Wuthering Bites (27 page)

He spoke these words, holding the door open for his son to pass, and closed it behind him. Mr. Heathcliff then approached the fire, where my mistress and I stood silent. Catherine looked up and instinctively raised her hand to her cheek where he had struck her.

‘Oh, you are not afraid of me?' he muttered. ‘Your courage is well disguised. You
seem
damnably afraid!'

‘I
am
afraid now,' she replied. ‘But only because I do not have a sword to run through your black heart. That and because if I stay, Papa will be miserable. Mr. Heathcliff, let me go home! I promise to marry Linton. Papa would like me to, and I love him—and why should you wish to force me to do what I'll willingly do of myself?'

‘Let him dare to force you!' I cried. ‘There's law in the land, thank God, there is!'

‘Silence!' he barked. ‘To the devil with your clamor! I don't want
you
to speak. Miss Linton, I shall enjoy myself remarkably in thinking your father will be miserable.'

‘At least send Nelly to let Papa know I'm safe!' exclaimed Catherine, weeping bitterly. ‘Or marry me now. Poor Papa! Nelly, he'll think we're lost. What shall we do?'

‘He'll think you are tired of waiting on him, and ran off for a little amusement,' answered Heathcliff. ‘You cannot deny that you entered my house of your own accord, despite your father's warnings. And it is quite natural that you should desire amusement at your age and that you should weary of nursing a sick man. Catherine, his happiest days were over when your days began. He cursed you, I dare say, for coming into the world. And it would just do if he cursed you as
he
went out of it. Weep away. As far as I can see, it will be your chief diversion hereafter.'

‘I'll not retract my word, I swear it,' said Catherine. ‘I'll marry him, within this hour, if I may go to Thrushcross Grange afterward. Mr. Heathcliff, you're a cruel man, but you're not really the fiend they say, are you? No, don't turn away!
Do
look! I don't hate you. You cannot help what you are any more than I can help what I will be. I'm not angry that you struck me. Have you never loved
anybody,
in all your life, Uncle?
Never?
Ah! You must look once—I'm so wretched—you can't help being sorry and pitying me.'

‘Keep your hands off me, or I'll kick you!' cried Heathcliff, brutally repulsing her. ‘I'd rather be hugged by a snake. How the devil can you dream of fawning on me? I
detest
you!'

It was growing dark by then, and we heard a sound of voices at the garden gate. Our host hurried out instantly. There was talk for two or three minutes, and he returned alone.

‘It was three servants sent to seek you from the Grange,' said Heathcliff. ‘You should have opened a shutter and called out, for then I could have turned them over to the beasties. I would have liked that.'

Then he bid us go upstairs, through the kitchen, to Zillah's chamber. I did not know how we could get away, but the less time we spent in Mr. Heathcliff's presence, the safer our necks would be. There was no telling when he might throw open the door and allow a bloodsucker to drag one of us off into the moors.

Once in the room, neither of us lay down, for different reasons, I think. Catherine took her station by the window and watched anxiously for morning so that the plan could unfold and she could return to her father.

I seated myself in a chair in front of the door, and rocked, to and fro, half expecting a swarm of vampires to crash through at any moment. How I thought I would protect my Cathy without my dagger, I did not know. A bedpost for a spike, perhaps? A well-placed hairpin? As I rocked, I passed harsh judgment on my many derelictions of duty from which, it struck me then, all the misfortunes of all my employers sprang. It was not the case, in reality, I am aware, but in my imagination that dismal night, I thought Heathcliff himself less guilty than I.

At seven o'clock, after a near-sleepless night, he came and inquired if Miss Linton had risen.

She ran to the door immediately and answered, ‘Yes.'

‘Here, then,' he said, opening it and pulling her out.

I rose to follow, but he turned the lock again. I demanded my release.

‘Be patient,' he replied. ‘I'll send up your breakfast in a while.'

