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Wuthering Heights — Chapter 29 | Full Audiobook · Chapter by Chapter — The Lost Library

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  Chapter 29 The evening following the funeral, my young lady and I
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  found ourselves in the library, lost in sombre reflection, one
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  of us in despair over our recent loss and daring to speculate
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  about the bleak future ahead. We had just come to the
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  conclusion that the best possible outcome for Catherine
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  would be to remain at the Grange, at least for as long as
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  Linton lived. Ideally, Linton would join her
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  there and I would stay on his housekeeper.
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  This seemed an overly optimistic scenario, yet I clung to the
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  hope, feeling a lift in spirits at the thought of keeping my
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  home, my job and most importantly, my cherished young
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  mistress. Juice, Then a servant, one of
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  those dismissed but not yet gone, burst in breathless,
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  announcing that that devil Heathcliff was approaching
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  through the courtyard. Should he lock the door against
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  him? Had we been reckless enough to
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  give such an order? There was no time to act on it.
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  Heathcliff dispensed with the formalities of knocking or
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  announcing himself. He was the master, and he
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  exercised his right to enter unannounced.
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  Guided by the sound of the servant's voice, he made his way
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  to the library, entered, and with a gesture, dismissed the
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  servant and closed the door behind him.
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  It was the same room where he had first been received as a
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  guest 18 years ago. The same moonlight streamed
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  through the window and the same autumn landscape stretched
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  outside. We hadn't yet lit a candle, but
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  the room was fully visible, even the portraits on the walls, the
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  striking visage of Missus Linton and the elegant likeness of her
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  husband. Heathcliff moved towards the
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  hearth. Time had scarcely changed him.
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  He was still the same man, his dark face a bit more sallow,
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  perhaps more composed, his frame slightly heavier but otherwise
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  unchanged. Catherine had leapt up, ready to
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  flee the moment she saw him. Stop.
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  He commanded, grabbing her arm. No more running away.
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  Where would you go? I've come to take you home, and
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  I expect you to be a dutiful daughter, not to lead my son
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  into further rebellion. I was at a loss on how to punish
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  him when I found out his role in this.
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  He's so fragile a mere touch might destroy him, but you'll
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  see from his appearance that he's been dealt with.
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  I brought him down the day before yesterday, sat him in a
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  chair and never laid a hand on him.
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  After that I sent Hareton out and we had the room to
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  ourselves. After two hours I called Joseph
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  to carry him back upstairs. Since then, my presence haunts
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  him like a ghost. I suspect he sees me often, even
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  when I'm not there. Hareton says he wakes up
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  screaming at night, calling for you to protect him from me.
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  And whether you care for your dear husband or not, you must
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  come. He's your responsibility now.
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  I relinquish all interest in him to you.
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  Why not let Catherine stay here? I suggested and send Master
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  Linton to her. Since you despise them both.
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  You wouldn't miss them. They can only be a constant
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  torment to your unnatural heart. I'm looking for a tenant for the
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  Grange, he replied. And I want my children around
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  me, naturally. Besides, that girl owes me her
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  work for her keep. I'm not about to pamper her with
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  comfort and laziness once Linton is gone.
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  Hurry up and get ready now. Don't make me force you.
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  I will, Catherine replied. Linton is all I have to love in
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  this world, and even though you've tried your best to make
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  us despise each other, you can't succeed.
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  I dare you to harm him while I'm around, and I dare you to try
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  and scare me. You're quite the bold defender,
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  Heathcliff retorted. But I don't care enough about
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  you to harm him. You'll endure the torment as
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  long as it lasts. It's not me who will turn him
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  against you, It's his own lovely nature.
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  He's as bitter as poison over your leaving and it's aftermath.
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  Don't expect gratitude for this noble loyalty.
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  I overheard him telling Zilla what he'd do if he were as
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  strong as I am. He has the will at his very
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  frailty will sharpen his mind to find a substitute for strength.
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  I know he has a bad nature, Catherine said.
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  He's your son, but I'm glad I have a better one to forgive it.
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  And I know he loves me and that's why I love him.
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  Mr. Heathcliff, you have no one to love you, and no matter how
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  much you make us suffer, will always have the satisfaction of
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  knowing your cruelty stems from your own deeper misery.
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  You are miserable, aren't you? Lonely like the devil, and just
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  as envious. No one loves you.
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  No one will mourn you when you're gone.
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  I wouldn't want to be you. Catherine spoke with a kind of
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  bleak triumph, as if she had resolved to embrace the ethos of
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  a future family and find joy in the sorrows of her foes.
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  You'll regret being yourself soon enough, her father-in-law
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  retorted. If you stand there another
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  moment, be gone which and gather your things.
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  She withdrew with disdain. In her absence, I began to plead
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  for Zilla's position at the Heights, offering to give up
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  mine for her, but he refused outreach.
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  He ordered me to be silent and for the first time allowed
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  himself a glance around the room, taking in the pictures.
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  After studying Missus Linton's portrait, he declared I shall
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  have that home, not because I need it.
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  But he abruptly turned to the fire, continuing with what, for
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  lack of a better term, I must call a smile.
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  I'll tell you what I did yesterday.
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  I got the Sexton who was digging Linton's grave to clear the
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  earth from her coffin lid, and I opened it.
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  I thought for a moment I might stay there when I saw her face
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  again. It is still hers.
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  He had to work hard to move me, but he said it would change if
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  the air touched it. So I loosened one side of the
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  coffin and covered it up, not Linton's side.
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  Dumb him. I wish he'd been sealed in lead.
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  And I bribed the Sexton to pull it away when I'm laid there and
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  slide mine out too. I'll have it arranged that way,
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  and by the time Linton joins us, he won't know which is which.
