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Wuthering Heights — Chapter 34 | Full Audiobook · Chapter by Chapter — The Lost Library

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Chapter 34. In the days following that
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evening, Mr. Heathcliff avoided joining us for meals.
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Though he refused to formally exclude Hareton and Kathy, he
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was unwilling to completely surrender to his emotions,
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preferring instead to keep his distance.
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Subsisting on a single meal a day seemed enough for him.
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One night, after everyone had gone to bed, I heard him descend
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the stairs and exit through the front door.
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I didn't hear him return, and by morning he was still absent.
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It was April then. The weather was delightful and
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warm as the grass as lush as rain and sun could make it, and
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the two small apple trees by the southern wall were in full
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bloom. After breakfast, Catherine
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insisted I bring a chair and sit with my work beneath the fir
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trees at the end of the house. She coaxed Hareton, who had
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fully recovered from his accident, into digging and
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arranging her little garden, which had been moved to that
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spot due to Joseph's complaints. I was contentedly basking in the
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spring sense and the gentle blue sky above, when my young lady,
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who had gone down near the gate to gather some primrose roots
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for a border, returned only partially laden, and informed us
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that Mister Heathcliff was approaching.
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And he spoke to me, she added, her expression puzzled.
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What did he say? Hareton asked.
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He told me to leave as quickly as possible, she replied, but he
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looked so unlike his usual self that I paused for a moment just
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to take it in. In what way?
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He pressed. Well, he seemed almost bright
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and cheerful. No, not just almost.
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He was very much excited, wild and happy, she explained.
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Night walking must entertain him then.
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I remarked, trying to sound nonchalant.
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In truth, I was as taken aback as she was and eager to verify
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her account. Seeing the master in a good mood
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was a rare sight. I concocted a reason to go
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inside. Heathcliff stood at the open
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door. He was pale and trembling, yet
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there was an unmistakable strange joy in his eyes that
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transformed his entire face. Would you like some breakfast?
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I offered. You must be hungry after
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wandering around all night. I was curious about where he'd
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been, but hesitant to ask outright.
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No, I'm not hungry. He replied, turning his head
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away and speaking with a hint of disdain, as if he suspected I
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was trying to uncover the reason behind his unusual cheerfulness.
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I was puzzled. I wasn't sure if this was the
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right moment to offer a word of caution.
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I don't think it's wise to be out wondering.
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I noted, instead of being in bed.
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It's not sensible, especially in this damp season.
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I dare say you'll catch a bad cold or a fever.
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Something's definitely wrong with you now.
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Nothing I can't handle, he replied, and quite gladly.
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As long as you leave me be, get inside and stop bothering me.
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I complied, and as I passed I noticed his breath was quick and
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shallow like a cat's. Yes, I thought to myself, he's
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bound to fall. I'll.
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I can't imagine what he's been up to.
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That afternoon, he joined us for dinner and accepted a heaping
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plate from my hands, as if he intended to make up for missed
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meals. I've neither a cold nor a fever,
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Nelly, he remarked, referring to my earlier comment.
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And I'm ready to do justice to the food you've prepared.
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He picked up his knife and fork, poised to start eating, but the
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urge seemed to vanish abruptly. He set them down, gazed intently
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out the window, then stood and left.
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We watched him pace back and forth in the garden while we
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finished our meal. Earnshaw decided to go and ask
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why he wouldn't eat, thinking we might have upset him somehow.
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Well, is he coming? Catherine asked when her cousin
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returned. No, he replied, but he's not
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angry. He seemed quite pleased,
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actually. I just made him impatient by
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speaking to him twice, and then he told me to leave him be.
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He couldn't understand why I'd want anyone else's company.
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I kept his plate warm by the fire, and after a couple of
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hours he returned when the room was empty, no calmer than
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before. There was the same unnatural,
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yes, unnatural Glee beneath his dark brows, the same pallor and
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his teeth occasionally bared in a sort of smile.
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His body shivered, not with cold or frailty, but like a taut
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string vibrating, a powerful thrill rather than a tremor.
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I thought to myself, Should I ask what's wrong, or should
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someone else? Then I spoke up.
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Have you heard any good news, Mr. Heathcliff?
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You seem unusually lively. Where would good news come from
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for me? He replied.
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I'm animated by hunger and apparently I'm not supposed to
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eat. Your dinner is right here, I
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pointed out. Why won't you have it?