I thumped on the panels, and rattled the latch angrily, and Catherine asked why I was still shut up. He answered, I must try to endure it another hour, and they went away.

I endured it two or three hours before I heard a footstep, not Mr. Heathcliff's.

‘I've brought you something to eat,' said a voice. The door opened and I beheld Hareton, laden with food enough to last me all day.

‘Take it,' he added, thrusting the tray into my hand.

‘Stay one minute,' I began.

‘Nay!' cried he, slamming the door and locking it behind him.

All that day I waited, but no one returned for me. That night, instead of waiting at the door for the beasties to come for me, I set my chair at the window. To this day, I do not know what possessed me to do so. Did I expect them to fly through the window? Did I wish to see death before it overtook me?

What I saw through the window that night was far more frightening than death. It was close to the witching hour, and I must have drifted off. Something woke me as strong as a nudge on the shoulder and I peered out into the darkness, through the wavy glass. There was a queer half-moon low in the sky that illuminated the yard below where shadows lurked. Drawing closer to the window, my breath fogging on the glass, I squinted. The shadows had shifted. Then, not shadows at all; I realized it was cloaked figures I watched. They came from the corners of the house, from over the stone wall, through the gaps in the eaves of the dovecote…crawling, walking, oozing.

Creatures with a purpose, they were. Evil for certain; I could smell it in the air, like the foul breath of Satan's hounds. Toward a tall, cloaked figure they moved, drawn to it. As I watched, my breath caught in my throat and I realized it enticed a part of me, as well. Suddenly, my heart pounded and my palms were slick with sweat. Something deep inside me wanted to squeeze beneath the window sash, slip down the wall, and slink across the shadows to join them in worshipping it.

The tallest of the creatures raised its hands, the hood of its cloak falling, and that was when I saw him. My first instinct was to draw back, to pull the draperies, to hide beneath the bed, and pray for dawn, but I could not look away. You see…

It was Mr. Heathcliff!

Frozen I was by fear, by dread, by the knowledge that somewhere deep in my heart, I had known what Linton suggested was true. I had known he was one of them from the beginning. From the day Mr. Earnshaw brought him home.

He was one of the undead—he was vampire!

Before I could contemplate the meaning of such a revelation, I heard the swarm of beasties begin to hiss and growl, spit and snarl. From the midst of them, I saw them thrust something,
someone
forward. A young girl with long, pale hair and a slender, pretty face. The moonlight shimmered off her hair as she was offered to Mr. Heathcliff. I don't think she made a peep; perhaps she was too terrified or perhaps all the hissing and squealing, now near a frenzy, simply drowned out her meager voice.

The shadows-turned-bloodsuckers held the girl by her upper arms and I watched with unspeakable horror as Mr. Heathcliff leaned over her and bared his fangs. One of the beasties grabbed her hair, pulling her head back to expose her pretty, slender neck, and just as Mr. Heathcliff was about to sink his ivory teeth into her, he looked up at the window and his gaze met mine. In those black, hellish eyes I was shocked not by the violence in them, but by what appeared to be remorse. It lasted no more than a blink of an eye and then he took her. She screamed…or perhaps it was I. I do not know, for my head was so full of the sound that I fell back in my chair, my hands clasped over my ears.

I did not look out that window again that night. Nor did I watch the door. For some reason, for once, I was not afraid for myself or my charge, and I slept long and hard, a dreamless sleep.

In the morning, I half expected Mr. Heathcliff to come for me, for he knew I had seen the truth of his existence. But he did not come. I remained enclosed, the whole day, and the whole of the next night, and another, and another. Five nights and four days I remained. The bloodsuckers did not congregate again in the courtyard below my window, and I saw nobody but Hareton, once every morning. He was a model of a jailer: surly, and dumb, and deaf to every attempt at moving his sense of justice or compassion.

As time passed with no word of Cathy, I began to wish Heathcliff had sent one of his vampires for me, for that could have been no less cruel than my imprisonment.

