A week passed quickly, each day bringing a rapid decline in Edgar Linton’s health. The deterioration that had taken months was now progressing by the hour. We tried to shield Catherine from the truth, but her sharp instincts would not be deceived; she sensed the approaching tragedy and brooded over it in silence. When Thursday arrived, she didn't have the heart to mention her promised ride. I eventually spoke up for her and obtained Edgar's permission for her to go. He spent his days confined to the library or his bedroom, and he hoped the excursion would provide her with a much-needed change of scenery. He comforted himself with the thought that, after his death, Catherine would at least have her cousin for company.
Edgar had a fixed idea that, because Linton resembled him physically, he must also possess a similar character. Linton’s letters had never hinted at his true, fragile nature. Out of a misguided desire to keep my master’s final days peaceful, I had never corrected this error. There seemed little point in disturbing his last moments with the truth.
We set out in the golden light of an August afternoon. The air from the hills was so fresh and full of life that it felt as though even a dying man might be revived by it. Catherine’s face mirrored the landscape—shadows and sunshine shifted across her features, though the shadows of grief lingered much longer.
We found Linton waiting at the same spot. He received us with more energy than before, but it was not the energy of joy; it looked more like fear.
"You’re late!" he said, his voice strained. "Isn't your father very ill? I thought you wouldn’t come."
"Why can't you be honest, Linton?" Catherine cried, skipping any greeting. "Why not just say you don't want me here? This is the second time you have brought us here only to make us both miserable!"
Linton shivered and looked at her with a mix of shame and desperation. Catherine’s patience, already stretched thin by her father’s illness, finally snapped.
"My father is dying," she said. "Why have I been called away from his side? If you didn't want me to come, why didn't you release me from my promise? I have no time for these games!"
"Don’t be angry!" he whispered. "Despise me if you like—I am a worthless, cowardly wretch—but please, don't be angry. Hate my father instead, but spare me."
He suddenly threw himself onto the ground in a fit of terror. "I can’t bear it! Catherine, I’m a traitor, and I dare not tell you! But if you leave me, he will kill me! Your life is in my hands, but mine is in yours. Please, stay, and perhaps he will let me die in peace!"
Seeing his genuine agony, Catherine’s anger turned to pity. She stooped to help him up, her voice softening. "Consent to what? Tell me what is happening. You wouldn't truly hurt me, would you, Linton? You are a coward, perhaps, but not a betrayer."
"But my father threatened me!" he gasped, clutching her hands. "I dread him! I dare not speak!"
As Catherine tried to comfort him, I heard a rustle in the grass. Mr. Heathcliff was descending the hill toward us. He didn't even look at the two teenagers, though Linton’s sobbing was clearly audible. Instead, he greeted me with a surprisingly hearty tone that I immediately found suspicious.
"Nelly! It’s good to see you so near my house. How are things at the Grange? Word has it that Edgar Linton is on his death-bed."
"My master is dying," I replied coldly. "It is a tragedy for us, though a blessing for him."
"How much longer does he have?" Heathcliff asked, his eyes moving to Linton and Catherine. Linton was paralyzed with fear, and Catherine stayed by his side, unable to move. Heathcliff looked at his son with pure disgust. "Is the boy still crying? Get up, Linton! Stop grovelling on the ground!"
Linton tried to obey, but his strength had vanished. He fell back with a moan. Heathcliff stepped forward and roughly pulled him up.
"I’m losing my patience," Heathcliff muttered with suppressed rage. "If you don't control yourself, I'll give you something to really cry about. Get up!"
"I will, father," Linton panted. "I've done what you wanted. Catherine will tell you I've been... cheerful. Stay with me, Catherine!"
"Take her arm," Heathcliff commanded. "You’d think I was the devil himself, Miss Linton, the way he reacts to me. Be kind enough to walk him home; he trembles if I touch him."
"I can't go to the Heights, Linton," Catherine whispered. "My father has forbidden it."
"I cannot go back in there without you!" Linton pleaded frantically.
Heathcliff pretended to be reasonable. "Nelly, you take him in then. I'll listen to your advice about the doctor."
"I must stay with my mistress," I retorted. "Looking after your son is not my responsibility."
