Wuthering Bites (12 page)
Authors: Sarah Gray
âI'm not in her confidence,' returned I, reluctant to continue the subject.
âNo, she's a sly one,' he remarked, shaking his head. âShe keeps her own counsel! But I have it from good authority that last night she and Heathcliff were walking in the plantation at the back of your house, and he pressed her not to go in again, but just mount his horse and away with him! My informant said she could only put him off by pledging her word of honor to be prepared on their first meeting after that. When it was to be, he didn't hear, but you urge Mr. Linton to look sharp!'
This news filled me with fresh fears. What a devil Heathcliff was to leave one woman ranting for want of him while strolling with another. With this thought heavy on my mind, the doctor and I returned to the Grange. He went one way in the front hall, and I the other.
On reaching Isabella's room, my suspicions were confirmed; it was empty. But what could be done now? There was little possibility of overtaking them, even if I pursued them at once. Of course
I
could not pursue them; I dared not rouse the family and fill the place with confusion.
The doctor and I found Catherine in a troubled sleep. Her husband hung over her pillow, watching every shade and every change of her painfully expressive features.
âTell me what is wrong with her,' my master begged. âTell me she has not been bitten.'
Kenneth drew back the collar of her nightgown, and I stifled a gasp. Mr. Linton did not breathe.
Our Catherine was marked. Two perfect puncture marks; I had seen them too many times not to know exactly what they were.
âBut this is not possible,' Mr. Linton cried, falling to his knees, his hands clasped as if in prayer. âWhen could such a thing have happened?'
All those days and nights that she wandered from the Grange on Heathcliff's arm, I thought, but kept to myself. For all we knew, he could have given her to the beasties himself!
âHow bad?' Linton croaked.
âNo way to tell,' said the doctor with the least bit of emotion in his voice. âIf she begins to grow fangs, tie her to the bed so as to protect yourself and your household.' He stepped back from the bed, now seeming eager to take his leave. âThen call the authorities.'
âBut perhaps she is just bitten and her soul not taken?' Mr. Linton begged.
âPerhaps,' agreed the doctor. But he sounded unconvinced to me. âThough I rarely see derangement with cases where the victim has only been bitten and fed upon.'
âDerangement?' Mr. Linton threw me a warning glance that I should keep my opinions to myself. âThere has been no derangement.'
âOf course there has not.' Kenneth took up his hat. âKeep her calm. I'll leave a sleeping draught in case she has need,' he said and then he was gone from the bedchamber.
I did not close my eyes that night, nor did Mr. Linton, me fearing for my life should she turn on us, and him for worry. We never went to bed, and the servants were all up long before the usual hour, moving through the house with stealthy tread and exchanging whispers as they encountered each other in their vocations. Everyone was active but Miss Isabella, and they began to remark how sound she slept. I feared he was going to send me to call her, but I was spared the pain of being the one to tell him of his sister's flight. One of the maids, a thoughtless girl who had been on an early errand to Gimmerton, came panting upstairs, open-mouthed, and dashed into the chamber, cryingâ
âOh, dear, dear! What will happen next? First vampires in the dairy and now this. Master, master, our young ladyâ'
âSpeak softly, Mary. What is the matter?' said Mr. Linton. âWhat ails your young lady?'
âShe's gone, she's gone! The king of the vampires has run off with her!' gasped the girl.
âThat is not true!' exclaimed Linton, rising in agitation. âWhat is this talk? Mr. Heathcliff is king of nothing, and my sister would certainly not go anywhere with the rogue. Nelly, go and seek her.'
As he spoke, he took the servant to the door and demanded to know her reasons for such an assertion.
âWhy, I met on the road a lad who fetches milk here,' she stammered. âHe was the one who told me that snaggle-tooth vampire was hanging in the dairy again. He asked whether we weren't in trouble at the Grange. I thought he meant the vampires in the dairy again, so I answered, yes. Then says he, âThey's somebody gone after 'em, I guess?' I stared. He saw I knew nothing about it, and he told how a gentleman and a lady had stopped to have a horse's shoe fastened at a blacksmith's shop, two miles out of Gimmerton, not very long after midnight! He said the blacksmith's lass had got up to spy who they were and she knew them both! It was Mr. Heathcliff and our miss, and they was accompanied by another carriage, filled to the top with vampires. The lass said nothing to her father, but she told it all over Gimmerton this morning.'
