I spent the rest of the night trying to get some sleep on a hard kitchen bench, but as soon as it was light, I seized the chance to escape from Wuthering Heights. The moors were covered in billows of snow, and I lost count of the number of times I blundered off the path, sinking up to my waist in snow. When I finally reached the Grange, the clock was chiming twelve and I was too numb even to think. Nelly Dean, the housekeeper, made a great fuss of me, and I was soon sitting in my study, as feeble as a kitten, and almost too weak to enjoy the cheerful fire.

 

 

I stayed by the fire all afternoon, too exhausted to work, going over my strange adventures at Wuthering Heights. Every time I closed my eyes I saw the faces of the people I had met… mysterious, brooding Heathcliff, young, sulky Catherine and clumsy, silent Hareton. Why did they hate each other so much, and why were they all living up at the Heights together? But most of all I wondered about the wild, dark-haired girl at the window. Was she a ghost or a fiend? And what was she doing wandering over the moors?

Eventually, I decided to give up all thoughts of studying for the day, and when Nelly arrived with my supper, I asked her to sit with me for a while, hoping she would tell me more about the Heights.

«I understand you’ve lived at the Grange for a long time,» I began. «Did you say it was eighteen years?

«Yes, sir – I came to look after my mistress when she married.»

«And who was your mistress, Nelly?» I asked.

«Her name was Catherine Earnshaw.»

(«Catherine Earnshaw!» I thought to myself. «Could this be the ghostly girl I’d seen at the window?»)

«And what happened to Catherine Earnshaw?» «She died, sir, soon after her marriage to Mr. Linton, but she had a daughter and I stayed on to look after her until she married and went to live at the Heights.»

«So is that the young lady I saw last night?»

«Yes, sir, she’s my young Miss Catherine, who I cared for all her life. But tell me, how is the poor girl now?»

«Mrs. Heathcliff? Well, I thought she looked healthy enough, and very beautiful, but she didn’t seem happy.»

Nelly sighed, «And what do you think of Heathcliff, Mr. Lockwood?»

«A rather rough fellow, I thought. Don’t you agree?

«Oh, he’s as rough as a saw-edge and as hard as the rocks on the moor! But he’s rich too.»

«Whatever can have happened to make him like he is?»

«Well that’s a long story, sir. His life is like a cuckoo’s… I know all about it, except where he was born and who his parents were, and how he grew so rich that he pushed all the other birds out of the nest.»

I was sure I wouldn’t sleep that night until I knew more. My head felt hot, but the rest of my body was icy cold, and I felt strangely excited by everything that had happened up at the Heights. I asked Nelly to stay with me and tell me more, so she settled herself comfortably and started her story…

 

 

Before I came to live at the Grange, she began, I lived at Wuthering Heights. My mother was housekeeper to old Mr. Earnshaw and his wife, and I ran errands for the family and hung around the farm, doing any jobs they wanted me to do. We were so much part of the family, that I was even allowed to play with the children – young Master Hindley and Miss Cathy.

One summer morning, we were all playing together when Mr. Earnshaw came downstairs, ready for a journey,

«I’m going to Liverpool today. So what shall I bring you? You can choose anything you like, but it must be small because I’m walking there and back – sixty miles each way – and that’s a long hike!»

Hindley asked for a violin, and Cathy, who was only six years old but could ride any horse in the stable, chose a riding whip. The master didn’t forget me either, and promised to bring me a pocketful of apples. Then he kissed his children goodbye and set off across the moors.

The three days that Mr. Earnshaw was away seemed a terribly long time – and little Cathy asked again and again when her father would be home. We expected him back at tea time, but in the end it was just after eleven when the sitting room door opened and he burst into the room. He threw himself into a chair, laughing and groaning, and told us all to leave him alone because he was half dead.

«And on top of all the walking, I’ve been nearly punched to death!» he said, opening up his overcoat, which he held bundled up in his arms.

«Take a look at this,» he said to his wife, «I’ve never been so beaten by anything in my life!»

