<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2>
<p>Cathy stayed at Thrushcross Grange five weeks: till
Christmas. By that time her ankle was thoroughly cured, and
her manners much improved. The mistress visited her often
in the interval, and commenced her plan of reform by trying to
raise her self-respect with fine clothes and flattery, which she
took readily; so that, instead of a wild, hatless little savage
jumping into the house, and rushing to squeeze us all breathless,
there ‘lighted from a handsome black pony a very dignified
person, with brown ringlets falling from the cover of a feathered
beaver, and a long cloth habit, which she was obliged to hold up
with both hands that she might sail in. Hindley lifted her
from her horse, exclaiming delightedly, ‘Why, Cathy, you
are quite a beauty! I should scarcely have known you: you
look like a lady now. Isabella Linton is not to be compared
with her, is she, Frances?’ ‘Isabella has not
her natural advantages,’ replied his wife: ‘but she
must mind and not grow wild again here. Ellen, help Miss
Catherine off with her things—Stay, dear, you will
disarrange your curls—let me untie your hat.’</p>
<p>I removed the habit, and there shone forth beneath a grand
plaid silk frock, white trousers, and burnished shoes; and, while
her eyes sparkled joyfully when the dogs came bounding up to
welcome her, she dared hardly touch them lest they should fawn
upon her splendid garments. She kissed me gently: I was all
flour making the Christmas cake, and it would not have done to
give me a hug; and then she looked round for Heathcliff.
Mr. and Mrs. Earnshaw watched anxiously their meeting; thinking
it would enable them to judge, in some measure, what grounds they
had for hoping to succeed in separating the two friends.</p>
<p>Heathcliff was hard to discover, at first. If he were
careless, and uncared for, before Catherine’s absence, he
had been ten times more so since. Nobody but I even did him
the kindness to call him a dirty boy, and bid him wash himself,
once a week; and children of his age seldom have a natural
pleasure in soap and water. Therefore, not to mention his
clothes, which had seen three months’ service in mire and
dust, and his thick uncombed hair, the surface of his face and
hands was dismally beclouded. He might well skulk behind
the settle, on beholding such a bright, graceful damsel enter the
house, instead of a rough-headed counterpart of himself, as he
expected. ‘Is Heathcliff not here?’ she
demanded, pulling off her gloves, and displaying fingers
wonderfully whitened with doing nothing and staying indoors.</p>
<p>‘Heathcliff, you may come forward,’ cried Mr.
Hindley, enjoying his discomfiture, and gratified to see what a
forbidding young blackguard he would be compelled to present
himself. ‘You may come and wish Miss Catherine
welcome, like the other servants.’</p>
<p>Cathy, catching a glimpse of her friend in his concealment,
flew to embrace him; she bestowed seven or eight kisses on his
cheek within the second, and then stopped, and drawing back,
burst into a laugh, exclaiming, ‘Why, how very black and
cross you look! and how—how funny and grim! But
that’s because I’m used to Edgar and Isabella
Linton. Well, Heathcliff, have you forgotten me?’</p>
<p>She had some reason to put the question, for shame and pride
threw double gloom over his countenance, and kept him
immovable.</p>
<p>‘Shake hands, Heathcliff,’ said Mr. Earnshaw,
condescendingly; ‘once in a way that is
permitted.’</p>
<p>‘I shall not,’ replied the boy, finding his tongue
at last; ‘I shall not stand to be laughed at. I shall
not bear it!’ And he would have broken from the
circle, but Miss Cathy seized him again.</p>
<p>‘I did not mean to laugh at you,’ she said;
‘I could not hinder myself: Heathcliff, shake hands at
least! What are you sulky for? It was only that you
looked odd. If you wash your face and brush your hair, it
will be all right: but you are so dirty!’</p>
<p>She gazed concernedly at the dusky fingers she held in her
own, and also at her dress; which she feared had gained no
embellishment from its contact with his.</p>
<p>‘You needn’t have touched me!’ he answered,
following her eye and snatching away his hand. ‘I
shall be as dirty as I please: and I like to be dirty, and I will
be dirty.’</p>
<p>With that he dashed headforemost out of the room, amid the
merriment of the master and mistress, and to the serious
disturbance of Catherine; who could not comprehend how her
remarks should have produced such an exhibition of bad
temper.</p>
<p>After playing lady’s-maid to the new-comer, and putting
my cakes in the oven, and making the house and kitchen cheerful
with great fires, befitting Christmas-eve, I prepared to sit down
and amuse myself by singing carols, all alone; regardless of
Joseph’s affirmations that he considered the merry tunes I
chose as next door to songs. He had retired to private
prayer in his chamber, and Mr. and Mrs. Earnshaw were engaging
Missy’s attention by sundry gay trifles bought for her to
present to the little Lintons, as an acknowledgment of their
kindness. They had invited them to spend the morrow at
