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Wuthering Heights — Chapter 28 | Full Audiobook · Chapter by Chapter — The Lost Library

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  Chapter 28 On the 5th morning, or rather afternoon, I heard a
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  different set of footsteps, lighter and shorter, and this
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  time the person entered the room.
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  It was Zilla, wrapped in a scarlet shawl, a black silk
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  bonnet on her head in a Willow basket hanging from her arm.
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  Oh dear, Mrs. Dean, she exclaimed.
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  Well, there's quite the buzz about you in Gimmerton.
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  I honestly thought you and Missy had vanished into the Black
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  Horse Marsh until the master mentioned you didn't found and
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  was staying here. Did you end up on an island
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  somehow? How long were you stuck there?
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  Did the master rescue you, Missus Dean?
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  But you don't look so thin. You haven't been too unwell,
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  have you? Your master is a true villain, I
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  replied. But he'll have to face the
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  consequences. He shouldn't have spread that
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  story. The truth will come out.
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  What are you talking about? Asked Zilla.
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  It's not his story. That's what they're saying in
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  the village about you being lost in the marsh.
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  I mentioned it to Earnshaw when I got back.
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  Oh, strange things have happened, Mr. Hareton, since I
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  left. It's such a shame about that
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  promising young girl Eddie. And poor Nelly Dean, he seemed
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  surprised, so I shared the rumour with him.
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  The master listened, just smiled to himself and said if they were
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  in the marsh, they're oh now Zilla, Nelly Dean is currently
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  settled in your room, you can ask her to leave when you go up.
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  Here's the key. The bog water affected her mind
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  and she nearly ran home in a daze, but I managed to calm her
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  until she regained her senses. You can instruct her to head to
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  the Grange immediately if she's able, and deliver a message from
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  me that her young lady will arrive in time for the Squire's
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  funeral. Mr. Edgar isn't dead, is he?
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  I gasped. Oh, Zilla, Zilla, no, no, sit
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  down my dear mistress, she replied.
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  You're still quite unwell. He's not dead.
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  Doctor Kenneth believes he might hold on for another day.
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  I met him on the road and asked. Instead of sitting, I grabbed my
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  outdoor things and hurried downstairs as the way was clear.
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  Upon entering the house, I searched for someone to enquire
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  about Catherine. The place was bathed in sunlight
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  and the door was wide open, yet no one was around.
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  As I debated whether to leave immediately or return to find my
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  mistress, A faint cough caught my attention near the hearth.
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  Linton lay on the settle, the sole occupant sucking on a stick
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  of sugar candy and watching my movements with indifferent eyes.
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  Where is Miss Catherine? I demanded with authority,
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  hoping to intimidate him into revealing information by
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  catching him alone. He continued, sucking on his
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  sweet, looking as innocent as ever.
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  Is she gone? I asked.
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  No, he replied. She's upstairs.
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  She's not leaving. We won't let her.
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  You won't let her, you little fool, I exclaimed.
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  Tell me where her room is, rightness, or I'll make you
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  regret it. If you try to get there, my
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  father will make you regret it, he shot back.
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  He says I shouldn't be soft with Catherine.
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  She's my wife and it's disgraceful for her to want to
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  leave me. He claims she hates me and wants
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  me dead for my money, but she won't get it and she won't go
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  home. She never will.
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  She can cry and be sick all she wants.
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  He returned to his previous activity, closing his eyes as if
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  he intended to fall asleep. Master Heathcliff, I continued.
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  Have you forgotten all the kindness Catherine showed you
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  last winter? You said you loved her most when
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  she brought you books, sang to you and braved the wind and snow
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  to visit you. She cried when she missed even 1
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  evening because she knew you'd be disappointed.
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  You felt then that she was far too good for you.
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  And now you believe the lies your father tells, even though
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  you know he despises both of you and you side with him against
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  her. Had some gratitude.
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  Him, isn't it? Linton's mouth turned down and
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  he removed the candy from his lips.
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  Did she come to Wuthering Heights because she despises
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  you? I pressed on.
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  Think about it. As for your inheritance, she
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  doesn't even know you have one, and you say she's unwell, yet
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  you leave her alone in that unfamiliar house.
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  You who know what it's like to be neglected.
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  You could feel sorry for your own pain.
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  And she felt sorry for you too. But you won't feel sorry for
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  her. Look, I'm crying.
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  Master Heathcliff, An older woman, just a servant.
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  And you, after claiming such love and having every reason to
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  adore her, save all your tears for yourself and lie there
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  comfortably. You're a heartless, selfish boy.
