CHAPTER 12
Miss Isabella moped about the park and garden, silent and in tears; and her brother shut himself up among books that he never opened – expecting that Catherine would repent and come to ask his pardon. Meanwhile, she fasted, thinking that at every meal Edgar regretted her absence, and that pride alone stopped him from throwing himself at her feet.
I went about my household duties, convinced that I was the only sensible soul in the place. I wasted no pity on any of them, but determined they should recover as they pleased; and though it was tiresomely slow, at last I saw some progress.
Mrs. Linton, on the third day, unbarred her door, and asked for water and a basin of gruel, for she believed she was dying. 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, groaning.
‘Oh, I will die,’ she exclaimed, ‘since no one cares about me.’ Then she murmured, ‘No, I’ll not die – he’d be glad – he would never miss me!’
‘Did you want anything, ma’am?’ I inquired, still keeping my composure, in spite of her ghastly looks and strange manner.
‘What is that apathetic being doing?’ she demanded, pushing the tangled hair from her wasted face.
‘If you mean Mr. Linton, he’s tolerably well, I think. He is continually among his books, since he has no other company.’
I should not have spoken so if I had known her true condition, but I believed that she was acting illness.
‘Among his books!’ she cried. ‘And I dying! My God! does he know how I’m altered? Cannot you inform him that it is frightful earnest? Nelly, are you speaking the truth about him? Is he actually so utterly indifferent for my life?’
‘Why, ma’am,’ I answered, ‘of course the master does not fear that you will let yourself die of hunger.’
‘You think not? Persuade him!’ she returned. ‘Say you are certain I will!’
‘No, you forget, Mrs. Linton,’ I suggested, ‘that you have eaten some food this evening, and tomorrow 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 eyes – and oh, I’ve been tormented! I’ve been haunted, Nelly! But I begin to think 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. How dreary to meet death, surrounded by their cold faces! Isabella, afraid to enter the room, dreading to watch Catherine go. And Edgar standing solemnly by to see it over; then offering thanks to God for restoring peace to his house, and going back to his books! What has he to do with books, when I am dying?’
She could not bear the idea of Mr. Linton’s philosophical resignation. Tossing about feverishly, she 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, and I objected. But her face and her changing moods began to alarm me terribly.
One minute she was violent; the next, she was pulling the feathers from the rents she had just made in the pillow, and arranging them on the sheet according to their species.
‘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. 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, 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 began to gather it up.
‘I see in you, Nelly,’ she continued dreamily, ‘an aged woman, with grey hair and bent shoulders. This bed is the fairy cave under Penistone crags, and you are gathering elf-bolts to hurt our cattle; pretending 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: I know 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.
‘Don’t you see that face?’ she inquired, gazing earnestly at the mirror.
Say what I could, I could not make her comprehend it was her own; so I covered it with a shawl.
‘It’s behind there still!’ she said anxiously. ‘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, and bid her be still; for she shuddered, and kept straining her gaze towards the glass.
‘There’s nobody here!’ I insisted. ‘It was yourself, Mrs. Linton.’
‘Myself!’ she gasped, ‘and the clock is striking twelve! It’s true, then! that’s dreadful!’
She pulled the bed-clothes over her eyes. I attempted to steal to the door to call her husband; but I was summoned back by a piercing shriek – the shawl had dropped from the mirror.
‘Why, what is the matter?’ cried I. ‘Wake up! That is the mirror, Mrs. Linton; and you see yourself in it, and there am I too by your side.’
She was trembling and bewildered; but the horror gradually passed from her face and gave way to a glow of shame.
‘Oh, dear! I thought I was back at Wuthering Heights,’ she sighed. ‘Because I’m weak, my brain got confused. Stay with me. I dread sleeping: my dreams appal me.’
‘A sound sleep would do you good, ma’am,’ I answered: ‘and I hope you will not try 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. Do let me feel it – it comes straight down the moor – do let me have one breath!’
To pacify her I held the window open 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 had entirely subdued her: our fiery Catherine was no better than a wailing child.
‘How long is it since I shut myself in here?’ she asked.
‘Three days,’ I replied.
‘What! 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 running into this room desperate after they quarrelled. Then utter blackness overwhelmed me, and I fell on the floor. I felt sure of having a fit, or going raging mad. Before I recovered, it began to be dawn, and, Nelly, I’ll tell you what I thought, and what has kept recurring till I feared for my reason.
‘I thought as I lay there, with my head against that table leg, and my eyes dimly seeing 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 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 them at all. I was a child; my father was just buried, and I was separated from Heathcliff for the first time. Rousing from a dismal doze after a night of weeping, I lifted my hand: it struck the table-top, and then memory burst in, in a paroxysm of despair.
