Chapter VI

Mr. Hindley came home to the funeral; and—a thing that amazed us, and
set the neighbours gossiping right and left—he brought a wife with him.
What she was, and where she was born, he never informed us: probably,
she had neither money nor name to recommend her, or he would scarcely
have kept the union from his father.

She was not one that would have disturbed the house much on her own
account. Every object she saw, the moment she crossed the threshold,
appeared to delight her; and every circumstance that took place about
her: except the preparing for the burial, and the presence of the
mourners. I thought she was half silly, from her behaviour while that
went on: she ran into her chamber, and made me come with her, though I
should have been dressing the children: and there she sat shivering and
clasping her hands, and asking repeatedly—“Are they gone yet?” Then she
began describing with hysterical emotion the effect it produced on her
to see black; and started, and trembled, and, at last, fell
a-weeping—and when I asked what was the matter, answered, she didn’t
know; but she felt so afraid of dying! I imagined her as little likely
to die as myself. She was rather thin, but young, and
fresh-complexioned, and her eyes sparkled as bright as diamonds. I did
remark, to be sure, that mounting the stairs made her breathe very
quick; that the least sudden noise set her all in a quiver, and that
she coughed troublesomely sometimes: but I knew nothing of what these
symptoms portended, and had no impulse to sympathise with her. We don’t
in general take to foreigners here, Mr. Lockwood, unless they take to
us first.

Young Earnshaw was altered considerably in the three years of his
absence. He had grown sparer, and lost his colour, and spoke and
dressed quite differently; and, on the very day of his return, he told
Joseph and me we must thenceforth quarter ourselves in the
back-kitchen, and leave the house for him. Indeed, he would have
carpeted and papered a small spare room for a parlour; but his wife
expressed such pleasure at the white floor and huge glowing fireplace,
at the pewter dishes and delf-case, and dog-kennel, and the wide space
there was to move about in where they usually sat, that he thought it
unnecessary to her comfort, and so dropped the intention.

She expressed pleasure, too, at finding a sister among her new
acquaintance; and she prattled to Catherine, and kissed her, and ran
about with her, and gave her quantities of presents, at the beginning.
Her affection tired very soon, however, and when she grew peevish,
Hindley became tyrannical. A few words from her, evincing a dislike to
Heathcliff, were enough to rouse in him all his old hatred of the boy.
He drove him from their company to the servants, deprived him of the
instructions of the curate, and insisted that he should labour out of
doors instead; compelling him to do so as hard as any other lad on the
farm.

Heathcliff bore his degradation pretty well at first, because Cathy
taught him what she learnt, and worked or played with him in the
fields. They both promised fair to grow up as rude as savages; the
young master being entirely negligent how they behaved, and what they
did, so they kept clear of him. He would not even have seen after their
going to church on Sundays, only Joseph and the curate reprimanded his
carelessness when they absented themselves; and that reminded him to
order Heathcliff a flogging, and Catherine a fast from dinner or
supper. But it was one of their chief amusements to run away to the
moors in the morning and remain there all day, and the after punishment
grew a mere thing to laugh at. The curate might set as many chapters as
he pleased for Catherine to get by heart, and Joseph might thrash
Heathcliff till his arm ached; they forgot everything the minute they
were together again: at least the minute they had contrived some
naughty plan of revenge; and many a time I’ve cried to myself to watch
them growing more reckless daily, and I not daring to speak a syllable,
for fear of losing the small power I still retained over the unfriended
creatures. One Sunday evening, it chanced that they were banished from
the sitting-room, for making a noise, or a light offence of the kind;
and when I went to call them to supper, I could discover them nowhere.
We searched the house, above and below, and the yard and stables; they
were invisible: and, at last, Hindley in a passion told us to bolt the
doors, and swore nobody should let them in that night. The household
went to bed; and I, too anxious to lie down, opened my lattice and put
my head out to hearken, though it rained: determined to admit them in
spite of the prohibition, should they return. In a while, I
distinguished steps coming up the road, and the light of a lantern
glimmered through the gate. I threw a shawl over my head and ran to
prevent them from waking Mr. Earnshaw by knocking. There was
Heathcliff, by himself: it gave me a start to see him alone.