âAre we to try any measures for overtaking and bringing Miss Linton back?' I inquired when the maid had gone.
âShe went of her own accord,' answered the master. âShe had a right to go if she pleased. Trouble me no more about her. Hereafter, she is only my sister in name, not because I disown her, but because she has disowned me.'
F
or two months the fugitives remained absent, and in those two months, Miss Catherine was diagnosed, at Mr. Linton's insistence, with a
brain fever.
In all honesty, as time passed, I began to wonder if my original fatal diagnosis was incorrect. It was obvious she had been bitten, and she had shown the telltale signs of a poor soul in transition from human to vampire, but the illness had not developed as it should have. In two months' time, she should have become a full bloodsucking vampire, and after feasting on a few family members, would have been hauled off by the authorities to be disposed of by now.
But Miss Catherine fought the illness. Was it possible to prevent the vampires from making you one of their own, if you were stubborn enough? For if there was one thing certain under the sun, she was stubborn. And her husband fought the battle with her. Day and night he stayed with her, and he rejoiced when Catherine's life was declared out of danger by the rather surprised doctor. Hour after hour Mr. Linton would sit beside her, tracing her gradual return to good health, and flattering his hopes that she had never been bitten at all, that we were all mistaken, and that her mind would settle back to its right balance, and she would soon be entirely her former self. Whistling in the grave-yard, as it were. I knew the worst had happened, but I didn't want to believe it.
The first time she left her chamber was early March. Mr. Linton had put a handful of golden crocuses on her pillow that morning. She saw them the moment she awoke and she gathered them eagerly together.
âThese are the earliest flowers at the Heights,' she exclaimed. âThey remind me of soft thaw winds, and warm sunshine, and nearly melted snow. Edgar, is there not a south wind, and is not the snow almost gone?'
âThe snow is quite gone down here, darling,' replied her husband. âThe sky is blue, and the larks are singing, and the becks and brooks are all brim full. Catherine, last spring at this time, I was longing to have you under this roof. Now I wish you were a mile or two up those hills; the air blows so sweetly, I feel that it would cure you.'
âI shall never be there, but once more,' said the invalid. âAnd there I shall remain forever. Next spring you'll long again to have me under this roof, and you'll look back and think you were happy today.' And I must tell you, sir, that she looked so strange when she spoke those words that a shiver ran down my spine.
The master told me to light a fire in the parlor and to set an easy chair in the sunshine by the window. Then he brought her down and she sat a long while enjoying the genial heat and, as we expected, was revived by the objects around her. By evening, she seemed greatly exhausted, yet no arguments could persuade her to return to her bedchamber, and I had to arrange the parlor sofa for her bed.
To alleviate the fatigue of mounting and descending the stairs, we made up this chamber where you lie at present, Mr. Lockwood, on the same floor with the parlor. Soon, she was strong enough to move from one room to the other, leaning on Edgar's arm.
“I actually hoped she might recover,” Nelly said with a sigh. “I knew it could not be, but that didn't stop me from praying for her.”
And there was double cause to desire it, for another now depended on her existence. We cherished the hope that in a little while, Mr. Linton's heart would be gladdened, and his lands secured from a stranger's grip, by the birth of an heir.
“A child?” I asked, clasping my hands with pleasure.
“A child,” Nelly agreed.
I should mention that Isabella sent to her brother, some six weeks from her departure, a short note, announcing her marriage to Heathcliff. At the bottom was an apology and an entreaty for reconciliation.
Linton did not reply, and two weeks later, I got a long letter. I'll read it, for I still keep it. Any relic of the dead is precious, if they were valued living.
It begins:
Dear Nelly,
I came last night to Wuthering Heights, and heard, for the first time, that Catherine has been very ill. I must not write to her, I suppose, and my brother is either too angry or too distressed to answer what I send him. Still, I must write to somebody, and the only choice left is you.