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  I can't stay with her, he replied irritably.
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  I won't stay alone. She cries so much I can't stand
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  it, and she won't stop even when I say I'll call my father.
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  I did call him once, and he threatened to strangle her if
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  she didn't quiet down. But she started again the moment
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  he left, moaning and lamenting all night while I screamed in
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  frustration because I couldn't sleep.
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  Is Mr. Heathcliff out? I asked, sensing that the
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  miserable creature lacked any ability to empathize with his
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  cousin's mental anguish. He's in the courtyard, he
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  answered, talking to Doctor Kenneth, who says Uncle is truly
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  dying at last. I'm glad because I'll be the
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  master of the Grange after him. Catherine always called it her
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  house. It's not hers, it's mine.
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  Papa says everything she has belongs to me.
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  All her lovely books are mine. She even offered them to me
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  along with her pretty birds and her pony Mini if I would get the
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  key to our room and let her out. But I told her she had nothing
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  to give. They were all mine.
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  Then she cried and took a little picture from around her neck,
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  saying I could have that. Two pictures in a gold case, one
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  side her mother, the other uncle when they were young.
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  That was yesterday. I said those were mine too, and
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  tried to take them from her. The spiteful thing wouldn't have
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  let me. She pushed me away and hurt me.
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  I screamed. That scares her.
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  She heard Papa coming and she broke the hinges and split the
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  case, giving me her mother's portrait.
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  She tried to hide the other, but Papa asked what was going on and
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  I explained. He took the one I had and
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  ordered her to give hers to me. She refused and he he struck her
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  down, tore it from the chain and crushed it under foot.
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  And did it please you to see her struck?
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  I asked, with my own motives for encouraging his talk.
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  I winked. He replied.
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  I do it when I see my father hit a dog or a horse because he hits
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  them so hard. At first I was glad she deserved
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  it for pushing me, but after Dad left, she called me to the
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  window and showed me the inside of her cheek cut against her
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  teeth, her mouth filling with blood.
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  Then she picked up the pieces of the picture and sat with her
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  face to the wall. She hasn't spoken to me since.
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  Sometimes I think she can't speak because of the pain.
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  I don't like to think that, but she's always crying and she
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  looks so pale and wild that I'm scared of her.
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  And you can get the key if you want to?
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  I asked. Yes, when I'm upstairs, he said.
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  But I can't walk upstairs now. Which room is it it?
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  I inquired. Oh, he exclaimed.
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  I'm not telling you where it is. It's our secret.
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  Neither Hareton nor Zilla can know.
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  There, you've worn me out. Go away, go away.
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  He turned his face into his arm and closed his eyes again.
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  I decided it was best to leave without confronting Mr.
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  Heathcliff and instead bring help for the young lady from the
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  Grange. Upon my arrival, the servants
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  were both astonished and overjoyed to see me.
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  When they learned that their young mistress was safe, a few
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  of them were ready to rush and announce the news at Mr. Edgar's
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  door. However, I insisted on
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  delivering the message myself. How altered he was.
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  Even in those few days, he lay there, a picture of sorrow and
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  resignation awaiting his end. He appeared so youthful.
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  Though he was 39, one might have guessed him to be at least 10
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  years younger. His thoughts were with
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  Catherine. He murmured her name.
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  I touched his hand and spoke softly.
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  Catherine is coming, dear Master, I whispered.
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  She's alive and well, and I hope she will be here tonight.
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  I trembled at his initial reaction to this news.
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  He half rose, looked eagerly around the room, then collapsed
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  back in a faint. Once he regained consciousness.
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  I recounted a forced visit and attention at the heights I
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  claimed Heathcliff had compelled me to enter, which wasn't
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  entirely true. I spoke as little as possible
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  against Linton, nor did I detail his father's cruel behaviour.
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  My aim was to avoid adding any more bitterness to his already
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  overflowing burden. He realized that one of his
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  adversaries goals was to secure both the personal property and
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  the estate for his son, or rather for himself.
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  Yet it baffled my master why he didn't simply wait until his
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  death, unaware of how closely he and his nephew would leave this
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  world together. Nevertheless, he decided it was
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  wise to amend his will. Instead of allowing Catherine
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  full control over her fortune, he resolved to place it in the
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  hands of trustees for her benefit during her lifetime and
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  for her children if she had any thereafter.
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  This way it wouldn't fall into Mr. Heathcliff's hands if Linton
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  were to die. Following his instructions, I
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  sent a man to fetch the lawyer and dispatched four others armed
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  and ready to demand the release of my young lady from her
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  captor. Both groups were significantly
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  delayed. The lone servant returned first,
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  reporting that Mister Green, the attorney, was not home when he
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  arrived and he had to wait two hours for his return.