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I don't want it now, he muttered quickly.
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I'll wait until supper, and Nelly, let me ask you once and
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for all to keep Hair, Tin and the others away from me.
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I want to be left alone here. Is there a new reason for this
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isolation? I asked.
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Why are you acting so strangely, Mr. Heathcliff?
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Where were you last night? I'm not asking out of idle
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curiosity, but you are asking out of very idle curiosity.
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He interrupted with a laugh. But I'll answer you.
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Last night. I was standing at the gates of
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hell today. I'm within sight of my heaven.
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I can see it barely 3 feet away from me now.
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You should leave, you won't encounter anything alarming as
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long as you don't start snooping.
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After tidying up the hearth and wiping down the table, I left
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more confused than before. He stayed inside for the rest of
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the afternoon, undisturbed in his solitude.
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By 8:00 I decided it was appropriate, even without being
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called, to bring him a candle and his supper.
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He stood leaning against the ledge of an open window, not
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looking out but facing the dim interior.
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The fire had died down to ashes and the room was filled with the
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damp, mild air of the overcast evening.
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It was so quiet that I could hear not just the murmur of the
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stream down in Gimmerton, but also it's ripples and the
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gurgling as it flowed over pebbles or around large stones
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it couldn't submerge. I voiced my displeasure at the
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sight of the dreary fireplace and began closing the windows 1
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by 1 until I reached his. Should I shut this one?
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I asked, hoping to stir him as he hadn't moved.
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As I spoke, the light caught his face.
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Oh Mr. Lockwood, I can't describe the shock I felt at
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that fleeting glimpse. Those deep are dark eyes, that
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smile and a ghostly pallor. He seemed less like Mr.
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Heathcliff and more like a goblin.
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In my fright, I tilted the candle towards the wall,
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plunging myself Into Darkness. Yes, close it, he said in his
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familiar voice. That's just clumsy.
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Why did you hold the candle sideways?
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Hurry up and bring another. I rushed out, foolishly
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terrified, and told Joseph. The master wants you to bring
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him a light and rekindle the fire.
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I couldn't bring myself to go back in just then.
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Joseph scooped some coals into the shovel and went, but he
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returned immediately with a supper tray in his other hand,
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explaining that Mister Heathcliff was going to bed and
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wanted nothing to eat until morning.
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We heard him ascend the stairs right away.
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He didn't head to his usual room, but instead entered the
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one with a panelled bed. As I mentioned before, it's
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window is large enough for anyone to climb through, and it
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occurred to me that he might be planning another midnight
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outing, one he'd prefer we knew nothing about.
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Is he a ghoul or a vampire? I wondered.
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She'd read about such monstrous incarnations then I reminded
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myself and be of how I'd cared for him as a child, watched him
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grow into youth, and it followed him through most of his life.
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It was absurd to give in to that sense of horror.
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But where did he come from? That small shadowy figure,
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sheltered by a good man to his own ruin?
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Murmured superstition As I drifted into sleep, half
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dreaming, I began to tire myself with thoughts of who might have
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been his parents. Replaying my waking thoughts, I
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traced his life again with dark twists, eventually imagining his
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death and burial. All I recall is the frustration
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of having to decide on an inscription for his gravestone,
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consulting the Sexton about it. With no Sonic and his age
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unknown, we settled on the solitary word Heathcliff.
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That part was true. It's all you'll find on his
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headstone in the churchyard, along with the date of his
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death. As dawn broke, clarity returned.
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I got up and went into the garden as soon as there was
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enough light to check for any footprints beneath his window.
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There were none. He stayed home, I thought, and
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he'll be fine today. I prepared breakfast for
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everyone as usual, but told Hareton and Catherine to eat
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before the Master came down as he was sleeping in.
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They chose to have their meal outside under the trees, so I
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set up a small table for them. When I returned, I found Mr.
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Heathcliff downstairs. He and Joseph were deep in
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conversation about some farming matters.
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Heathcliff gave precise, detailed instructions, speaking
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quickly and constantly turning his head, his expression more
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intense than ever. After Joseph left, Heathcliff
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took his usual seat and I placed a bowl of coffee in front of
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him. He pulled it closer, rested his
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arms on the table, and stared at the opposite wall, his eyes
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darting up and down with such fervent interest that he seemed
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to hold his breath for long moments.