"You are very stubborn, Nelly," Heathcliff said. He then turned his attention back to Linton, making a move as if to grab him. In terror, Linton clung to Catherine, begging her to come with him with such desperation that she couldn't refuse. Despite my bad feeling about the situation, I followed them. We reached the house, and Catherine led Linton to a chair. I stood by the door, expecting to leave immediately, but Heathcliff pushed me inside.
"My house isn't a plague ward, Nelly. Sit down and let me be hospitable." He shut the door and locked it. The click of the key made me jump.
"You’ll stay for tea," he added. "I'm alone today. Hareton is away with the cattle, and the servants are out. I find I'd prefer some company. Miss Linton, sit by your cousin. It’s strange," he mused, "how much I hate anything that is afraid of me. If the laws were less strict, I’d enjoy taking both of you apart piece by piece."
"I am not afraid of you!" Catherine exclaimed, stepping toward him with flashing eyes. "Give me that key! I won't eat or drink anything in this house."
Heathcliff looked surprised by her boldness. For a moment, her gaze must have reminded him of her mother. Catherine snatched at the key, and for a second, she almost had it. But Heathcliff quickly recovered and grabbed her.
"Stand back, Catherine," he warned, "or I’ll knock you down."
Ignoring him, she grabbed his fist, trying to force his fingers open. When that failed, she bit his hand. Heathcliff’s expression darkened. He suddenly opened his hand, dropping the key, but before Catherine could grab it, he seized her. He pulled her onto his knee and delivered a series of violent slaps to the sides of her head.
I rushed at him, screaming, "You villain!" but a sharp blow to my chest knocked the wind out of me. I staggered back, dizzy and gasping for air. The violence was over in a minute. Catherine, trembling like a leaf, leaned against the table in total shock, her hands pressed to her burning cheeks.
"I know how to discipline children," Heathcliff said grimly, picking up the key. "Go to Linton and cry all you want. I shall be your father tomorrow—the only father you'll have left in a few days."
Cathy ran to me instead, sobbing into my lap. Heathcliff, unbothered by our distress, calmly made tea and handed me a cup. "It’s not poisoned, Nelly. Drink it. I’m going out to find your horses."
As soon as he left, we tried to escape, but every door was locked and the windows were too narrow. I turned to Linton, who was now surprisingly calm. "You know what he's planning. Tell us, or I'll lose my temper with you!"
"Give me some tea first," he replied selfishly. "Papa wants us to be married. He’s afraid I’ll die before it happens, so we are to be married in the morning. If you do as he says, you can go home tomorrow and take me with you."
"You? Married?" I cried in disgust. "You think this healthy girl would tie herself to a pathetic creature like you? You should be ashamed for tricking us into this trap!" I gave him a shake, which only started his coughing again.
"Stay all night?" Catherine said, looking around the room. "Ellen, I’ll burn this door down before I stay here."
But Linton began to sob again, begging her to obey his father so that he wouldn't be punished. Catherine was torn between her disgust for Linton and her desperation to reach her father. Before we could think of a plan, Heathcliff returned.
"Your horses have gone," he announced. "Now, Linton, go to bed. Soon enough, you’ll be able to pay her back for her 'tyranny.' Go on!"
Linton scurried out like a frightened dog. Heathcliff turned to us, a cruel smile on his face. Catherine pleaded with him, promising to marry Linton if only she could go home to her father for one last night.
"I don't want you to be happy, Catherine," Heathcliff retorted. "I want your father to be miserable. Nothing gives me more satisfaction than knowing he is gasping his last breath while wondering where you are. I don't love you—how could I? You are merely a tool for my revenge."
Catherine fell to her knees, begging for mercy, but he repulsed her brutally. "I'd rather be touched by a snake. Get away from me!"
It was growing dark. A few servants from the Grange arrived at the gate, looking for us, but Heathcliff went out and sent them away. We had missed our only chance. We were led upstairs and locked in a small bedroom. Catherine spent the night staring out the window, while I sat in a chair, blaming myself for every mistake that had led us to this moment.
The next morning, Heathcliff released Catherine but kept me locked inside. I spent the next four days and five nights in that room, seeing no one but Hareton, who brought me food once a day. He was a silent, stony jailer, completely deaf to my pleas for help or justice.