Wuthering Heights, and the invitation had been accepted, on one
condition: Mrs. Linton begged that her darlings might be kept
carefully apart from that ‘naughty swearing boy.’</p>
<p>Under these circumstances I remained solitary. I smelt
the rich scent of the heating spices; and admired the shining
kitchen utensils, the polished clock, decked in holly, the silver
mugs ranged on a tray ready to be filled with mulled ale for
supper; and above all, the speckless purity of my particular
care—the scoured and well-swept floor. I gave due
inward applause to every object, and then I remembered how old
Earnshaw used to come in when all was tidied, and call me a cant
lass, and slip a shilling into my hand as a Christmas-box; and
from that I went on to think of his fondness for Heathcliff, and
his dread lest he should suffer neglect after death had removed
him: and that naturally led me to consider the poor lad’s
situation now, and from singing I changed my mind to
crying. It struck me soon, however, there would be more
sense in endeavouring to repair some of his wrongs than shedding
tears over them: I got up and walked into the court to seek
him. He was not far; I found him smoothing the glossy coat
of the new pony in the stable, and feeding the other beasts,
according to custom.</p>
<p>‘Make haste, Heathcliff!’ I said, ‘the
kitchen is so comfortable; and Joseph is up-stairs: make haste,
and let me dress you smart before Miss Cathy comes out, and then
you can sit together, with the whole hearth to yourselves, and
have a long chatter till bedtime.’</p>
<p>He proceeded with his task, and never turned his head towards
me.</p>
<p>‘Come—are you coming?’ I continued.
‘There’s a little cake for each of you, nearly
enough; and you’ll need half-an-hour’s
donning.’</p>
<p>I waited five minutes, but getting no answer left him.
Catherine supped with her brother and sister-in-law: Joseph and I
joined at an unsociable meal, seasoned with reproofs on one side
and sauciness on the other. His cake and cheese remained on
the table all night for the fairies. He managed to continue
work till nine o’clock, and then marched dumb and dour to
his chamber. Cathy sat up late, having a world of things to
order for the reception of her new friends: she came into the
kitchen once to speak to her old one; but he was gone, and she
only stayed to ask what was the matter with him, and then went
back. In the morning he rose early; and, as it was a
holiday, carried his ill-humour on to the moors; not re-appearing
till the family were departed for church. Fasting and
reflection seemed to have brought him to a better spirit.
He hung about me for a while, and having screwed up his courage,
exclaimed abruptly—‘Nelly, make me decent, I’m
going to be good.’</p>
<p>‘High time, Heathcliff,’ I said; ‘you
<i>have</i> grieved Catherine: she’s sorry she ever came
home, I daresay! It looks as if you envied her, because she
is more thought of than you.’</p>
<p>The notion of <i>envying</i> Catherine was incomprehensible to
him, but the notion of grieving her he understood clearly
enough.</p>
<p>‘Did she say she was grieved?’ he inquired,
looking very serious.</p>
<p>‘She cried when I told her you were off again this
morning.’</p>
<p>‘Well, <i>I</i> cried last night,’ he returned,
‘and I had more reason to cry than she.’</p>
<p>‘Yes: you had the reason of going to bed with a proud
heart and an empty stomach,’ said I. ‘Proud
people breed sad sorrows for themselves. But, if you be
ashamed of your touchiness, you must ask pardon, mind, when she
comes in. You must go up and offer to kiss her, and
say—you know best what to say; only do it heartily, and not
as if you thought her converted into a stranger by her grand
dress. And now, though I have dinner to get ready,
I’ll steal time to arrange you so that Edgar Linton shall
look quite a doll beside you: and that he does. You are
younger, and yet, I’ll be bound, you are taller and twice
as broad across the shoulders; you could knock him down in a
twinkling; don’t you feel that you could?’</p>
<p>Heathcliff’s face brightened a moment; then it was
overcast afresh, and he sighed.</p>
<p>‘But, Nelly, if I knocked him down twenty times, that
wouldn’t make him less handsome or me more so. I wish
I had light hair and a fair skin, and was dressed and behaved as
well, and had a chance of being as rich as he will be!’</p>
<p>‘And cried for mamma at every turn,’ I added,
‘and trembled if a country lad heaved his fist against you,
and sat at home all day for a shower of rain. Oh,
Heathcliff, you are showing a poor spirit! Come to the
glass, and I’ll let you see what you should wish. Do
you mark those two lines between your eyes; and those thick
brows, that, instead of rising arched, sink in the middle; and
that couple of black fiends, so deeply buried, who never open
their windows boldly, but lurk glinting under them, like
devil’s spies? Wish and learn to smooth away the
surly wrinkles, to raise your lids frankly, and change the fiends
to confident, innocent angels, suspecting and doubting nothing,
and always seeing friends where they are not sure of foes.
