquiring the subject of his thoughts, he answered gravely:
‘I’m trying to settle how I shall pay Hindley back. I don’t care how long I wait, if I can only do it at last. I hope he will not die first!’
‘For shame, Heathcliff!’ said I. ‘It is for God to punish wicked people; we should learn to forgive.’
‘No, God won’t have the satisfaction that I shall,’ he returned. ‘I only wish I knew the best way! Let me alone, and I’ll plan it: while I’m thinking of that I don’t feel pain.’
‘But, Mr. Lockwood,’ (said Mrs. Dean) ‘I forget these tales cannot divert you. How I chatter on, when your gruel is cold, and you are nodding for bed! I could have told Heathcliff’s history in half a dozen words.’
Thus interrupting herself, the housekeeper rose; but I felt very far from sleeping.
‘Do sit another half-hour,’ I cried. ‘I like to hear the story told leisurely: I am interested in every character.’
‘It is eleven o’clock, sir.’
‘No matter – I shall lie in till ten tomorrow. Mrs. Dean, go on.’
‘Well, sir, you must allow me to leap over some three years. During that space Mrs. Earnshaw—’
‘No, no, I’ll allow nothing of the sort! Continue in detail. I see that people in these lonely regions live more in earnest, more in themselves, and less in frivolous external things, than in the town. I could fancy a love of life here almost possible; it is like a simple, honest meal compared to a banquet laid out by French chefs.’
‘Oh! here we are the same as anywhere else, when you get to know us,’ observed Mrs. Dean, somewhat puzzled.
‘Excuse me,’ I responded; ‘you, my good friend, are evidence against that assertion. I am sure you have thought a great deal more than most servants think.’
Mrs. Dean laughed.
‘I certainly judge myself a steady, reasonable kind of body,’ she said; ‘not exactly from living among the hills; but I have undergone sharp discipline, which has taught me wisdom; and I have read more than you would fancy, Mr. Lockwood. You could not open a book in this library that I have not looked into. However, I had better go on; and instead of leaping three years, I will pass to the next summer – that of 1778, nearly twenty-three years ago.’
Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights: Abridged Page 8