Please tell Edgar that I'd give the world to see his face againâthat my heart returned to Thrushcross Grange in twenty-four hours after I left it. I fear I have made a terrible mistake, an error in judgment so great that I may never live to rectify it. The remainder of the letter is for you alone. I want to ask you two questions. The first isâ
How did you ever survive this place?
The second question is thisâ
Is Mr. Heathcliff a man? If so, is he mad? And if not, is he a devil? I won't speak of my reasons for making this inquiry beyond telling you these questions are in regard to the relationship he has with the vampires. I don't understand what is happening here. I cannot reason who my husband is to them and they to him. Once, he fought them on the moors. I have gathered that he made a great deal of his money while away by killing them for pay, but he seems to be almost friendly with them now. No, it's worse than that. He seems to experience a camaraderie with them that I have never seen between man and vampire, and it appears they hold a great deal of respect for him. Almost worship him. I beseech you to explain, if you can, what I have married. Don't write but come, and bring me a message from Edgar.
He vanishes from my hearth and side night after night, claiming to walk the moors, but when he returnsâ¦
“Ink stained the paper here, sir, and I knew my lady was in some awful distress.”
When he returns, she continued. When he returns from these journeys he looks more beast than man, with eyes so haunted that I cannot bear to look into them. His clothes are briar-torn and his hands, covered in soil, are as cold as any gravestone in the dead of winter. When I asked what had happened, he gave me such a look that I would not ask again, not to save my soul. He is, I vow, more demon than man, after such a night.
“Again, sir, the shaky hand and the smudged paper. I would think that my lady's tears have watered the ink and wrinkled the parchment.”
“What more did she say, Nelly?” I would hear more of this, although I too, I must admit, was frightened. What could Heathcliff be doing all night on the vampire-infested moors? How could any human survive? Or was I mistaken? Could my neighbor no longer be counted among our kind? Had the shadows swallowed him?
Now, you shall hear how I have been received in my new home at Wuthering Heights. It was dark when we dismounted in the paved yard of the farmhouse, and your fellow servant, Joseph, issued out to receive us by the light of a dip candle. His first act was to elevate his torch to a level with my face, squint malignantly, project his under-lip, and turn away. He was never of friendly face, but Nelly, he is ghastly now. As pale as whey, his eyes red-rimmed, and he wears a ridiculous soiled red neckerchief tied high around his neck.
Joseph took the two horses and led them into the stables, reappearing to lock the outer gate. Why lock it? I would ask later. Why bother with locks when Heathcliff and Hindley allow the vampires to come and go so freely?
Heathcliff stayed to speak to Joseph, and I entered the kitchenâa dingy, untidy hole. I dare say you would not know it, it is so changed since it was in your charge.
By the fire stood a ruffian child, strong in limb and dirty in garb, with a look of Catherine in his eyes and about his mouth.
This is Edgar's legal nephew,
I thought.
I must kiss him.
âHow do you do, my dear?' I said.
He replied in a jargon I did not comprehend.
âShall you and I be friends, Hareton?' I asked.
An oath and a threat to set
Fang
on me if I did not âframe off' rewarded my perseverance.
âHey, Fang!' called the little wretch, rousing a half-bred bulldog from its lair in a corner. âKeep an eye on her,' he warned the beast authoritatively.
Watching the unearthly looking canine, I stepped over the threshold to wait till the others should enter. Mr. Heathcliff was nowhere visible, so I asked Joseph to accompany me inside, but he stared and muttered to himself and wandered off. I then walked round the yard, and to another door, at which I took the liberty of knocking, in hopes some more civil servant might show himself.
After a short time, it was opened by a tall, gaunt man without a neckerchief, and otherwise extremely slovenly. His features were lost in masses of shaggy hair that hung on his shoulders, and his eyes were like a ghostly Catherine's, but with all their beauty annihilated. The man was paler than a corpse.
âWhat's your business here?' he demanded grimly. âWho are you?'