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Come now, I urged, nudging some bread toward his hand.
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Eat and drink while it's hot. It's been waiting nearly an
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hour. He didn't acknowledge me yet.
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He smiled. I would have preferred to see
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him clench his teeth then smile like that.
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Mister Heathcliff Master, I exclaimed.
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Please don't stare as if you're seeing something otherworldly.
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Please don't shout so loudly, he replied.
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Turn around and tell me, are we alone?
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Of course, I replied, though a flicker of uncertainty lingered
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beneath my words. Despite my doubts, I found
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myself following his lead. With a swift motion, he cleared
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a space among the breakfast dishes and leaned forward,
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intent on something unseen. It became clear he wasn't
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staring at the wall. His gaze was fixed on something
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just a couple of yards away. Whatever he saw seemed to evoke
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both intense pleasure and pain, his face a canvas of anguished
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rapture. This imagined object wasn't
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stationary. His eyes tracked it as
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tirelessly, never straying even as he spoke to me.
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I tried to remind him of how long he'd gone without eating,
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but my efforts were in vain. If he reached for a piece of
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bread at my urging, his hand would falter, fingers curling
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back before they touched it, resting forgotten on the table.
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I sat there, embodying patience, attempting to draw his focus
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away from whatever held it so fiercely.
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Eventually his irritation flared and he stood, questioning why I
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wouldn't let him eat at his own pace.
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He told me next time I shouldn't wait, I could just set the table
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and leave. With that he exited the house,
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strolling slowly down the garden path until he vanished through
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the gate. The hours dragged by, heavy with
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unease, until evening fell once more.
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I stayed up late, unable to find rest, and when I finally lay
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down, sleep eluded me. He returned after midnight, and
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instead of heading to bed, he locked himself in the room
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below. I lay there restless, my mind
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racing with countless anxious thoughts, until finally I got
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up, dressed and went downstairs. It was unbearable to just lie
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there. I'm tormented by endless
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worries. I could hear Mr. Heathcliff
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pacing the floor, his steps restless, and every so often he
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broke the silence with a deep sigh that sounded almost like a
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groan. He muttered disjointed words.
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The only one I could clearly make out was Catherine, paired
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with some wild term of endearment or anguish, spoken as
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if she were right there with him, low, earnest, and torn from
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the depths of his soul. I didn't have the courage to
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walk straight into the room, but I wanted to pull him out of his
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reverie, so I busied myself with the kitchen fire, stirring it
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and scraping the cinders. This drew him out sooner than I
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expected. He opened the door immediately
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and said, Nelly, come here, is it morning?
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Bring your light in, it's striking, 4I replied.
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You need a candle to take upstairs, you could have lit one
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from this fire. No, I don't want to go upstairs,
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he said. Come in, light a fire for me and
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do whatever needs doing around the room.
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I need to get the coals glowing before I can carry any, I said,
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grabbing a chair and the bellows.
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He paced back and forth, nearly unraveling his heavy size so
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frequent they left no room for normal breaths.
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When dawn comes, I'll send for Green, he said.
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I need to discuss some legal matters while I can still think
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clearly and act with composure. I haven't written my will yet,
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and I'm at a loss about how to distribute my estate.
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Sometimes I wish I could just erase it all from existence.
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I wouldn't speak like that, Mister Heathcliff.
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I interrupted. Leave your will for now.
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You'll have time to regret your many wrongs.
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I'd never thought your nerves would falter, but they are
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remarkably frayed right now, mostly due to your own actions.
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The way you've spent this last three days would exhaust even a
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giant. Please eat something and get
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some rest. Just look in a mirror to see how
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much you need. Both your cheeks are sunken and
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your eyes are bloodshot, like someone starving and going blind
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from lack of sleep. It's not my fault that I can't
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eat or rest, he replied. I assure you it's not due to any
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fixed plans. I'll do both as soon as I
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possibly can, but asking me to rest now is like telling a
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drowning man to relax when he's just within the reach of the
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shore. I need to reach it first, then
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I'll rest. As for Mr. Green, don't worry
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about him. Regarding any injustices, I've
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committed none, and I have no regrets.
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I am too happy, yet not happy enough.
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My soul's joy overwhelms my body, but it doesn't fulfill
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itself. Happy Master, I exclaimed.
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That's a strange kind of happiness.
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If you could listen without getting upset, I might offer
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some advice that could make you happier.