O
n the fifth afternoon of my incarceration at Wuthering Heights, a different step approached—lighter and shorter, and this time, the person entered the room. It was Zillah, donned in her scarlet shawl, with a black silk bonnet on her head and a willow basket swung on her arm.

‘Eh, dear! Mrs. Dean,' she exclaimed. ‘Blessed be to see you! There's been talk of you at Gimmerton. They all said you had been carried off by a swarm of bloodsuckers from Cheshire on their way to a vampire fair, and the miss with you. I didn't believe it; you strike me as too smart for Cheshire beasties, and then the master told me you'd been rescued, and he'd lodged you here! Did you escape from them on your own, or did my master and young Hareton come brandishing swords and rip you from their talons? They say Hareton is a master of the sword already, though mostly he prefers a hoe. He has a way of hooking them with it and then he draws them close, beheads them with the sharp blade, and runs the handle through their black hearts just to be certain the deed is done. I haven't seen it myself, but—'

‘Your master is a true scoundrel!' I interrupted. ‘But he shall answer for it. He needn't have raised that tale; it shall all be laid bare!'

‘What do you mean?' asked Zillah. ‘It's not
his
tale. They tell that in the village—about how you were swept off the road to Gimmerton into vampire carriages. Yellow wheels, they said they had. I said to Earnshaw, when I came in, “There's queer things, Mr. Hareton, happened since I went off,” I said to him. “It's a sad pity what happened to that young lass, and Nelly Dean. She was a good housekeeper,” I told him. From the way he looked at me, I thought he had not heard, so I told him the rumor of the Cheshire bloodsuckers. The master listened, and he just smiled to himself, and said, “If they have been in the hands of vampires, they are free now, Zillah. Nelly Dean is lodged, at this minute, in your room. You can tell her she can go when you go up; here is the key. The fright of her encounter with the beasties got into her head, and she would have run home and perhaps been swept up again, but I kept her here safe till she came round to her senses. You can bid her go to the Grange, at once, if she be able, and carry a message from me, that her young lady will follow in time to attend the squire's funeral.”

‘My master is dead?' I asked, overwhelmed by the thought of it.

‘No, no. Sit you down, Mrs. Dean,' Zillah replied. ‘He's not dead. Doctor Kenneth thinks he may last another day. I met him on the road and asked.'

Instead of sitting down, I snatched my outdoor things and hastened below, for the door was now open.

On entering the kitchen, I looked about for someone to give information of Catherine. The place was filled with sunshine and the door stood wide open, but nobody seemed at hand. As I hesitated whether to go off at once, or return and seek my mistress, a slight cough drew my attention to the hearth.

Linton lay on the settle, sole tenant, sucking a stick of sugar-candy and pursuing my movements with apathetic eyes.

‘Where is Miss Catherine?' I demanded sternly, supposing I could frighten him into giving information by catching him thus, alone.

He sucked on like an innocent.

‘Is she gone?'

‘No,' he replied. ‘She's upstairs. She's not to go with you; we won't let her.'

‘You won't let her, little idiot!' I exclaimed. ‘Direct me to her room immediately, or I'll make you sing out sharply.'

‘Papa would make you sing out, if you attempt to get there,' he answered. ‘He says I'm not to be soft with Catherine; she's my wife, and it's shameful that she should wish to leave me! He says she hates me and wants me to die, so that she may have my money. But she shan't have it, and she shan't go home! She never shall! She may cry as much as she pleases!'

He resumed his former occupation, closing his eyes as if he meant to drop asleep.

I wanted to snatch the sweet from his hand and stab him with it. But first, I wanted to run it through his father's black, lifeless heart. What kind of turncoat creature was Mr. Heathcliff that he could slay vampires, but also be one of them? Had my first Catherine known what he was? Was that what had driven her so mad in the end? Was that why, to this day, she could not rest in her grave? Or was the truth of her unrest even darker, I wondered, thinking of the little fang buds she had grown. Did Heathcliff still hold some sort of command over her? But I could not contemplate that matter now. I had bigger fields to cut.