“Where is Miss Catherine?” I cried hurriedly. “No accident, I hope?”
“At Thrushcross Grange,” he answered; “and I would have been there too,
but they had not the manners to ask me to stay.” “Well, you will catch
it!” I said: “you’ll never be content till you’re sent about your
business. What in the world led you wandering to Thrushcross Grange?”
“Let me get off my wet clothes, and I’ll tell you all about it, Nelly,”
he replied. I bid him beware of rousing the master, and while he
undressed and I waited to put out the candle, he continued—“Cathy and I
escaped from the wash-house to have a ramble at liberty, and getting a
glimpse of the Grange lights, we thought we would just go and see
whether the Lintons passed their Sunday evenings standing shivering in
corners, while their father and mother sat eating and drinking, and
singing and laughing, and burning their eyes out before the fire. Do
you think they do? Or reading sermons, and being catechised by their
man-servant, and set to learn a column of Scripture names, if they
don’t answer properly?” “Probably not,” I responded. “They are good
children, no doubt, and don’t deserve the treatment you receive, for
your bad conduct.” “Don’t cant, Nelly,” he said: “nonsense! We ran from
the top of the Heights to the park, without stopping—Catherine
completely beaten in the race, because she was barefoot. You’ll have to
seek for her shoes in the bog to-morrow. We crept through a broken
hedge, groped our way up the path, and planted ourselves on a
flower-plot under the drawing-room window. The light came from thence;
they had not put up the shutters, and the curtains were only half
closed. Both of us were able to look in by standing on the basement,
and clinging to the ledge, and we saw—ah! it was beautiful—a splendid
place carpeted with crimson, and crimson-covered chairs and tables, and
a pure white ceiling bordered by gold, a shower of glass-drops hanging
in silver chains from the centre, and shimmering with little soft
tapers. Old Mr. and Mrs. Linton were not there; Edgar and his sister
had it entirely to themselves. Shouldn’t they have been happy? We
should have thought ourselves in heaven! And now, guess what your good
children were doing? Isabella—I believe she is eleven, a year younger
than Cathy—lay screaming at the farther end of the room, shrieking as
if witches were running red-hot needles into her. Edgar stood on the
hearth weeping silently, and in the middle of the table sat a little
dog, shaking its paw and yelping; which, from their mutual accusations,
we understood they had nearly pulled in two between them. The idiots!
That was their pleasure! to quarrel who should hold a heap of warm
hair, and each begin to cry because both, after struggling to get it,
refused to take it. We laughed outright at the petted things; we did
despise them! When would you catch me wishing to have what Catherine
wanted? or find us by ourselves, seeking entertainment in yelling, and
sobbing, and rolling on the ground, divided by the whole room? I’d not
exchange, for a thousand lives, my condition here, for Edgar Linton’s
at Thrushcross Grange—not if I might have the privilege of flinging
Joseph off the highest gable, and painting the house-front with
Hindley’s blood!”

“Hush, hush!” I interrupted. “Still you have not told me, Heathcliff,
how Catherine is left behind?”

“I told you we laughed,” he answered. “The Lintons heard us, and with
one accord they shot like arrows to the door; there was silence, and
then a cry, ‘Oh, mamma, mamma! Oh, papa! Oh, mamma, come here. Oh,
papa, oh!’ They really did howl out something in that way. We made
frightful noises to terrify them still more, and then we dropped off
the ledge, because somebody was drawing the bars, and we felt we had
better flee. I had Cathy by the hand, and was urging her on, when all
at once she fell down. ‘Run, Heathcliff, run!’ she whispered. ‘They
have let the bull-dog loose, and he holds me!’ The devil had seized her
ankle, Nelly: I heard his abominable snorting. She did not yell out—no!
she would have scorned to do it, if she had been spitted on the horns
of a mad cow. I did, though: I vociferated curses enough to annihilate
any fiend in Christendom; and I got a stone and thrust it between his
jaws, and tried with all my might to cram it down his throat. A beast
of a servant came up with a lantern, at last, shouting—‘Keep fast,
Skulker, keep fast!’ He changed his note, however, when he saw
Skulker’s game. The dog was throttled off; his huge, purple tongue
hanging half a foot out of his mouth, and his pendent lips streaming
with bloody slaver. The man took Cathy up; she was sick: not from fear,
I’m certain, but from pain. He carried her in; I followed, grumbling
execrations and vengeance. ‘What prey, Robert?’ hallooed Linton from
the entrance. ‘Skulker has caught a little girl, sir,’ he replied; ‘and
there’s a lad here,’ he added, making a clutch at me, ‘who looks an
out-and-outer! Very like the robbers were for putting them through the
window to open the doors to the gang after all were asleep, that they
might murder us at their ease. Hold your tongue, you foul-mouthed
thief, you! you shall go to the gallows for this. Mr. Linton, sir,
don’t lay by your gun.’ ‘No, no, Robert,’ said the old fool. ‘The
rascals knew that yesterday was my rent-day: they thought to have me
cleverly. Come in; I’ll furnish them a reception. There, John, fasten
the chain. Give Skulker some water, Jenny. To beard a magistrate in his
stronghold, and on the Sabbath, too! Where will their insolence stop?
Oh, my dear Mary, look here! Don’t be afraid, it is but a boy—yet the
villain scowls so plainly in his face; would it not be a kindness to
the country to hang him at once, before he shows his nature in acts as
well as features?’ He pulled me under the chandelier, and Mrs. Linton
placed her spectacles on her nose and raised her hands in horror. The
cowardly children crept nearer also, Isabella lisping—‘Frightful thing!
Put him in the cellar, papa. He’s exactly like the son of the
fortune-teller that stole my tame pheasant. Isn’t he, Edgar?’

