Delphi Complete Works of the Brontes Charlotte, Emily, Anne Brontë (Illustrated) (298 page)

Heathcliff measured the height and breadth of the speaker with an eye full of derision.

‘Cathy, this lamb of yours threatens like a bull!’ he said.  ‘It is in danger of splitting its skull against my knuckles.  By God!  Mr. Linton, I’m mortally sorry that you are not worth knocking down!’

My master glanced towards the passage, and signed me to fetch the men: he had no intention of hazarding a personal encounter.  I obeyed the hint; but Mrs. Linton, suspecting something, followed; and when I attempted to call them, she pulled me back, slammed the door to, and locked it.

‘Fair means!’ she said, in answer to her husband’s look of angry surprise.  ‘If you have not courage to attack him, make an apology, or allow yourself to be beaten.  It will correct you of feigning more valour than you possess.  No, I’ll swallow the key before you shall get it!  I’m delightfully rewarded for my kindness to each!  After constant indulgence of one’s weak nature, and the other’s bad one, I earn for thanks two samples of blind ingratitude, stupid to absurdity!  Edgar, I was defending you and yours; and I wish Heathcliff may flog you sick, for daring to think an evil thought of me!’

It did not need the medium of a flogging to produce that effect on the master.  He tried to wrest the key from Catherine’s grasp, and for safety she flung it into the hottest part of the fire; whereupon Mr. Edgar was taken with a nervous trembling, and his countenance grew deadly pale.  For his life he could not avert that excess of emotion: mingled anguish and humiliation overcame him completely.  He leant on the back of a chair, and covered his face.

‘Oh, heavens!  In old days this would win you knighthood!’ exclaimed Mrs. Linton.  ‘We are vanquished! we are vanquished!  Heathcliff would as soon lift a finger at you as the king would march his army against a colony of mice.  Cheer up! you sha’n’t be hurt!  Your type is not a lamb, it’s a sucking leveret.’

‘I wish you joy of the milk-blooded coward, Cathy!’ said her friend.  ‘I compliment you on your taste.  And that is the slavering, shivering thing you preferred to me!  I would not strike him with my fist, but I’d kick him with my foot, and experience considerable satisfaction.  Is he weeping, or is he going to faint for fear?’

The fellow approached and gave the chair on which Linton rested a push.  He’d better have kept his distance: my master quickly sprang erect, and struck him full on the throat a blow that would have levelled a slighter man.  It took his breath for a minute; and while he choked, Mr. Linton walked out by the back door into the yard, and from thence to the front entrance.

‘There! you’ve done with coming here,’ cried Catherine.  ‘Get away, now; he’ll return with a brace of pistols and half-a-dozen assistants.  If he did overhear us, of course he’d never forgive you.  You’ve played me an ill turn, Heathcliff!  But go — make haste!  I’d rather see Edgar at bay than you.’

‘Do you suppose I’m going with that blow burning in my gullet?’ he thundered.  ‘By hell, no!  I’ll crush his ribs in like a rotten hazel-nut before I cross the threshold!  If I don’t floor him now, I shall murder him some time; so, as you value his existence, let me get at him!’

‘He is not coming,’ I interposed, framing a bit of a lie.  ‘There’s the coachman and the two gardeners; you’ll surely not wait to be thrust into the road by them!  Each has a bludgeon; and master will, very likely, be watching from the parlour-windows to see that they fulfil his orders.’

The gardeners and coachman were there: but Linton was with them.  They had already entered the court.  Heathcliff, on the second thoughts, resolved to avoid a struggle against three underlings: he seized the poker, smashed the lock from the inner door, and made his escape as they tramped in.

Mrs. Linton, who was very much excited, bade me accompany her up-stairs.  She did not know my share in contributing to the disturbance, and I was anxious to keep her in ignorance.