âMy name
was
Isabella Linton,' I replied. âYou've seen me before, sir. I'm lately married to Mr. Heathcliff, and he has brought me here.'
âIs he come back, then?' asked the hermit, glaring like a hungry wolf.
âYesâwe came just now,' I said. âBut he left me by the kitchen door. I would have gone in but your little boy frightened me off by the help of a bulldog.'
âIt's well the hellish villain has kept his word!' growled my future host, searching the darkness looking for Heathcliff. He then indulged in a soliloquy of swearing and threats of what he would have done had the âfiend' deceived him.
I regretted having tried this second entrance and was almost inclined to leave, but before I could do so, he ordered me in and refastened the door.
There was a great fire in the apartment, whose floor had grown a uniform gray. The brilliant pewter dishes, which used to attract my gaze when I was a girl, were equally gray, now tarnished and dusty.
I asked if I might call the maid and be conducted to a bedroom. Mr. Earnshaw offered no answer. He walked up and down, with his hands in his pockets, apparently quite forgetting my presence.
You'll not be surprised, Nelly, at my feeling particularly cheerless, seated alone on that inhospitable hearth, and remembering that four miles distant lay my delightful home, containing the only people I loved on earth. But there might as well be the Atlantic between us, instead of those four miles. I could not cross them!
I sat until nine that night, and still my companion paced to and fro, his head bent, and perfectly silent, unless a groan or a bitter ejaculation forced itself out at intervals.
I listened for a woman's voice in the house, and filled the interim with wild regrets and dismal anticipations, which, at last, I must have uttered without realizing it.
I was not aware I was weeping until Earnshaw halted in his measured walk and gave me a stare of newly awakened surprise. Taking advantage of his attention, I exclaimedâ
âI'm tired with my journey, and I want to go to bed! Where is the maid-servant?'
âWe have none,' he answered. âYou must wait on yourself!'
âWhere must I sleep, then?' I sobbed. I was beyond regarding self-respect, weighed down by fatigue and wretchedness.
âJoseph will show you Heathcliff's chamber,' said he. âOpen that doorâhe's in there. But mind you, be so good as to turn your lock, and draw your bolt. Don't forget!'
âBut why, Mr. Earnshaw?' I asked, not relishing the notion of deliberately fastening myself in with Heathcliff. âWhy would I lock the door? Must I fear the vampires might enter?'
He gave something akin to a cackle. âIt's not the bloodsuckers I warn you against. You'd be better off if they would simply kill you now. I know I would be. Look here!' he grunted, pulling from his waistcoat a pistol with a double-edged spring knife attached to the barrel. âI cannot resist going up with this every night, and trying his door. If once I find it open, he's done for!'
As I stared at the weapon, a hideous notion struck me. How powerful I would be, not only against the bloodsucking devils, but the humans as well, if I possessed such an instrument! Was the blade silver? Was that the sweet reek of garlic I smelled? I took it from his hand and touched the blade. Seeing the covetousness in my eyes, he snatched the pistol back and returned it to its concealment.
âI don't care if you tell him,' he said. âHe won't let them kill me. I don't know why, but he won't.'
âWhat has Heathcliff done to you?' I asked, fascinated and horrified at the same time. âWhy don't you just throw him out if you hate him so?'
âAnd lose
all,
without a chance of retrieval?' he thundered. âMake Hareton to be a beggar? Oh, damnation! I
will
have it back, and I'll have
his
gold, too, and then his blood. I will feed him to his own vampires and hell shall have his soul! It will be ten times blacker with that guest than ever it was before!'
Earnshaw was clearly on the verge of madness, and I went in search of Joseph, thinking him the lesser of the evils that night. I found the servant in the kitchen, where he was bending over a large pan that swung above the fire. I cannot tell you what was in that pot, Nelly, but it appeared to be blood and gore and body parts.
âWhat is that?' I begged, trying not to gag.
âSupper,' was his answer. âWant some?'
âThat's not my supper! Get it off the hearth this minute.' Famished, I took off my hat. âMr. Earnshaw,' I continued, âdirects me to wait on myself, and I will.'
