Wuthering Bites (30 page)

1802

T
his September, I was invited to hunt the moors of a friend, and on my journey to his abode, I unexpectedly came within fifteen miles of Gimmerton. The hostler at a roadside public house was holding a pail of water to refresh my horses when a cart of very green oats, newly reaped, passed by, and he remarked—

“From Gimmerton, that is! They're always three weeks later than other folk wi' their harvest.”

“Gimmerton?” I repeated. My residence in that locality had already grown dim and dreamy, though I did find that Mrs. Dean's tales were handy at the dining table and I was often invited to supper parties on the basis of my entertainment capabilities. Fine society was always interested in vampire anecdotes, for life on the moors where the infestation seemed far removed from the parlors of London. And now that I was safe away and secure in more civilized residence, I often thought fondly on my strange experiences and stranger acquaintances at Wuthering Heights. “How far is it from here?”

“Fourteen mile' over the hills, and a rough road,” he answered.

“Vampires thick between here and there?” I inquired.

“Hostile ones? Not too thick,” the hostler replied. “You and yer servant armed?”

“Of course.”

“And yer mounts look to be quick. You'll be safe enough.”

The reason I asked was that a sudden impulse had seized me to visit Thrushcross Grange. It was scarcely noon, and it occurred to me that I might as well pass the night under my own roof as in an inn, as my lease had not run out yet and I had fully paid. Besides, I could spare a day easily to arrange matters with my landlord to end the lease, and thus save myself the trouble of invading the neighborhood again.

Having rested awhile, I directed my servant to inquire the way to the village; we managed the distance in some three hours. I reached the Grange before sunset and rode into the court. Under the porch, a girl of nine or ten sat knitting, and an old woman reclined on the house steps, smoking a meditative pipe.

“Is Mrs. Dean within?” I demanded of the dame.

“Mistress Dean? Nay!” she answered. “She doesn't bide here. She's up at th' Heights.”

“Are you the housekeeper, then?” I continued.

“Eea. I keep th' hause,” she replied.

“Well, I'm Mr. Lockwood, the master. Are there any rooms to lodge me in, I wonder? I wish to stay here all night.”

“Th' maister!” she cried in astonishment. “We heard by way of a fishmonger's sister that ye had been devoured by bloodsuckers two months past whilst on yer way from church with the parson and his sister. Sucked dry as pigs' bladders and found swinging in the bell tower among the pigeons. Yah should have sent word!”

“That I had not been devoured?” I questioned.

The crone thought a moment, lips curled around the stem of her pipe. “Fair 'nough,” she finally conceded, rising on old, stiff bones. “Ye do seem live 'nough to me, and they's nothin' dry nor proper 'bout th' place. No, there isn't!”

She threw down her pipe and bustled in; the girl followed, and I entered, too, soon perceiving that her report was true; the house was in no condition for my overnight stay. But I bid the woman stay composed. I told her I would go out for a walk, and, meantime, she must try to prepare a corner of a sitting room for me to sup in, and a bedroom to sleep in. No sweeping and dusting, only good fires and dry sheets were necessary. “All well at the Heights?” I inquired of the woman.

“Fer all I know!” she answered. “As well as might be 'spected.”

I would have asked why Mrs. Dean had deserted the Grange, but decided I would ask her myself, so I turned away and made my exit, rambling leisurely along. Behind me, the sinking sun glowed and the mild glory of a rising moon in front—one fading, and the other brightening, as I quitted the park with my armed servant trailing behind me, and climbed the stony byroad branching off to Mr. Heathcliff's dwelling.

Before I arrived in sight of Wuthering Heights manor house, all that remained of day was a beamless, amber light along the west, but I could see every pebble on the path, and every blade of grass, by that splendid moon. Not one sign of the infestation did we come upon, but I knew better than to think they were not out there, watching, waiting.

I had neither to climb the gate, nor to knock—it yielded to my hand.
That is an improvement!
I thought. And I noticed another, by the aid of my nostrils; a fragrance of stocks and wallflowers wafted on the air, from amongst the homely fruit trees.