‘I cannot say why I felt so wildly wretched – but, supposing at twelve years old I had been wrenched from the Heights, a
nd from Heathcliff, and been converted at a stroke into Mrs. Linton, the lady of Thrushcross Grange, the wife of a stranger. You may imagine the abyss where I grovelled! You should have spoken to Edgar, indeed you should! Oh, I’m burning! I wish I were out of doors! I wish I were a girl again, half savage and hardy, and free! Why am I so changed? I’m sure I should be myself were I among the heather on those hills. Open the window again! 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. ‘I’ll open it myself.’
And before I could stop her, she crossed the room, walking very uncertainly, threw open the window and bent out, careless of the frosty air that cut about her shoulders as keen as a knife. I tried to make her retire; but her delirious strength surpassed mine.
There was no moon, and everything lay in misty darkness: not a light gleamed from any house, far or near; and those at Wuthering Heights were never visible – still she asserted she caught their shining.
‘Look!’ she cried eagerly, ‘that’s my room with the candle, and the trees swaying before it; and the other candle is in Joseph’s garret. Joseph sits up late, doesn’t he? He’s waiting till I come home so that he may lock the gate. Well, he’ll wait a while yet. We must pass by Gimmerton Kirk to go that rough journey! We’ve braved its ghosts often together, and dared each other to stand among the graves. But, Heathcliff, if I dare you now, will you venture? If you do, I’ll keep you. I’ll not lie there by myself: they may bury me twelve feet deep, but I won’t rest till you are with me!’
She paused, and resumed with a strange smile. ‘He’s considering – he’d rather I’d come to him! Find a way, then! not through that churchyard. You are slow! Be content, you always followed me!’
Perceiving it vain to argue against her insanity, I was planning how to wrap something around her, without letting go of her (for I could not trust her alone by the gaping window), when, to my consternation, Mr. Linton entered. He had just come from the library, and had heard our talking.
‘Oh, sir!’ I cried, ‘My poor mistress is ill, and I cannot manage her at all; pray, persuade her to go to bed.’
‘Catherine ill?’ he said, hastening over to us. ‘Shut the window, Ellen! Catherine!’
Mrs. Linton’s haggard appearance smote him speechless, and he could only glance from her to me in horrified astonishment.
‘She’s been fretting here,’ I continued, ‘and eating scarcely anything, and never complaining: she would let no-one in till this evening, and so we couldn’t inform you of her state, as we were not aware of it ourselves; but it is nothing.’
‘It is nothing, is it, Ellen Dean?’ he said sternly. ‘You shall account for keeping me ignorant of this!’ He took his wife in his arms, and looked at her with anguish.
At first she gave him no glance of recognition: but by degrees she shifted her attention from the outer darkness and centred it on him.
‘Ah! you are come, are you, Edgar Linton?’ she said angrily. ‘You are always found when least wanted, and when you are wanted, never! I suppose we shall have plenty of lamentations now – but they can’t keep me from my narrow home out yonder: my resting-place, where I’m bound before spring is over! Not among the Lintons, mind, under the chapel-roof, but in the open air, with a head-stone; and you may please yourself whether you go to them or come to me!’
‘Catherine, what have you done?’ began the master. ‘Am I nothing to you any more? Do you love that wretch Heath—’
‘Hush!’ cried Mrs. Linton. ‘Hush, this moment! You mention that name and I will leap from the window! My soul will be on that hill-top before you lay hands on me again. I don’t want you, Edgar: I’m past wanting you. Return to your books.’
‘Her mind wanders, sir,’ I said. ‘She has been talking nonsense the whole evening; but let her have quiet, and she’ll rally. We must be cautious not to vex her.’
‘I desire no further advice from you,’ answered Mr. Linton. ‘You knew your mistress’s nature, and you encouraged me to harass her. And not to give me one hint of how she has been these three days! It was heartless! Months of sickness could not cause such a change!’
I began to defend myself, thinking it too bad to be blamed for another’s wicked waywardness. ‘I knew Mrs. Linton to be headstrong,’ cried I: ‘but I didn’t know that you wished to foster her fierce temper! I didn’t know that, to humour her, I should wink at Mr. Heathcliff. I was a faithful servant in telling you! Well, next time you may gather intelligence for yourself!’
‘The next time you bring a tale to me you shall quit my service, Ellen Dean,’ he replied.
‘You’d rather hear nothing about it, I suppose, then, Mr. Linton?’ said I. ‘Heathcliff has your permission to come a-courting to Miss, and to drop in at every opportunity to poison the mistress against you?’
Confused as Catherine was, her wits were alert.