‘I’m nearly distracted, Nelly!’ she exclaimed, throwing herself on the sofa.  ‘A thousand smiths’ hammers are beating in my head!  Tell Isabella to shun me; this uproar is owing to her; and should she or any one else aggravate my anger at present, I shall get wild.  And, Nelly, say to Edgar, if you see him again to-night, that I’m in danger of being seriously ill.  I wish it may prove true.  He has startled and distressed me shockingly!  I want to frighten him.  Besides, he might come and begin a string of abuse or complainings; I’m certain I should recriminate, and God knows where we should end!  Will you do so, my good Nelly?  You are aware that I am no way blamable in this matter.  What possessed him to turn listener?  Heathcliff’s talk was outrageous, after you left us; but I could soon have diverted him from Isabella, and the rest meant nothing.  Now all is dashed wrong; by the fool’s craving to hear evil of self, that haunts some people like a demon!  Had Edgar never gathered our conversation, he would never have been the worse for it.  Really, when he opened on me in that unreasonable tone of displeasure after I had scolded Heathcliff till I was hoarse for him, I did not care hardly what they did to each other; especially as I felt that, however the scene closed, we should all be driven asunder for nobody knows how long!  Well, if I cannot keep Heathcliff for my friend — if Edgar will be mean and jealous, I’ll try to break their hearts by breaking my own.  That will be a prompt way of finishing all, when I am pushed to extremity!  But it’s a deed to be reserved for a forlorn hope; I’d not take Linton by surprise with it.  To this point he has been discreet in dreading to provoke me; you must represent the peril of quitting that policy, and remind him of my passionate temper, verging, when kindled, on frenzy.  I wish you could dismiss that apathy out of that countenance, and look rather more anxious about me.’

The stolidity with which I received these instructions was, no doubt, rather exasperating: for they were delivered in perfect sincerity; but I believed a person who could plan the turning of her fits of passion to account, beforehand, might, by exerting her will, manage to control herself tolerably, even while under their influence; and I did not wish to ‘frighten’ her husband, as she said, and multiply his annoyances for the purpose of serving her selfishness.  Therefore I said nothing when I met the master coming towards the parlour; but I took the liberty of turning back to listen whether they would resume their quarrel together.  He began to speak first.

‘Remain where you are, Catherine,’ he said; without any anger in his voice, but with much sorrowful despondency.  ‘I shall not stay.  I am neither come to wrangle nor be reconciled; but I wish just to learn whether, after this evening’s events, you intend to continue your intimacy with — ’

‘Oh, for mercy’s sake,’ interrupted the mistress, stamping her foot, ‘for mercy’s sake, let us hear no more of it now!  Your cold blood cannot be worked into a fever: your veins are full of ice-water; but mine are boiling, and the sight of such chillness makes them dance.’

‘To get rid of me, answer my question,’ persevered Mr. Linton.  ‘You must answer it; and that violence does not alarm me.  I have found that you can be as stoical as anyone, when you please.  Will you give up Heathcliff hereafter, or will you give up me?  It is impossible for you to be
my
friend and
his
at the same time; and I absolutely
require
to know which you choose.’

‘I require to be let alone!’ exclaimed Catherine, furiously.  ‘I demand it!  Don’t you see I can scarcely stand?  Edgar, you — you leave me!’

She rang the bell till it broke with a twang; I entered leisurely.  It was enough to try the temper of a saint, such senseless, wicked rages!  There she lay dashing her head against the arm of the sofa, and grinding her teeth, so that you might fancy she would crash them to splinters!  Mr. Linton stood looking at her in sudden compunction and fear.  He told me to fetch some water.  She had no breath for speaking.  I brought a glass full; and as she would not drink, I sprinkled it on her face.  In a few seconds she stretched herself out stiff, and turned up her eyes, while her cheeks, at once blanched and livid, assumed the aspect of death.  Linton looked terrified.

‘There is nothing in the world the matter,’ I whispered.  I did not want him to yield, though I could not help being afraid in my heart.

‘She has blood on her lips!’ he said, shuddering.

‘Never mind!’ I answered, tartly.  And I told him how she had resolved, previous to his coming, on exhibiting a fit of frenzy.  I incautiously gave the account aloud, and she heard me; for she started up — her hair flying over her shoulders, her eyes flashing, the muscles of her neck and arms standing out preternaturally.  I made up my mind for broken bones, at least; but she only glared about her for an instant, and then rushed from the room.  The master directed me to follow; I did, to her chamber-door: she hindered me from going further by securing it against me.