I addressed the boy again. ‘Have you forgotten all Catherine's kindness to you last winter, when you affirmed you loved her, and when she brought you books, and sang you songs, and came many a time through wind and snow to see you? And you join him against her. That's fine gratitude, is it not?'

The corner of Linton's mouth fell and he took the sugar-candy from his lips.

‘Did she come to Wuthering Heights because she hated you?' I continued. ‘Think for yourself! As to your money, she does not even know that you will have any. And you say she's crying, and yet you leave her alone, up there in a strange house!
You,
who have felt what it is to be so neglected! You're a heartless, selfish boy!'

‘I can't stay with her,' he answered crossly. ‘She cries so I can't bear it. And she won't give over, though I say I'll call my father. I did call him once and he threatened to throw her into the barnyard to the wailing beasties at midnight if she was not quiet. But she began again the instant he left the room, moaning and grieving all night long.'

‘Is Mr. Heathcliff out?' I inquired, perceiving that the wretched creature had no power to sympathize with his cousin's mental tortures.

‘He's in the courtyard,' he replied. ‘He's talking to Doctor Kenneth, who says Uncle is dying, truly, at last. I'm glad, for I shall be master of the Grange after him—and Catherine always spoke of it as
her
house. It isn't hers! It's mine; Papa says everything she has is mine. All her nice books are mine. She offered to give me them and her pony, Minny, if I would get the key of our room and let her out, but I told her she had nothing to give, they were all, all mine. And then she cried and took a little picture from her neck, and said I should have the two pictures in a gold case—on one side her mother, and on the other, Uncle. That was yesterday—I said
they
were mine, too, and tried to get them from her. The spiteful thing wouldn't let me. She pushed me off, and hurt me. I shrieked out and Papa came and he struck her down.'

‘And were you pleased to see her struck?' I asked.

‘I was glad at first—she deserved punishing for pushing me, but when Papa was gone, she made me come to the window and showed me her cheek cut on the inside, against her teeth, and her mouth filling with blood. She has never spoken to me since, and I sometimes think she can't speak for pain. I don't like to think so! But she's a naughty thing for crying continually, and she looks so pale and wild, I'm afraid of her!'

‘And you can get the key if you choose?' I said.

‘Yes, when I am upstairs,' he answered. ‘But I can't walk upstairs now.'

‘In what apartment is it?' I asked.

‘Oh,' he cried, ‘I shan't tell
you
where it is! It is our secret. Nobody, neither Hareton nor Zillah, are to know. You've tired me—go away, go away!' And he turned his face onto his arm, and shut his eyes again.

I considered it best to depart without seeing Mr. Heathcliff, and bring a rescue for my young lady, from the Grange. So I retrieved my little knife from where I had been forced to throw it in the yard days before and set off in great haste, looking neither to right or left along the road for bloodsuckers.

How changed I found my master, even in those few days! He lay an image of sadness, and resignation, waiting for his death. Very young he looked, though his actual age was thirty-nine. He thought of Catherine, for he murmured her name. I touched his hand and spoke.

‘Catherine is coming, dear master!' I whispered. ‘She is alive, and well, and will be here, I hope, tonight.'

I trembled at the first effects of this information. He half rose up, looked eagerly round the apartment, and then sank back in a swoon.

As soon as he recovered, I related our detention at the Heights. I uttered as little as possible against Linton, nor did I describe all his father's brutal conduct—my intentions being to add no bitterness, if I could help it, to his already overflowing cup.

He knew that one of his enemy's purposes was to secure the personal property, as well as the estate, to his son, or rather himself, yet why he did not wait till his decease? It was a puzzle to my master how nearly he and his nephew would quit the world together.