Both doors and shutters were open, and yet, as is usually the case in a coal district, a fine, red fire illumined the chimney. I could see the residents within and hear them talk before I entered, and so I looked and listened before announcing my arrival.

“Con-
trary!
” said a voice, as sweet as a silver bell. “That for the third time! I'm not going to tell you again!”

“Contrary, then,” answered another, in deep but softened tones. “And now, kiss me for minding so well.”

“No. Read it over first correctly, without a single mistake.”

The male speaker began to read; he was a young man, respectably dressed, and seated at a table, having a book before him. His handsome features glowed with pleasure, and his eyes kept impatiently wandering from the page to a small white hand over his shoulder.

Its owner stood behind, her light shining ringlets blending, at intervals, with his brown locks as she bent to superintend his studies. It was lucky he could not see her face, or he would never have been so steady. I could see her quite well, however, and I bit my lip at having thrown away the chance I might have had of doing something besides staring at its smiting beauty.

The task was done, not free from further blunders, but the pupil claimed a reward, and received at least five kisses, which he generously returned. Then they came to the door, whispering as if they had a great secret. As they took their leave, I was surprised to see that not only the young man picked up a heavy sword from the hearth, but the woman as well, though hers was shorter and appeared light of weight.

After they were gone, I walked around to the kitchen and there sat my old friend, Nelly Dean, sewing and singing a song. When I advanced, recognizing me directly, she jumped to her feet, crying—

“Why, bless you, Mr. Lockwood! How could you think of returning in this way? All's shut up at Thrushcross Grange. You should have given us notice!”

“I've arranged to be accommodated there,” I answered. “I depart again tomorrow. And how are you transplanted here, Mrs. Dean? Tell me that.”

“Zillah left, and Mr. Heathcliff wished me to come, soon after you went to London, and stay till you returned. But, step in, pray! Have you walked from Gimmerton this evening?”

“From the Grange,” I replied. “I brought an escort who waits in the courtyard. While they make me lodging room at the Grange, I want to finish my business with your master because I don't think of having another opportunity in a hurry.”

“What business, sir?” said Nelly, conducting me into the house. “He's gone out at present, and won't return soon.”

“About the rent,” I answered.

“Oh! Then it is with Mrs. Heathcliff you must settle,” she observed. “Or rather with me. She has not learnt to manage her affairs yet, and I act for her; there's nobody else.”

I looked surprised.

“Ah! You have not heard, I see!” she continued.

“Heard?” I asked.

“Sit down, and let me take your hat. You have had nothing to eat, have you?”

“I have ordered supper at the Grange. Now you sit down, too. Let me hear what you have to say. You say you don't expect them back for some time—the young people?”

“No—I have to scold them every evening for their late rambles, but they pay me no heed. She has convinced him of her capabilities in fighting the bloodsuckers and now they have become somewhat of a team, as odd as it sounds. At least have a drink of our old ale. It will do you good.”

She hastened to fetch it and re-entered in a minute, bearing a reaming pint, whose contents I lauded with becoming earnestness. And afterward she furnished me with the sequel of Heathcliff's history. He had a “queer” end, as she expressed it.

 

I was summoned to Wuthering Heights, within a fortnight of your leaving us, she said, and I obeyed joyfully, for Catherine's sake.

My first interview with her grieved and shocked me! She had altered so much since our separation. Mr. Heathcliff did not explain his reasons for changing his mind about my coming here; he only told me he wanted me, and he was tired of seeing Catherine. He ordered that I must make the little parlor my sitting room, and keep her with me. It was enough if he were obliged to see her once or twice a day.

She seemed pleased at this arrangement and, by degrees, I smuggled over a great number of books, and other articles, that had formed her amusement at the Grange and flattered myself we should get on in tolerable comfort.

The delusion did not last long. Catherine, contented at first, in a brief space grew irritable and restless. For one thing, she was forbidden to move out of the garden, and it fretted her sadly to be confined to its narrow bounds as spring drew on. For another, in caring for the house, I was forced to quit her frequently, and she complained of loneliness. She said she ever preferred quarrelling with Joseph in the kitchen to sitting at peace in her solitude.