As she never offered to descend to breakfast next morning, I went to ask whether she would have some carried up.  ‘No!’ she replied, peremptorily.  The same question was repeated at dinner and tea; and again on the morrow after, and received the same answer.  Mr. Linton, on his part, spent his time in the library, and did not inquire concerning his wife’s occupations.  Isabella and he had had an hour’s interview, during which he tried to elicit from her some sentiment of proper horror for Heathcliff’s advances: but he could make nothing of her evasive replies, and was obliged to close the examination unsatisfactorily; adding, however, a solemn warning, that if she were so insane as to encourage that worthless suitor, it would dissolve all bonds of relationship between herself and him.

CHAPTER XII

While Miss Linton moped about the park and garden, always silent, and almost always in tears; and her brother shut himself up among books that he never opened — wearying, I guessed, with a continual vague expectation that Catherine, repenting her conduct, would come of her own accord to ask pardon, and seek a reconciliation — and
she
fasted pertinaciously, under the idea, probably, that at every meal Edgar was ready to choke for her absence, and pride alone held him from running to cast himself at her feet; I went about my household duties, convinced that the Grange had but one sensible soul in its walls, and that lodged in my body.  I wasted no condolences on Miss, nor any expostulations on my mistress; nor did I pay much attention to the sighs of my master, who yearned to hear his lady’s name, since he might not hear her voice.  I determined they should come about as they pleased for me; and though it was a tiresomely slow process, I began to rejoice at length in a faint dawn of its progress: as I thought at first.

Mrs. Linton, on the third day, unbarred her door, and having finished the water in her pitcher and decanter, desired a renewed supply, and a basin of gruel, for she believed she was dying.  That I set down as a speech meant for Edgar’s ears; I believed no such thing, so I kept it to myself and brought her some tea and dry toast.  She ate and drank eagerly, and sank back on her pillow again, clenching her hands and groaning.  ‘Oh, I will die,’ she exclaimed, ‘since no one cares anything about me.  I wish I had not taken that.’  Then a good while after I heard her murmur, ‘No, I’ll not die — he’d be glad — he does not love me at all — he would never miss me!’

‘Did you want anything, ma’am?’ I inquired, still preserving my external composure, in spite of her ghastly countenance and strange, exaggerated manner.

‘What is that apathetic being doing?’ she demanded, pushing the thick entangled locks from her wasted face.  ‘Has he fallen into a lethargy, or is he dead?’

‘Neither,’ replied I; ‘if you mean Mr. Linton.  He’s tolerably well, I think, though his studies occupy him rather more than they ought: he is continually among his books, since he has no other society.’

I should not have spoken so if I had known her true condition, but I could not get rid of the notion that she acted a part of her disorder.

‘Among his books!’ she cried, confounded.  ‘And I dying!  I on the brink of the grave!  My God! does he know how I’m altered?’ continued she, staring at her reflection in a mirror hanging against the opposite wall.  ‘Is that Catherine Linton?   He imagines me in a pet — in play, perhaps.  Cannot you inform him that it is frightful earnest?  Nelly, if it be not too late, as soon as I learn how he feels, I’ll choose between these two: either to starve at once — that would be no punishment unless he had a heart — or to recover, and leave the country.  Are you speaking the truth about him now?  Take care.  Is he actually so utterly indifferent for my life?’

‘Why, ma’am,’ I answered, ‘the master has no idea of your being deranged; and of course he does not fear that you will let yourself die of hunger.’

‘You think not?  Cannot you tell him I will?’ she returned.  ‘Persuade him! speak of your own mind: say you are certain I will!’

‘No, you forget, Mrs. Linton,’ I suggested, ‘that you have eaten some food with a relish this evening, and to-morrow you will perceive its good effects.’

‘If I were only sure it would kill him,’ she interrupted, ‘I’d kill myself directly!  These three awful nights I’ve never closed my lids — and oh, I’ve been tormented!  I’ve been haunted, Nelly!  But I begin to fancy you don’t like me.  How strange!  I thought, though everybody hated and despised each other, they could not avoid loving me.  And they have all turned to enemies in a few hours: they have, I’m positive; the people here.  How dreary to meet death, surrounded by their cold faces!  Isabella, terrified and repelled, afraid to enter the room, it would be so dreadful to watch Catherine go.  And Edgar standing solemnly by to see it over; then offering prayers of thanks to God for restoring peace to his house, and going back to his
books
!  What in the name of all that feels has he to do with
books
, when I am dying?’

