On a beautiful morning in June, my first dear nursling—and the last of the ancient Earnshaw line—was born. We were busy in the hayfields when the girl who usually brought our breakfast came running toward us an hour early, shouting the news.
"A boy! The finest lad you ever saw!" she panted. "But the doctor says the mistress won't last long. He told Mr. Hindley she’s been in a decline for months and will likely be dead before winter. You’re to come home immediately, Nelly, to nurse the child and look after him day and night."
I dropped my rake and tied my bonnet, asking anxiously if she was really so ill. The girl explained that while the mistress seemed in high spirits, the doctor, Mr. Kenneth, had been blunt with the master. He had told Hindley that he should have known better than to marry such a delicate girl and that the coming winter would surely be her end.
I hurried home, feeling a deep sadness for Hindley. He had room in his heart for only two idols—his wife and himself. I could not imagine how he would cope with such a loss. When I arrived, Hindley was at the door, wearing a forced, cheerful smile. He stubbornly refused to believe the doctor’s warnings, insisting that Frances would be perfectly well within a week. He even ordered the doctor to stop visiting, claiming it was a simple fever that had already passed.
Frances seemed to believe him, maintaining her gaiety until the very end. But one night, while leaning on his shoulder and promising to get out of bed the next day, she suffered a slight coughing fit. As he held her in his arms, her face suddenly changed, and she was gone.
The child, Hareton, fell entirely into my care. As long as the boy was healthy and stayed quiet, Hindley took little interest in him. The master himself became desperate. His grief did not lead to prayers or tears; instead, he cursed God and gave himself up to a life of reckless dissipation. He became a tyrant, driving away all the servants except for Joseph and me. I stayed for the sake of the baby, while Joseph remained because he enjoyed having so much wickedness to condemn.
This toxic environment was a terrible example for Catherine and Heathcliff. Hindley’s treatment of Heathcliff was enough to turn a saint into a demon. Indeed, the boy seemed to grow more sullen and ferocious every day, taking a dark pleasure in watching Hindley ruin himself. No decent person visited the house anymore, with the exception of Edgar Linton.
By the age of fifteen, Catherine had become the undisputed queen of the countryside. She was a haughty, headstrong creature. I must admit I didn't much like her after she grew out of childhood, and I often tried to humble her, though she never truly held a grudge against me. She remained remarkably loyal to her old friends; her affection for Heathcliff was unalterable, and young Edgar Linton, despite his social superiority, found it difficult to make an equally deep impression.
Catherine had maintained her friendship with the Lintons since her stay at the Grange. Because she was ashamed to be rude in the face of their constant courtesy, she adopted a double character. In the company of the Lintons, she was a refined young lady who looked down on Heathcliff as a "vulgar ruffian." At home, however, she saw no reason to practice a politeness that would only be mocked, and she allowed her unruly nature to run wild.
Edgar rarely dared to visit Wuthering Heights openly, as he was terrified of Hindley’s reputation. When he did visit, Catherine seemed uneasy. She was not a natural flirt and disliked having her two worlds collide. She found it difficult to balance Heathcliff’s contempt for Edgar with Edgar’s obvious disgust for Heathcliff. I often laughed at her struggles to keep these two sides of her life separate, which only made her more irritable.
One afternoon, when Hindley was away, Heathcliff decided to take a holiday from his labors. By then, he was sixteen and had lost all interest in his education. Years of hard work and neglect had extinguished his curiosity, and his physical appearance had suffered along with his mind. He had acquired a heavy, slouching gait and a morose expression, seemingly delighting in making others dislike him.
He came into the house just as I was helping Catherine dress for a visit from Edgar.
"Cathy, are you busy?" he asked. "I’m not working anymore today; I’ll stay with you."
"You should be in the fields," she replied nervously. "Joseph will tell Hindley."
"Joseph is busy at the Crags until dark," Heathcliff said, sitting by the fire.
Catherine frowned, trying to find a way to get rid of him. "The Lintons might call this afternoon," she admitted. "If they come, you’ll be scolded for no reason."
"Tell them you’re busy," Heathcliff persisted. "Don’t turn me out for those pitiful friends of yours." He pointed to a calendar on the wall. "Look—I’ve marked every day. The crosses are for the evenings you’ve spent with the Lintons, and the dots are for the time you’ve spent with me."
"How foolish!" Catherine snapped. "Am I supposed to sit with you forever? What do we even talk about? You say nothing to amuse me!"
Heathcliff was deeply hurt. "You never complained about my company before, Cathy."
Before he could say more, the sound of a horse was heard outside, and Edgar Linton entered, looking delighted. The contrast between the two young men was vast; it was like stepping from a bleak, stormy moor into a fertile valley. As Heathcliff walked out, Edgar greeted her with his soft, refined voice.
I had been instructed by Hindley to stay in the room whenever Edgar visited, so I began cleaning the furniture. Catherine, already frustrated by her argument with Heathcliff, grew furious at my presence.
"Take your dusters and leave, Nelly!" she commanded.
"I’m doing my work, Miss," I replied calmly.
Supposing Edgar couldn't see her, she suddenly snatched the cloth from my hand and pinched my arm with spiteful force. It hurt incredibly, and I cried out, "Oh, Miss! You have no right to nip me like that!"
"I didn't touch you, you liar!" she shouted, her face turning red with rage. When I showed her the purple mark on my arm, she lost all self-control and slapped me hard across the cheek.
Edgar was horrified. "Catherine! How could you?" he cried.
Little Hareton began to cry, and Catherine turned her fury on the child, shaking him until Edgar stepped in to protect him. In an instant, she slapped Edgar over the ear as well. Consternated, Edgar backed away. I took the child to the kitchen, leaving the door open to see how they would settle it. Edgar picked up his hat, looking pale and shaking.
"Where are you going?" Catherine demanded.
"I must go," he replied. "You’ve made me ashamed of you, and you told a lie."
"I didn't! Go then! Get away!" she cried, dropping to her knees and beginning to weep.
Edgar made it as far as the courtyard, but he couldn't bring himself to leave. He was like a cat unable to leave a mouse. He turned back, went into the house, and shut the door. When I went in later to warn them that Hindley had returned home dangerously drunk, I saw that their quarrel had only brought them closer. They had finally dropped the mask of friendship and confessed their love for one another.
The news of Hindley’s arrival sent Edgar rushing to his horse and Catherine to her room. I hurried to hide little Hareton and to remove the bullets from the master's gun, which he often played with in his drunken madness, threatening anyone who crossed his path.