Don’t get the expression of a vicious cur that appears to
know the kicks it gets are its desert, and yet hates all the
world, as well as the kicker, for what it suffers.’</p>
<p>‘In other words, I must wish for Edgar Linton’s
great blue eyes and even forehead,’ he replied.
‘I do—and that won’t help me to
them.’</p>
<p>‘A good heart will help you to a bonny face, my
lad,’ I continued, ‘if you were a regular black; and
a bad one will turn the bonniest into something worse than
ugly. And now that we’ve done washing, and combing,
and sulking—tell me whether you don’t think yourself
rather handsome? I’ll tell you, I do.
You’re fit for a prince in disguise. Who knows but
your father was Emperor of China, and your mother an Indian
queen, each of them able to buy up, with one week’s income,
Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Grange together? And you
were kidnapped by wicked sailors and brought to England.
Were I in your place, I would frame high notions of my birth; and
the thoughts of what I was should give me courage and dignity to
support the oppressions of a little farmer!’</p>
<p>So I chattered on; and Heathcliff gradually lost his frown and
began to look quite pleasant, when all at once our conversation
was interrupted by a rumbling sound moving up the road and
entering the court. He ran to the window and I to the door,
just in time to behold the two Lintons descend from the family
carriage, smothered in cloaks and furs, and the Earnshaws
dismount from their horses: they often rode to church in
winter. Catherine took a hand of each of the children, and
brought them into the house and set them before the fire, which
quickly put colour into their white faces.</p>
<p>I urged my companion to hasten now and show his amiable
humour, and he willingly obeyed; but ill luck would have it that,
as he opened the door leading from the kitchen on one side,
Hindley opened it on the other. They met, and the master,
irritated at seeing him clean and cheerful, or, perhaps, eager to
keep his promise to Mrs. Linton, shoved him back with a sudden
thrust, and angrily bade Joseph ‘keep the fellow out of the
room—send him into the garret till dinner is over.
He’ll be cramming his fingers in the tarts and stealing the
fruit, if left alone with them a minute.’</p>
<p>‘Nay, sir,’ I could not avoid answering,
‘he’ll touch nothing, not he: and I suppose he must
have his share of the dainties as well as we.’</p>
<p>‘He shall have his share of my hand, if I catch him
downstairs till dark,’ cried Hindley. ‘Begone,
you vagabond! What! you are attempting the coxcomb, are
you? Wait till I get hold of those elegant locks—see
if I won’t pull them a bit longer!’</p>
<p>‘They are long enough already,’ observed Master
Linton, peeping from the doorway; ‘I wonder they
don’t make his head ache. It’s like a
colt’s mane over his eyes!’</p>
<p>He ventured this remark without any intention to insult; but
Heathcliff’s violent nature was not prepared to endure the
appearance of impertinence from one whom he seemed to hate, even
then, as a rival. He seized a tureen of hot apple sauce
(the first thing that came under his gripe) and dashed it full
against the speaker’s face and neck; who instantly
commenced a lament that brought Isabella and Catherine hurrying
to the place. Mr. Earnshaw snatched up the culprit directly
and conveyed him to his chamber; where, doubtless, he
administered a rough remedy to cool the fit of passion, for he
appeared red and breathless. I got the dishcloth, and
rather spitefully scrubbed Edgar’s nose and mouth,
affirming it served him right for meddling. His sister
began weeping to go home, and Cathy stood by confounded, blushing
for all.</p>
<p>‘You should not have spoken to him!’ she
expostulated with Master Linton. ‘He was in a bad
temper, and now you’ve spoilt your visit; and he’ll
be flogged: I hate him to be flogged! I can’t eat my
dinner. Why did you speak to him, Edgar?’</p>
<p>‘I didn’t,’ sobbed the youth, escaping from
my hands, and finishing the remainder of the purification with
his cambric pocket-handkerchief. ‘I promised mamma
that I wouldn’t say one word to him, and I
didn’t.’</p>
<p>‘Well, don’t cry,’ replied Catherine,
contemptuously; ‘you’re not killed. Don’t
make more mischief; my brother is coming: be quiet! Hush,
Isabella! Has anybody hurt you?’</p>
<p>‘There, there, children—to your seats!’