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What is it? He asked.
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Tell me, Mr. Heathcliff, I said. Since you were 13, you've lived
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a selfish, unchristian life. Probably.
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Without a Bible in your hands all that time, you've likely
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forgotten its teachings, and you might not have the time to
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explore them now. Would it be harmful to call
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someone a minister of any denomination?
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It doesn't matter which. To explain it to you, to show
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you how far you've strayed from its teachings and how unprepared
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you are for its heaven unless you change before you die.
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I'm more grateful than angry, Nelly, he replied.
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Because you remind me of how I wish to be buried.
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The burial is set for the evening at the churchyard.
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You and Hareton can join me if you wish, but make sure to watch
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the Sexton closely to ensure he follows my instructions
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regarding the placement of the two coffins.
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There's no need for a minister and no words need be spoken over
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me. I've Neil reached my own version
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of heaven and I have no desire for the heaven other's sake.
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And if you persist in starving yourself and die because of it,
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and they refuse to bury you within the church grounds?
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I asked, disturbed by his irreverence.
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How would you feel about that? They won't refuse, he answered.
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But if they did, you'd have to move me in secret.
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If you fail to do so, you'll find out first hand that the
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dead are not truly gone. Once he heard the rest of the
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family stirring, he retreated to his room and I felt a sense of
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relief. But later in the afternoon,
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while Joseph and Hareton were busy with their tasks, he
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returned to the kitchen with wild expression and asked me to
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sit with him in the house. He wanted company.
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I refused, admitting that his strange behaviour frightened me
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and I lacked both the courage and the desire to be alone with
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him. You probably think I'm a demon.
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He said with a grim laugh. Something too dreadful to live
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under a respectable roof. Then turning to Catherine, who
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had moved behind me as he approached, he added with a half
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mocking tone. Will you come dear?
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I won't harm you. No, to you I've become worse
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than the devil himself. Well, there's one who won't
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recoil from my presence. By God, she's relentless.
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Damn it all. It's unbearably too much for any
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human to endure, even for me. He sought no one's company after
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that. As dusk settled, he retreated to
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his room. Throughout the night and well
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into the morning, we could hear him groaning and muttering to
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himself. Hareton was eager to check on
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him, but I told him to fetch Mr. Kenneth, who should go in and
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see him when he arrived, and I asked to be let in.
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Trying to open the door, I found it locked.
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Heathcliff cursed us, saying he was fined and wanted to be left
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alone, so the doctor left. The next evening brought heavy
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rain. It poured relentlessly until
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dawn. During my morning walk around
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the house, I noticed the master's window swinging open,
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rain driving straight in. He can't be in bed, I thought.
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Those downpours would soak him completely.
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He must be either up or out. But I won't hesitate any longer.
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I'll go in and see for myself. Having managed to unlock the
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door with a different key, I hurried to open the panels,
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finding the room empty. Quickly sliding them aside, I
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peeked in. There lay Mr. Heathcliff on his
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back. His eyes met mine with such
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intensity and fierceness that I flinched.
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Then he seemed to smile. I couldn't believe he was dead
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yet his face and throat was soaked with rain.
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The bedclothes were dripping here, and he lay utterly still.
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The window, swinging back and forth, had scraped one of his
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hands resting on the sill. No blood flowed from the broken
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skin, and when I touched it, all in doubt vanished.
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He was dead and rigid. I latched the window.
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I combed his long black hair back from his forehead.
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I tried to close his eyes, hoping to erase that terrifying,
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lifelike look of triumph before anyone else saw it.
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They refused to close. They seemed to mock my efforts,
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and his parted lips and sharp white teeth mocked as well.
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Overcome by another wave of fear, I called out for Joseph.
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Joseph shuffled in, making noise, but stubbornly refused to
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touch him. The devil snatched away his
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soul. He exclaimed.
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And he can have his body too, for all I care.
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What a wicked sight he is grinning at death.
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And the old Sinner grinned back in derision.
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I thought he might start dancing around the bed, but then he
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suddenly composed himself, dropped to his knees, lifted his
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hands and gave thanks that the rightful master and the old
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lineage had been restored to their place.
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I was overwhelmed by the gravity of the event, and my mind
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drifted back to earlier times with a heavy sadness.