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  You were truly wicked, Mr. Heathcliff.
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  I exclaimed. Weren't you ashamed to disturb
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  the dead? I disturbed one Nelly, he
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  replied. I found some peace for myself.
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  I'll be much more at ease now and you'll have a better chance
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  of keeping me buried when my time comes.
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  Disturbed her? No, she's been haunting me day
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  and night for 18 relentless years.
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  Until last night. And last night I found calm.
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  I dreamt I was lying in my final rest beside her, my heart
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  stilled and my cheek cold against hers.
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  And if she had turned to dust or worse, what would you have
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  dreamt then? I asked.
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  Of dissolving with her and being even happier?
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  He answered. Do you think I fear such a
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  change? I anticipated that
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  transformation when I opened the lid, but I'm glad it hasn't
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  begun until I can join her. Besides, without a clear
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  impression of her serene face, that strange feeling wouldn't
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  have lifted. It started in a peculiar way,
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  you know. I was frantic after she died
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  endlessly from dawn to dawn, I prayed for her spirit to return
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  to me. I have an unwavering belief in
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  ghosts. I'm convinced they can and do
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  exist among us. On the day she was laid to rest,
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  snow began to fall. That evening I made my way to
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  the churchyard. The wind was as biting as
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  winter, and the place was utterly deserted.
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  I wasn't worried that her foolish husband would venture up
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  the Glen so late, and no one else had any reason to be there
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  alone with only a couple of yards of loose earth separating
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  us. I told myself, I'll hold her in
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  my arms again. If she's cold, I'll blame the
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  north wind for chilling me. If she's still, it's only sleep.
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  I fetched a spade from the tool shed and started digging with
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  all my strength. The spade scraped against the
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  coffin. I use my hands then and the wood
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  began to crack around the screws.
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  I was on the brink of reaching my goal when I thought I heard a
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  sigh from someone above, right at the edge of the grave.
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  Bending down. If I can just get this open.
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  I muttered. I hope they bury us both
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  together. I pulled at it even more
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  desperately. Another sigh came close to my
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  ear. I felt the warm breath of it
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  cutting through the sleet laden wind.
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  I knew no living being was near, but as surely as you sense the
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  presence of something solid in the dark, even if you can't see
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  it, I felt Kathy was there, not beneath me, but on the earth.
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  A sudden wave of relief searched for my heart through every limb.
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  I let go of my torment and immediately felt an
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  indescribable comfort. Her presence enveloped me,
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  stayed with me as I refilled the grave and guided me home.
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  Laugh if you want, but I was convinced I would see her there.
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  I was certain she was with me and I couldn't stop myself from
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  speaking to her. Once I reached the heights, I
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  rushed to the door with urgency. It was locked and I recall that
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  cursed Urnshaw and my wife blocking my way.
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  I remember pausing to knock the wind out of him before hurrying
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  upstairs to our rooms. I'd looked around impatiently.
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  I felt her near. I could almost see her, yet I
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  could not. I should have sweated blood from
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  the agony of my longing, from the intensity of my pleas for
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  just one glimpse, but I had none.
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  She revealed herself, as she often did in life, as a
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  tormentor to me. And since then, sometimes more,
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  sometimes less, I've been tormented by that unbearable
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  torture infernal. My nerves stretched so tight
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  that if they weren't like cat gut, they would have long since
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  weakened to Linton's frailty. Sitting in the house with
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  Hareton, it seemed that stepping outside, I would encounter her.
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  Walking on the Moors, I expected to meet her coming in whenever I
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  left home. I hurried back.
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  She had to be somewhere at the Heights, I was certain.
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  When I tried to sleep in her room, I couldn't bear it.
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  The moment I shut my eyes, she was there, outside the window,
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  sliding back the panels, entering the room, or even
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  laying her beloved head on the pillow.
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  Just like when she was a child. I had to open my eyes to see.
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  So I opened and closed them 100 times each night.
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  Always let down. It tormented me.
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  I often groaned aloud. And that old scoundrel Joseph
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  probably thought my conscience was torturing me.
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  Now that I've seen her, I'm a bit calm.
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  It was a strange kind of torment.
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  Not by inches, but by the tiniest fractions.
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  Luring me with the ghost of hope for 18 years.
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  Mr. Heathcliff paused, wiping his forehead.
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  His hair clung to it, damp with sweat.
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  His eyes were fixed on the glowing embers in the fireplace,
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  his brows raised at the temples, softening his grim expression
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  but giving him a look of deep trouble and intense focus on one
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  consuming thought. He spoke only partly to me, and
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  I stayed silent. I didn't want to hear him talk.
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  After a brief pause, he returned to his contemplation of the
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  picture, took it down and leaned it against the sofa for a better
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  view. While he was absorbed in this,
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  Catherine came in, announcing she was ready once her pony was
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  saddled. Send that over tomorrow.
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  Heathcliff said to me. Then turning to her, he added.
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  And you can do without your pony.
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  It's a fine evening, and at Wuthering Heights you won't need
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  ponies for the journeys you take.
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  Your own feet will suffice. Come along.
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  Goodbye Ellen, whispered. My dear little mistress.
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  Her kiss was cold as ice. Please come visit me, Ellen.
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  Don't forget. Make sure you do no such thing,
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  Missus Dean, her new father interjected.
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  If I need to speak with you, I'll come here myself.
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  I don't want you snooping around my house.
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  He motioned for her to go ahead of him, and with a look that
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  pierced my heart, she complied. From the window, I watched them
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  walk down the garden path. Heathcliff took Catherine's arm,
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  though she initially resisted, and with quick strides he led
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  her into the alley where the trees hid them from view.