‘Ah! Nelly has played traitor,’ she exclaimed, passionately. ‘Nelly is my hidden enemy. You witch! Let me go, and I’ll make her howl!’
She struggled furiously to free herself from Linton’s arms. Resolving to seek medical aid, I left the room.
In passing through the garden to reach the road, I saw something white moving. Despite my hurry, I stopped to examine it, lest ever after I should imagine that it was a creature of the other world. My surprise and perplexity were great on discovering Miss Isabella’s spaniel suspended by a handkerchief, and nearly at its last gasp. I quickly released the dog, wondering how it could have got there, and who had treated it so. While untying it, I thought I caught the beat of horses’ feet galloping at some distance; a strange sound at two o’clock in the morning.
Dr. Kenneth was just leaving the house as I came up the street; and my account of Catherine Linton’s illness induced him to accompany me back immediately. He was a plain rough man, and bluntly spoke his doubt of her surviving this second attack.
‘Nelly Dean,’ said he, ‘I can’t help fancying there’s an extra cause for this. What has been happening at the Grange? We’ve odd reports up here. A stout, hearty lass like Catherine does not fall ill for a trifle. How did it begin?’
‘The master will tell you,’ I answered; ‘but you know the Earnshaws’ violent dispositions, and Mrs. Linton caps them all. I may say this; it began in a quarrel. She was struck during a tempest of passion with a kind of fit. That’s her account, at least: for she flew off and locked herself up. Afterwards, she refused to eat, and now she alternately raves and remains in a half dream, with her mind filled with all sorts of strange ideas.’
‘Mr. Linton will be sorry?’ asked Kenneth.
‘Sorry? he’ll break his heart should anything happen!’ I replied. ‘Don’t alarm him more than necessary.’
‘Well, I told him to beware,’ said my companion. ‘Hasn’t he been intimate with Mr. Heathcliff lately?’
‘Heathcliff frequently visits at the Grange,’ answered I, ‘though more because the mistress knew him when a boy, than because the master likes his company. At present he’s banned from calling, after presuming to aspire after Miss Linton.’
‘And does Miss Linton turn a cold shoulder on him?’
‘I’m not in her confidence.’
‘No, she’s a sly one,’ he remarked, shaking his head. ‘She keeps her own counsel! But she’s a real little fool. I have it from good authority that last night she and Heathcliff were walking in the plantation at the back of your house for two hours; and he pressed her not to go in again, but just mount his horse and ride away with him! She promised to be prepared on their next meeting; so you urge Mr. Linton to look sharp!’
This news filled me with fresh fears, and I ran most of the way back. The little dog was yelping in the garden; I seized it and carried it in with me.
On ascending to Isabella’s room, my suspicions were confirmed: it was empty. What could be done? There was a possibility of overtaking them if pursued in
stantly. I could not pursue them, however; and I dared not tell my master, absorbed as he was in his present calamity, and having no heart to spare for a second grief! I saw nothing for it but to hold my tongue.
When Dr. Kenneth arrived, Catherine lay in a troubled sleep. Her husband hung over her pillow, watching every change of her features. The doctor spoke hopefully of her recovery if we could only keep her perfectly tranquil. To me, he said the danger was not so much death, as the loss of her wits.
I did not close my eyes that night, nor did Mr. Linton: and the servants were all up long before the usual hour, moving stealthily through the house, and exchanging whispers. Everyone was active but Miss Isabella. Her brother asked if she had risen, and I trembled lest he should send me to call her; but I was spared that. One of the maids, a thoughtless girl, came panting into the chamber, crying: ‘Oh, dear, dear! What next? Master, master, our young lady—’
‘Hold your noise!’ I cried hastily.
‘Speak lower, Mary. What is the matter?’ said Mr. Linton. ‘What ails your young lady?’
‘She’s gone! Heathcliff’s run off wi’ her!’ gasped the girl.
‘No! It cannot be!’ exclaimed Linton.
‘Why, I met a lad that brings milk here,’ she stammered, ‘and he asked whether we weren’t in trouble at the Grange. Then he told me how a gentleman and lady had stopped at a blacksmith’s, two miles out of Gimmerton, not long after midnight! and the blacksmith’s daughter recognised them. The man was Heathcliff, she felt certain: the lady had a cloak about her face; but when she took a drink of water she saw her very plain. They rode on away from the village. The lass told it all over Gimmerton this morning.’
‘Are we to try and bring her back?’ I asked him. ‘What should we do?’
‘She went of her own accord,’ answered the master; ‘she 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.’
And that was all he said on the subject. He did not mention her in any way, except to tell me to send her things to her new home, when I knew where it was.