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Yet it was poor Hareton, the one most wronged, who truly bore the
26:38
weight of sorrow. He sat by the body all night,
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weeping with genuine anguish. He held his hand, kissed the
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harsh, mocking face that everyone else recoiled from, and
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mourned with a profound grief that comes naturally from a
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generous heart, even one as resilient as tempered steel.
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Mr. Kenneth was at a loss to determine what illness had
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claimed the Master. I kept quiet about his four day
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fast fearing it might cause complications and I am convinced
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he didn't abstain intentionally. It was a result of his peculiar
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illness, not the 'cause we buried him, much to the
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neighborhoods disapproval as he had wished.
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Earnshaw, the Sexton, 6 pallbearers and I comprise the
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entire funeral party. The pallbearers left Dave to
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lowering the coffin into the grave.
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We remain to see it covered. Hareton, tears streaming down
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his face, dug up green sods and laid them over the brown earth
27:48
himself. Now it is as smooth and green as
27:54
the neighboring mounds and I hope it's occupant rests as
27:59
peacefully. But if you ask the locals,
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they'd swear on the Bible that he still walks among us.
28:06
Some claim to have seen him near the church, on the Moor, and
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even inside this very house. You might dismiss these as idle
28:15
tales, and so do I. Yet the old man by the kitchen
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fear insists he's seen two figures peering from the chamber
28:24
window on every rainy night since the man's death.
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Something strange happened to me about a month ago.
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I was heading to the Grange one evening, a dark night heavy with
28:38
a threat of Thunder, and just as I turned at the heights I came
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across a little boy with a sheep and two lambs ahead of him.
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He was crying terribly and I assumed the lambs were skittish
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and wouldn't follow him. What's the matter, my little
29:01
man? I asked.
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There's Heathcliff and a woman over there under the hill.
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He sobbed and I dared pass them. I saw nothing myself, but
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neither the sheep nor the boy would move forward, so I told
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him to take the lower Rd. He probably conjured these
29:25
phantoms from the stories he'd heard his parents and friends
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repeat as he wandered the Moors alone.
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Still, I can't shake the unease of being out in the dark now,
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and I don't like being left alone in this grim house.
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I can't help it. I'll be relieved when they leave
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and move to the Grange. So they're going to the Grange
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then? I asked.
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Yes, Mrs. Dean replied. They're getting married on New
29:55
Year's Day. And who will stay here after
30:00
that? Joseph will look after the
30:03
house, maybe with a young helper for company.
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They'll live in the kitchen, and the rest of the house will be
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closed off for any ghosts that might want to move in.
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I remarked. No, Mr. Lockwood, Nelly said,
30:24
shaking her head. I believe the dead are at peace,
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and it's not right to speak lightly of them.
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Just then, the garden gate swung open.
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The Wanderers were returning. They fear nothing, I muttered,
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watching them approach through the window.
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Together, they'd face Satan and all his armies.
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As they stepped onto the doorstep and paused to gaze at
30:58
the moon, or rather at each other in its glow, I felt an
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overwhelming urge to avoid them once more.
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I pressed a token of thanks into Missus Dean's hand, ignoring her
31:12
protests at my abruptness, and slipped out through the kitchen
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just as they opened the front door.
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This might have confirmed Joseph's suspicions about his
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fellow servants frivolities, had he not recognised me as
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respectable by the sweet sound of a sovereign landing at his
31:35
feet. I took a longer route home,
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detouring toward the church. Beneath its walls, I noticed
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decay had advanced even in seven months.
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Many windows were now dark voids without glass, and slates jutted
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awkwardly from the roof, ready to be dislodged by the coming
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autumn storms. I searched and soon found the
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three headstones on the slope near the Moor, the middle 1 grey
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and half buried in Heather, Edgar Linton's blending with the
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turf and Moss creeping up its base, Heathcliffs still stark
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and bare. I lingered among them beneath
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that gentle sky, observing moths fluttering between the heath and
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hair bells, listening to the soft wind whispering through the
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grass. I marvelled at how anyone could
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conceive of restless dreams for those resting in such tranquil
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earth. You've been listening to
32:53
Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte, Narrated from the Maison
32:59
Forms Access Edition. This edition was designed with
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clarity, reverence and precision, preserving the
33:09
cadence of Brante's original while inviting new readers to
33:14
experience it's power without friction.
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For more titles in the Access Edition series, visit a form of
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publishing dot ING Maison Forms. Clarity is preservation.