However, he felt that his will had better be altered. Instead of leaving Catherine's fortune at her own disposal, he determined to put it in the hands of trustees, for her use during her life and for her children. This way, it could not fall to Mr. Heathcliff should Linton die.

I dispatched a man to fetch the attorney, and four more, provided with serviceable weapons, to demand my young lady of her jailer. Both parties were delayed very late. The single servant returned first.

He said Mr. Green, the lawyer, was out when he arrived at his house, and he had to wait two hours for his re-entrance. Then Mr. Green told him he had a little business in the village that must be done, but he would be at Thrushcross Grange before morning.

The four men came back unaccompanied, also. They brought word that Catherine was too ill to quit her room and Mr. Heathcliff would not allow them to see her in that state.

I scolded the stupid fellows well, for listening to that tale, but I did not carry it to my master. Instead, in the morning, I resolved to take a whole bevy up to the Heights and storm it, literally, unless the prisoner was quietly surrendered to us.

Her father
shall
see her, I vowed, and vowed again, if that devil be killed on his own door-stones in trying to prevent it!

Happily, I was spared the journey, and the trouble.

It was evening and I was about my duties when I heard a knock at the door and hurried to it, hoping it was Mr. Green. The harvest moon shone clear outside. It was not the attorney. My own sweet little mistress sprang on my neck, sobbing, ‘Nelly! Nelly! Is Papa alive?'

‘Yes!' I cried. ‘Yes, my angel, he is. God be thanked, you are safe with us again!'

She wanted to run upstairs to Mr. Linton's room, but I compelled her to sit down on a chair, and made her drink, and washed her pale face, chafing it into a faint color with my apron. I implored her to say she was happy with young Heathcliff. She stared, but soon comprehending why I counseled her to utter the falsehood, she assured me she would not complain.

I couldn't abide to be present at their meeting. I stood outside the chamber door a quarter of an hour, and hardly ventured near the bed after that.

All was composed, however. Catherine's despair was as silent as her father's joy. She supported him calmly, in appearance, and he fixed on her features his raised eyes, that seemed dilating with joy.

He died blissfully, Mr. Lockwood. Kissing her cheek, he murmured, ‘I am going to her.' None could have noticed the exact minute of his death, it was so entirely without a struggle.

Whether Catherine had spent her tears, or whether the grief was too weighty to let them flow, she sat there dry-eyed till the sun rose. She sat till noon, and would still have remained there had I not coaxed her away to rest.

It was well I succeeded in removing her, for at dinner-time appeared the lawyer, having called at Wuthering Heights first to get his instructions on how to behave. He had sold himself to Mr. Heathcliff, it seemed, the foul and despicable dog—may the bloodsuckers drain him!

“Mrs. Dean, did he know what he was?” I asked, unable to keep my thoughts silent another moment. “Did he know he was a vampire?”

Nelly pursed her lips in annoyance. “No one knew, except perhaps his immediate household, and me, Mr. Lockwood! May I continue?”

I slid back in my chair. “Please do,” I begged, for though a part of me wished to pack my bags and take leave of this doomed house that very moment, a stronger tide pulled me toward knowing all there was to know of this sad tale.

Mr. Green took upon himself to order everything and everybody about the place, Mrs. Dean continued.

He gave all the servants but me notice to quit. He carried his delegated authority to the point of insisting that Edgar Linton should not be buried beside his wife, but on holy ground inside the gates of the kirkyard with his family. Preparations for the funeral were hurried over; Catherine, Mrs. Linton Heathcliff now, was suffered to stay at the Grange till her father's corpse had been laid to rest.

She told me that her anguish had at last spurred Linton to dare the risk of liberating her after his father turned away the men I sent to retrieve her. The boy fetched the key and unlocked the door before going to bed. Catherine stole out before the break of day by way of the window in her mother's room and ran all the way home as if being chased by a swarm of vampires, even though she saw nary a one those long four miles.