“While they examined me, Cathy came round; she heard the last speech,
and laughed. Edgar Linton, after an inquisitive stare, collected
sufficient wit to recognise her. They see us at church, you know,
though we seldom meet them elsewhere. ‘That’s Miss Earnshaw!’ he
whispered to his mother, ‘and look how Skulker has bitten her—how her
foot bleeds!’

“‘Miss Earnshaw? Nonsense!’ cried the dame; ‘Miss Earnshaw scouring the
country with a gipsy! And yet, my dear, the child is in mourning—surely
it is—and she may be lamed for life!’

“‘What culpable carelessness in her brother!’ exclaimed Mr. Linton,
turning from me to Catherine. ‘I’ve understood from Shielders’” (that
was the curate, sir) “‘that he lets her grow up in absolute heathenism.
But who is this? Where did she pick up this companion? Oho! I declare
he is that strange acquisition my late neighbour made, in his journey
to Liverpool—a little Lascar, or an American or Spanish castaway.’

“‘A wicked boy, at all events,’ remarked the old lady, ‘and quite unfit
for a decent house! Did you notice his language, Linton? I’m shocked
that my children should have heard it.’

“I recommenced cursing—don’t be angry, Nelly—and so Robert was ordered
to take me off. I refused to go without Cathy; he dragged me into the
garden, pushed the lantern into my hand, assured me that Mr. Earnshaw
should be informed of my behaviour, and, bidding me march directly,
secured the door again. The curtains were still looped up at one
corner, and I resumed my station as spy; because, if Catherine had
wished to return, I intended shattering their great glass panes to a
million of fragments, unless they let her out. She sat on the sofa
quietly. Mrs. Linton took off the grey cloak of the dairy-maid which we
had borrowed for our excursion, shaking her head and expostulating with
her, I suppose: she was a young lady, and they made a distinction
between her treatment and mine. Then the woman-servant brought a basin
of warm water, and washed her feet; and Mr. Linton mixed a tumbler of
negus, and Isabella emptied a plateful of cakes into her lap, and Edgar
stood gaping at a distance. Afterwards, they dried and combed her
beautiful hair, and gave her a pair of enormous slippers, and wheeled
her to the fire; and I left her, as merry as she could be, dividing her
food between the little dog and Skulker, whose nose she pinched as he
ate; and kindling a spark of spirit in the vacant blue eyes of the
Lintons—a dim reflection from her own enchanting face. I saw they were
full of stupid admiration; she is so immeasurably superior to them—to
everybody on earth, is she not, Nelly?”

“There will more come of this business than you reckon on,” I answered,
covering him up and extinguishing the light. “You are incurable,
Heathcliff; and Mr. Hindley will have to proceed to extremities, see if
he won’t.” My words came truer than I desired. The luckless adventure
made Earnshaw furious. And then Mr. Linton, to mend matters, paid us a
visit himself on the morrow, and read the young master such a lecture
on the road he guided his family, that he was stirred to look about
him, in earnest. Heathcliff received no flogging, but he was told that
the first word he spoke to Miss Catherine should ensure a dismissal;
and Mrs. Earnshaw undertook to keep her sister-in-law in due restraint
when she returned home; employing art, not force: with force she would
have found it impossible.