âGood Lord!' Joseph muttered, carrying away the pot that slopped entrails as he loped. âThe boy complains of my cooking, too.'
I went briskly to work, sighing when I remembered a time when this might have been fun. The porridge I made wasn't much, but it was better than starvation. I added chunks of a rather sad-appearing head of garlic to the pot, which did nothing for the taste but helped my spirits immensely. âI shall have my supper in another room,' I said when it was done. âHave you no place you call a parlor?'
âParlor!'
he echoed, sneeringly, â
parlor!
Nay, we've no
parlors.
'
âThen I will go upstairs,' I answered. âShow me a chamber.'
With great grumblings, Joseph rose and led me up the steps, opening a door now and then to look into the apartments we passed. At one door, he opened it, peered in, and slammed it shut before I could see clearly into the darkness. Had that been female vampires I saw, hanging upside down from the rafters, sleeping soundly?
I opened my mouth to question Joseph, but he shook his head. âLook the other way. Best way to keep drawin' breath, I find.' He flung the next door back and indicated I should enter, which, from the superior quality of its dusty furniture, I conjectured to be the best one.
There was a carpet, a good one, but the pattern was obliterated by dust and mold. A fireplace hung with wallpaper, falling off in strips. Spiderwebs clung to the ceiling and draped from the bedposts to the window frame. A handsome oak bedstead stood with ample crimson curtains of rather expensive material and modern make, but they had evidently experienced rough usage. The chairs were also damaged, many of them severely; and deep indentations deformed the panels of the walls, decorated as they were with paintings of long-dead residents of Wuthering Heights, each with great staring eyes that seemed to follow me.
My supper by this time was cold, my appetite gone, and my patience exhausted. âThis is Heathcliff's room?'
âNay. His room is kept locked. No one has the key but him.'
I peered into the dingy room. âI can't sleep in this filth.'
âYer married. Where would yah go?' He plucked at the neckerchief he wore around his neck. âAccept yer lot. It's what I done. Goes down a lot easier that way.'
Accept my lot!
I am a bride. I should be queen here, not a prisoner! I was so vexed, I flung my tray and its contents on the ground, seated myself on the stairs, hid my face in my hands, and cried.
âWell done, Miss Cathy! Well done, Miss Cathy!' Joseph clapped his wizened hands together as he retreated down the steps, taking the candle with him, leaving me in the dark.
After some time, I dried my tears and rose to my feet, realizing I had to smother my pride and choke my wrath and do something about laying my weary head down to rest.
An unexpected aid appeared in the shape of Fang, whom I now recognized as a son of our old Skulker, who had spent its puppyhood at the Grange. He acted almost as if he knew me as he pushed his nose against mine by way of salute, and then hastened to devour the porridge I had splattered all over the steps while I collected the shattered earthenware.
Our labors were scarcely over when I heard Earnshaw's tread in the passage. My assistant tucked in his tail and pressed to the wall; I stole into the nearest doorway. The dog's endeavor to avoid him was unsuccessful, I guessed by a scuttling downstairs and a prolonged, piteous yelping. I had better luck. He passed on, entered his chamber, and shut the door.
Directly after, Joseph came up with Hareton, to put him to bed. I had found shelter in Hareton's room, and the old man, on seeing me, saidâ
âThere's room for both of you here, if you like.'
Gladly did I take advantage of this intimation, and the minute I flung myself into a chair by the fire, I slept.
My slumber was deep and sweet, though over far too soon. Mr. Heathcliff awoke me and demanded, in his loving manner, what I was doing there?
I told him the cause of my staying up so lateâthat he had the key of our room in his pocket.
The adjective
our
gave mortal offense. He swore it was not, nor ever should be mine; and he'dâbut I'll not repeat his language, nor describe his habitual conduct. He is ingenious and unresting in seeking to gain my abhorrence. He told me of Catherine's illness, and accused my brother of causing it, promising that I should be Edgar's proxy in suffering, till he could get hold of him.
I do hate himâI am wretchedâI have been a fool! Beware of uttering one breath of this to anyone at the Grange. I shall expect you every dayâdon't disappoint me!
Isabella