cried Hindley, bustling in. ‘That brute of a lad has
warmed me nicely. Next time, Master Edgar, take the law
into your own fists—it will give you an
appetite!’</p>
<p>The little party recovered its equanimity at sight of the
fragrant feast. They were hungry after their ride, and
easily consoled, since no real harm had befallen them. Mr.
Earnshaw carved bountiful platefuls, and the mistress made them
merry with lively talk. I waited behind her chair, and was
pained to behold Catherine, with dry eyes and an indifferent air,
commence cutting up the wing of a goose before her.
‘An unfeeling child,’ I thought to myself; ‘how
lightly she dismisses her old playmate’s troubles. I
could not have imagined her to be so selfish.’ She
lifted a mouthful to her lips: then she set it down again: her
cheeks flushed, and the tears gushed over them. She slipped
her fork to the floor, and hastily dived under the cloth to
conceal her emotion. I did not call her unfeeling long; for
I perceived she was in purgatory throughout the day, and wearying
to find an opportunity of getting by herself, or paying a visit
to Heathcliff, who had been locked up by the master: as I
discovered, on endeavouring to introduce to him a private mess of
victuals.</p>
<p>In the evening we had a dance. Cathy begged that he
might be liberated then, as Isabella Linton had no partner: her
entreaties were vain, and I was appointed to supply the
deficiency. We got rid of all gloom in the excitement of
the exercise, and our pleasure was increased by the arrival of
the Gimmerton band, mustering fifteen strong: a trumpet, a
trombone, clarionets, bassoons, French horns, and a bass viol,
besides singers. They go the rounds of all the respectable
houses, and receive contributions every Christmas, and we
esteemed it a first-rate treat to hear them. After the
usual carols had been sung, we set them to songs and glees.
Mrs. Earnshaw loved the music, and so they gave us plenty.</p>
<p>Catherine loved it too: but she said it sounded sweetest at
the top of the steps, and she went up in the dark: I
followed. They shut the house door below, never noting our
absence, it was so full of people. She made no stay at the
stairs’-head, but mounted farther, to the garret where
Heathcliff was confined, and called him. He stubbornly
declined answering for a while: she persevered, and finally
persuaded him to hold communion with her through the
boards. I let the poor things converse unmolested, till I
supposed the songs were going to cease, and the singers to get
some refreshment: then I clambered up the ladder to warn
her. Instead of finding her outside, I heard her voice
within. The little monkey had crept by the skylight of one
garret, along the roof, into the skylight of the other, and it
was with the utmost difficulty I could coax her out again.
When she did come, Heathcliff came with her, and she insisted
that I should take him into the kitchen, as my fellow-servant had
gone to a neighbour’s, to be removed from the sound of our
‘devil’s psalmody,’ as it pleased him to call
it. I told them I intended by no means to encourage their
tricks: but as the prisoner had never broken his fast since
yesterday’s dinner, I would wink at his cheating Mr.