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  Once back, Mr. Green mentioned he had some business in the
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  village to attend to, but assured he would be at Thrush
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  Cross Grange before morning. The four men also returned empty
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  handed. They reported that Catherine was
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  too I'll to leave her room and Heathcliff refused to let them
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  see her. I reprimanded the foolish men
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  for believing such a story, deciding to gather a larger
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  group at dawn to storm the heights if necessary.
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  Unless the prisoner was peacefully handed over to us, I
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  swore to myself that her father would see her, even if it meant
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  confronting that devil on his own doorstep to make it happen.
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  Fortunately, I was spared the journey and the trouble.
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  Around 3:00 in the morning, I went downstairs to fetch a jug
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  of water. As I was crossing the hall, a
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  sudden knock at the front door startled me.
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  Oh, it's just green, I thought, calming myself.
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  Only green. I intended to have someone else
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  answer it, but the knock came again, persistent yet not loud.
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  I set the jug on the banister and hurried to open the door
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  myself. The harvest moon illuminated the
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  night outside. It wasn't the attorney.
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  My dear little mistress flung herself into my arms, sobbing.
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  Ellen. Ellen, is Papa alive?
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  Yes, I exclaimed. Yes, my Angel, he is.
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  Thank God you're safe with us again.
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  She was eager to rush upstairs to Mr. Linton's room, breathless
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  as she was, but I insisted she sit down first.
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  I made her drink some water and washed her pale face, rubbing it
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  gently with my apron until a faint colour returned.
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  Then I told her I must go ahead and announce her arrival, urging
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  her to say she was happy with young Heathcliff.
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  She looked at me in surprise, but quickly understood why.
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  I advised her to lie and promised she wouldn't complain.
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  I couldn't bear to be present at their meeting.
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  I lingered outside the chamber door for 15 minutes, barely
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  daring to approach the bed. Even then, everything was
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  serene. Catherine's despair was a silent
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  as her father's joy. She appeared calm as she
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  supported him while he gazed at her with eyes wide in ecstasy.
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  He passed away peacefully, Mr. Lockwood.
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  He died in bliss. As he kissed her cheek, he
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  murmured. I am going to her, and you, my
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  dear child, will join us. He never moved or spoke again,
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  maintaining that enraptured, radiant gaze until his pulse,
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  imperceptible, ceased and his soul departed.
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  No one could pinpoint the exact moment of his death.
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  It was utterly without struggle. Whether Catherine had exhausted
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  her tears or the grief was too heavy to allow them.
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  She sat there, dry eyed until dawn.
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  She remained until noon and would have continued to brood
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  over the deathbed if I hadn't insisted she take some rest.
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  It was fortunate I managed to move her, for by dinner the
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  lawyer arrived, having stopped at Wuthering Heights to receive
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  instructions on how to proceed. He had sold himself to Mr.
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  Heathcliff, which explained his delay in responding to my
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  master's summons. Thankfully, no thoughts of
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  worldly matters disturbed him. After his daughter arrived, Mr.
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  Green took it upon himself to command everyone and everything
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  around the estate. He dismissed all the servants
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  except for me. He even attempted to use his
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  delegated power to prevent Edgar Linton from being buried next to
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  his wife, insisting instead on Interment in the family Chapel.
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  However, the will stood in his way, and I loudly protested
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  against any violation of its terms.
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  The funeral was rushed through. Catherine, now Missus Linton
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  Heathcliff, was allowed to remain at the Grange until her
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  father's body had been removed. She confided in me that her
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  distress had finally driven Linton to risk freeing her.
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  She overheard the men I sent arguing at the door and caught
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  the essence of Heathcliff's response.
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  It pushed her to desperation. Linton, who had been taken to
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  the small parlour shortly after I left, was so frightened that
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  he fetched the key before his father returned.
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  He cleverly unlocked and relocked the door without
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  closing it. And when it was time for bed, he
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  pleaded to sleep with Hatton, a request that was granted just
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  this once. Catherine slipped out before
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  dawn. She dared not attempt the doors
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  for fear the dogs would sound an alarm.
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  Instead, she explored the vacant rooms and inspected their
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  windows. Fortunately, she found her
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  mother's window and managed to climb out through its lattice,
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  reaching the ground with the help of the nearby fir tree.
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  Her accomplice paid the price for his timid scheming despite
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  his careful efforts.