She could not bear the notion which I had put into her head of Mr. Linton’s philosophical resignation.  Tossing about, she increased her feverish bewilderment to madness, and tore the pillow with her teeth; then raising herself up all burning, desired that I would open the window.  We were in the middle of winter, the wind blew strong from the north-east, and I objected.  Both the expressions flitting over her face, and the changes of her moods, began to alarm me terribly; and brought to my recollection her former illness, and the doctor’s injunction that she should not be crossed.  A minute previously she was violent; now, supported on one arm, and not noticing my refusal to obey her, she seemed to find childish diversion in pulling the feathers from the rents she had just made, and ranging them on the sheet according to their different species: her mind had strayed to other associations.

‘That’s a turkey’s,’ she murmured to herself; ‘and this is a wild duck’s; and this is a pigeon’s.  Ah, they put pigeons’ feathers in the pillows — no wonder I couldn’t die!  Let me take care to throw it on the floor when I lie down.  And here is a moor-cock’s; and this — I should know it among a thousand — it’s a lapwing’s.  Bonny bird; wheeling over our heads in the middle of the moor.  It wanted to get to its nest, for the clouds had touched the swells, and it felt rain coming.  This feather was picked up from the heath, the bird was not shot: we saw its nest in the winter, full of little skeletons.  Heathcliff set a trap over it, and the old ones dared not come.  I made him promise he’d never shoot a lapwing after that, and he didn’t.  Yes, here are more!  Did he shoot my lapwings, Nelly?  Are they red, any of them?  Let me look.’

‘Give over with that baby-work!’ I interrupted, dragging the pillow away, and turning the holes towards the mattress, for she was removing its contents by handfuls.  ‘Lie down and shut your eyes: you’re wandering.  There’s a mess!  The down is flying about like snow.’

I went here and there collecting it.

‘I see in you, Nelly,’ she continued dreamily, ‘an aged woman: you have grey hair and bent shoulders.  This bed is the fairy cave under Penistone crags, and you are gathering elf-bolts to hurt our heifers; pretending, while I am near, that they are only locks of wool.  That’s what you’ll come to fifty years hence: I know you are not so now.  I’m not wandering: you’re mistaken, or else I should believe you really
were
that withered hag, and I should think I
was
under Penistone Crags; and I’m conscious it’s night, and there are two candles on the table making the black press shine like jet.’

‘The black press? where is that?’ I asked.  ‘You are talking in your sleep!’

‘It’s against the wall, as it always is,’ she replied.  ‘It
does
appear odd — I see a face in it!’

‘There’s no press in the room, and never was,’ said I, resuming my seat, and looping up the curtain that I might watch her.

‘Don’t
you
see that face?’ she inquired, gazing earnestly at the mirror.

And say what I could, I was incapable of making her comprehend it to be her own; so I rose and covered it with a shawl.

‘It’s behind there still!’ she pursued, anxiously.  ‘And it stirred.  Who is it?  I hope it will not come out when you are gone!  Oh!  Nelly, the room is haunted!  I’m afraid of being alone!’

I took her hand in mine, and bid her be composed; for a succession of shudders convulsed her frame, and she would keep straining her gaze towards the glass.

‘There’s nobody here!’ I insisted.  ‘It was
yourself
, Mrs. Linton: you knew it a while since.’

‘Myself!’ she gasped, ‘and the clock is striking twelve!  It’s true, then! that’s dreadful!’

Her fingers clutched the clothes, and gathered them over her eyes.  I attempted to steal to the door with an intention of calling her husband; but I was summoned back by a piercing shriek — the shawl had dropped from the frame.

‘Why, what is the matter?’ cried I.  ‘Who is coward now?  Wake up!  That is the glass — the mirror, Mrs. Linton; and you see yourself in it, and there am I too by your side.’

Trembling and bewildered, she held me fast, but the horror gradually passed from her countenance; its paleness gave place to a glow of shame.