Hindley that once. He went down: I set him a stool by the
fire, and offered him a quantity of good things: but he was sick
and could eat little, and my attempts to entertain him were
thrown away. He leant his two elbows on his knees, and his
chin on his hands and remained rapt in dumb meditation. On
my inquiring the subject of his thoughts, he answered
gravely—‘I’m trying to settle how I shall pay
Hindley back. I don’t care how long I wait, if I can
only do it at last. I hope he will not die before I
do!’</p>
<p>‘For shame, Heathcliff!’ said I. ‘It
is for God to punish wicked people; we should learn to
forgive.’</p>
<p>‘No, God won’t have the satisfaction that I
shall,’ he returned. ‘I only wish I knew the
best way! Let me alone, and I’ll plan it out: while
I’m thinking of that I don’t feel pain.’</p>
<p>‘But, Mr. Lockwood, I forget these tales cannot divert
you. I’m annoyed how I should dream of chattering on
at such a rate; and your gruel cold, and you nodding for
bed! I could have told Heathcliff’s history, all that
you need hear, in half a dozen words.’</p>
<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p>
<p>Thus interrupting herself, the housekeeper rose, and proceeded
to lay aside her sewing; but I felt incapable of moving from the
hearth, and I was very far from nodding. ‘Sit still,
Mrs. Dean,’ I cried; ‘do sit still another
half-hour. You’ve done just right to tell the story
leisurely. That is the method I like; and you must finish
it in the same style. I am interested in every character
you have mentioned, more or less.’</p>
<p>‘The clock is on the stroke of eleven, sir.’</p>
<p>‘No matter—I’m not accustomed to go to bed
in the long hours. One or two is early enough for a person
who lies till ten.’</p>
<p>‘You shouldn’t lie till ten. There’s
the very prime of the morning gone long before that time. A
person who has not done one-half his day’s work by ten
o’clock, runs a chance of leaving the other half
undone.’</p>
<p>‘Nevertheless, Mrs. Dean, resume your chair; because
to-morrow I intend lengthening the night till afternoon. I
prognosticate for myself an obstinate cold, at least.’</p>
<p>‘I hope not, sir. Well, you must allow me to leap
over some three years; during that space Mrs.
Earnshaw—’</p>
<p>‘No, no, I’ll allow nothing of the sort! Are
you acquainted with the mood of mind in which, if you were seated
alone, and the cat licking its kitten on the rug before you, you
would watch the operation so intently that puss’s neglect
of one ear would put you seriously out of temper?’</p>
<p>‘A terribly lazy mood, I should say.’</p>
<p>‘On the contrary, a tiresomely active one. It is
mine, at present; and, therefore, continue minutely. I
perceive that people in these regions acquire over people in
towns the value that a spider in a dungeon does over a spider in
a cottage, to their various occupants; and yet the deepened
attraction is not entirely owing to the situation of the
looker-on. They <i>do</i> live more in earnest, more in
themselves, and less in surface, change, and frivolous external
things. I could fancy a love for life here almost possible;
and I was a fixed unbeliever in any love of a year’s
standing. One state resembles setting a hungry man down to
a single dish, on which he may concentrate his entire appetite
and do it justice; the other, introducing him to a table laid out
by French cooks: he can perhaps extract as much enjoyment from
the whole; but each part is a mere atom in his regard and
remembrance.’</p>
<p>‘Oh! here we are the same as anywhere else, when you get
to know us,’ observed Mrs. Dean, somewhat puzzled at my
speech.</p>
<p>‘Excuse me,’ I responded; ‘you, my good
friend, are a striking evidence against that assertion.
Excepting a few provincialisms of slight consequence, you have no
marks of the manners which I am habituated to consider as
peculiar to your class. I am sure you have thought a great
deal more than the generality of servants think. You have
been compelled to cultivate your reflective faculties for want of
occasions for frittering your life away in silly
trifles.’</p>
<p>Mrs. Dean laughed.</p>
<p>‘I certainly esteem myself a steady, reasonable kind of
body,’ she said; ‘not exactly from living among the
hills and seeing one set of faces, and one series of actions,
from year’s end to year’s end; but I have undergone
sharp discipline, which has taught me wisdom; and then, I have
read more than you would fancy, Mr. Lockwood. You could not
open a book in this library that I have not looked into, and got
something out of also: unless it be that range of Greek and
Latin, and that of French; and those I know one from another: it
is as much as you can expect of a poor man’s
daughter. However, if I am to follow my story in true
gossip’s fashion, I had better go on; and instead of
leaping three years, I will be content to pass to the next
summer—the summer of 1778, that is nearly twenty-three
years ago.’</p>
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