Грозовой перевал / Wuthering Heights

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[14], 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[15]. 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[16]! 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[17] 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.