I did not mind the skirmishes between the two, but Hareton was often obliged to seek the kitchen also, when the master wanted to have the house to himself. In the beginning, Cathy quietly joined in my occupations and shunned remarking or addressing him—though he was always as sullen and silent as possible. After a while, she changed her behavior and became incapable of letting him alone, talking at him, commenting on his stupidity and idleness, expressing her wonder how he could endure the life he lived. She remarked time and time again how amazed she was that he could sit a whole evening staring into the fire, and dozing.

‘He's just like a dog, is he not, Nelly?' she once observed. ‘Or a cart-horse? He does his work, eats his food, and sleeps, eternally! What a blank, dreary mind he must have! Do you ever dream, Hareton? And, if you do, what is it about? But you can't speak to me!'

Then she looked at him, but he would neither open his mouth nor look again. ‘He's perhaps dreaming now,' she continued. ‘He twitched his shoulder as the terrier twitches hers. Ask him.'

‘Mr. Hareton will ask the master to send you upstairs, if you don't behave!'

‘I know why Hareton never speaks, when I am in the kitchen,' she exclaimed, on another occasion. ‘He is afraid I shall laugh at him. Nelly, what do you think? He began to teach himself to read once, and, because I laughed, he burned his books, and dropped it. Was he not a fool?'

‘Were not you naughty?' I said. ‘Answer me that.'

‘Perhaps I was,' she went on. ‘But I did not expect him to be so silly. Hareton, if I gave you a book, would you take it now? I'll try!'

She placed one she had been perusing on his hand. He flung it off, and muttered, if she did not give over, he would break her neck.

‘Well, I shall put it here,' she said, ‘in the table drawer, and I'm going to bed.'

Then she whispered to me to watch whether he touched it, and departed. But he would not come near it, and so I informed her in the morning, to her great disappointment. I saw she was sorry for his persevering sulkiness and indolence. Her conscience reproved her for frightening him off improving himself; she had done it effectually.

But her ingenuity was at work to remedy the injury. While I ironed, or pursued other stationary employments I could not well do in the parlor, she would bring some pleasant volume and read it aloud to me. Often she read about vampires. Did you know, Mr. Lockwood, there are actually novels now being published with vampires in them? When Hareton was there, she generally paused in an interesting part, and left the book lying about, and she did it repeatedly. But he was as obstinate as a mule, and, instead of snatching at her bait, in wet weather he took to smoking with Joseph, one on each side of the fire, the elder happily too deaf to understand her wicked nonsense, as he would have called it, the younger doing his best to seem to disregard it. On fine evenings the latter followed his bloodsucker hunting expeditions, and Catherine yawned and sighed, and teased me to talk to her, and ran off into the court or garden, the moment I began. Then she began to cry, saying she was tired of living, that her life was useless.

Mr. Heathcliff, who grew more and more disinclined to society, spent long hours sitting at Catherine's unholy grave. He no longer sought out the local vampires, either to congregate with them or kill them. I had heard nothing more of how he knew how to save Catherine or when such salvation would take place. Truthfully, I did not want to know, and I had my own hands full with the young Miss Cathy.

On Easter Monday, Joseph went to Gimmerton fair with some cattle, and in the afternoon I was busy getting up linen in the kitchen. Earnshaw sat, morose as usual, at the chimney corner, and my little mistress was beguiling an idle hour with drawing pictures on the window panes, varying her amusement by bursts of songs, and whispered ejaculations, and quick glances of annoyance and impatience in the direction of her cousin. Earnshaw steadfastly smoked, and looked into the grate.

At a notice that I could do with her no longer, intercepting my light, she removed to the hearth-stone. I bestowed little attention on her proceedings, but, presently, I heard her begin—

‘I've found out, Hareton, that I want—that I'm glad—that I should like you to be my cousin, now, if you had not grown so cross to me, and so rough.'

Hareton returned no answer.

‘Hareton, Hareton, Hareton! Do you hear?' she continued.