‘Oh, dear!  I thought I was at home,’ she sighed.  ‘I thought I was lying in my chamber at Wuthering Heights.  Because I’m weak, my brain got confused, and I screamed unconsciously.  Don’t say anything; but stay with me.  I dread sleeping: my dreams appal me.’

‘A sound sleep would do you good, ma’am,’ I answered: ‘and I hope this suffering will prevent your trying starving again.’

‘Oh, if I were but in my own bed in the old house!’ she went on bitterly, wringing her hands.  ‘And that wind sounding in the firs by the lattice.  Do let me feel it — it comes straight down the moor — do let me have one breath!’  To pacify her I held the casement ajar a few seconds.  A cold blast rushed through; I closed it, and returned to my post.  She lay still now, her face bathed in tears.  Exhaustion of body had entirely subdued her spirit: our fiery Catherine was no better than a wailing child.

‘How long is it since I shut myself in here?’ she asked, suddenly reviving.

‘It was Monday evening,’ I replied, ‘and this is Thursday night, or rather Friday morning, at present.’

‘What! of the same week?’ she exclaimed.  ‘Only that brief time?’

‘Long enough to live on nothing but cold water and ill-temper,’ observed I.

‘Well, it seems a weary number of hours,’ she muttered doubtfully: ‘it must be more.  I remember being in the parlour after they had quarrelled, and Edgar being cruelly provoking, and me running into this room desperate.  As soon as ever I had barred the door, utter blackness overwhelmed me, and I fell on the floor.  I couldn’t explain to Edgar how certain I felt of having a fit, or going raging mad, if he persisted in teasing me!  I had no command of tongue, or brain, and he did not guess my agony, perhaps: it barely left me sense to try to escape from him and his voice.  Before I recovered sufficiently to see and hear, it began to be dawn, and, Nelly, I’ll tell you what I thought, and what has kept recurring and recurring till I feared for my reason.  I thought as I lay there, with my head against that table leg, and my eyes dimly discerning the grey square of the window, that I was enclosed in the oak-panelled bed at home; and my heart ached with some great grief which, just waking, I could not recollect.  I pondered, and worried myself to discover what it could be, and, most strangely, the whole last seven years of my life grew a blank!  I did not recall that they had been at all.  I was a child; my father was just buried, and my misery arose from the separation that Hindley had ordered between me and Heathcliff.  I was laid alone, for the first time; and, rousing from a dismal doze after a night of weeping, I lifted my hand to push the panels aside: it struck the table-top!  I swept it along the carpet, and then memory burst in: my late anguish was swallowed in a paroxysm of despair.  I cannot say why I felt so wildly wretched: it must have been temporary derangement; for there is scarcely cause.  But, supposing at twelve years old I had been wrenched from the Heights, and every early association, and my all in all, as Heathcliff was at that time, and been converted at a stroke into Mrs. Linton, the lady of Thrushcross Grange, and the wife of a stranger: an exile, and outcast, thenceforth, from what had been my world.  You may fancy a glimpse of the abyss where I grovelled!  Shake your head as you will, Nelly, you have helped to unsettle me!  You should have spoken to Edgar, indeed you should, and compelled him to leave me quiet!  Oh, I’m burning!  I wish I were out of doors!  I wish I were a girl again, half savage and hardy, and free; and laughing at injuries, not maddening under them!  Why am I so changed? why does my blood rush into a hell of tumult at a few words?  I’m sure I should be myself were I once among the heather on those hills.  Open the window again wide: fasten it open!  Quick, why don’t you move?’

‘Because I won’t give you your death of cold,’ I answered.

‘You won’t give me a chance of life, you mean,’ she said, sullenly.  ‘However, I’m not helpless yet; I’ll open it myself.’

And sliding from the bed before I could hinder her, she crossed the room, walking very uncertainly, threw it back, and bent out, careless of the frosty air that cut about her shoulders as keen as a knife.  I entreated, and finally attempted to force her to retire.  But I soon found her delirious strength much surpassed mine (she was delirious, I became convinced by her subsequent actions and ravings).  There was no moon, and everything beneath lay in misty darkness: not a light gleamed from any house, far or near all had been extinguished long ago: and those at Wuthering Heights were never visible — still she asserted she caught their shining.