 

We all crowded around, and saw a dirty, ragged, black-haired boy! He was big enough to walk and talk, but he only stared around and muttered some nonsense at us that no one could understand. I was frightened, and Mrs. Earnshaw wanted to fling the creature straight out of doors.

«Are you insane?» she asked her husband angrily. «What made you bring this gypsy brat into our house, when we have children of our own to feed and care for?»

 

The master tried to explain what had happened, but he was half dead from exhaustion. All I could understand, in between his wife’s scolding and shouting, was that he had found the child starving and homeless in the streets of Liverpool, where he had picked it up and asked around for its owner. No one knew who the boy belonged to, and he was much too kindhearted to leave the child alone to its fate, so he decided to bring it home with him.

Eventually, my mistress grumbled herself calm and Mr. Earnshaw told me I must wash the creature and give it clean clothes to wear. Hindley and Cathy had been silent up until then, but now they both began searching in their father’s pockets for the presents he’d promised them. When Hindley pulled out what was left of his violin, he burst into tears like a baby, even though he was fourteen years old. And when Cathy learned that her whip had been lost, she took her revenge by making faces at the creature, until her father told her to stop. Both the children refused to have the boy in their room, so when I had washed and dressed him I put him out on the landing, hoping he might be gone by the morning. But somehow he managed to creep into the master’s room and the next morning I was punished for my cruelty.

 

So this was how the cuckoo came to live in the Earnshaws’ nest. Mr. Earnshaw called him Heathcliff – the only name he ever had – and he and Miss Cathy soon became great friends. But Hindley hated him, and when I saw how the master made such a fuss of him I began to hate him too. Hindley and I teased and tormented Heathcliff whenever we could, and Mrs. Earnshaw never spoke up for him, even when she knew that we were in the wrong.

Heathcliff was a silent, patient child, perhaps hardened to bad treatment by everything he’d suffered already in his life. He put up with Hindley’s punches without complaining, and my pinches simply made him draw in his breath in silence. When Mr. Earnshaw discovered what was happening to Heathcliff, he was furious, and he soon became much more fond of him than he was of his own children. So, from the very beginning, Heathcliff caused bad feelings in the family.

By the time Mrs. Earnshaw died, less than two years later, Master Hindley had learned to see his father as an enemy. He believed that Heathcliff had stolen his place in the family, and grew very bitter about the way his life had changed.

A few years after Mrs. Earnshaw died, my master became very ill. He spent most of his time in a chair by the fireplace, growing more and more irritable. He was especially angry with Hindley for treating Heathcliff so badly and in the end he decided to send his son away to college.

Once Hindley was out of the way, I thought at last we would have some peace, but Miss Cathy was much too wild to settle down quietly. She was always getting into mischief – singing and laughing and larking around, and teasing anyone who wouldn’t join in her games. She drove us all to distraction, but she had the sweetest smile and so no one could stay angry with her for long.

One thing was certain – young Cathy was much too fond of Heathcliff. She hated being apart from him, and Heathcliff felt just the same about her. She loved giving orders, and Heathcliff would do anything she wanted. It made her father furious, to see how she ruled over the boy.

 

One evening, when Cathy was quieter than usual, she came and sat on the floor beside her father and leaned her head against his knee. Heathcliff lay with his head in Cathy’s lap, while Mr. Earnshaw stroked her hair.

«Why can’t you always be a good girl, Cathy?» he murmured.

«And why can’t you always be a good man, father?» she laughed. Mr. Earnshaw looked sad to hear this response, and when Cathy saw that she had upset him, she gave her father a kiss and said she would sing him to sleep. She began to sing very quietly, until his head dropped down onto his chest and he fell into a sound sleep. I was glad to see the old man sleeping so well. But when it was time to go to bed, Cathy put her arms around his neck to say goodnight, and screamed out in fright, «Oh, he’s dead, Heathcliff! He’s dead!»

Then they both started crying pitifully, and I joined in too.

 

Later that evening, I heard Cathy and Heathcliff talking together. They were picturing their father happy in heaven, far away from his troubles on earth. I cried as I listened to them, because I was afraid of what might happen next. And I wished that we could all be saved from the troubles that lay ahead.