Catherine remained at Thrushcross Grange for five weeks, until Christmas. By then, her ankle was fully healed and her manners were remarkably improved. Mrs. Linton had visited her often, implementing a plan of reform by appealing to the girl’s vanity with fine clothes and flattery. Consequently, instead of the wild, hatless savage who had left, a very dignified young lady arrived back at Wuthering Heights. She sat atop a handsome black pony, wearing a feathered hat and a long, elegant dress that she had to hold up carefully as she dismounted.
Hindley lifted her down, exclaiming with delight, "Why, Cathy, you’re a beauty! I hardly recognized you. You look like a real lady now."
"She must be careful not to grow wild again here," his wife added, as she helped Catherine with her things, careful not to disturb her curls.
Beneath her outdoor cloak, Catherine wore a grand silk dress and polished shoes. Although her eyes sparkled when the dogs ran to welcome her, she barely dared to touch them, fearing they might ruin her splendid garments. She kissed me gently, mindful of the flour on my hands from the Christmas cakes, and then looked around for Heathcliff. Mr. and Mrs. Earnshaw watched the encounter closely, eager to see if their plan to separate the two friends was working.
Heathcliff was difficult to find at first. If he had been neglected before, he was ten times worse now. Since Catherine’s departure, no one had bothered to tell him to wash or change his clothes. His hair was a thick, uncombed mess, and his face and hands were covered in dust. Seeing the graceful girl enter, he naturally tried to hide behind the furniture.
"Is Heathcliff not here?" Catherine asked, pulling off her gloves to reveal hands that had become soft and white from weeks of idleness.
"Heathcliff, come forward," Hindley commanded, enjoying the boy’s embarrassment. "Come and wish Miss Catherine welcome, like the other servants."
Catherine flew to embrace him, but after a few kisses, she stepped back and burst into laughter. "Why, how black and cross you look! It’s so funny... but that’s only because I’ve grown used to the Lintons. Have you forgotten me, Heathcliff?"
Shame and pride kept him frozen. When Hindley condescendingly told him he might shake her hand "just this once," Heathcliff snapped, "I shall not! I won't stand here to be laughed at!"
He tried to leave, but Catherine grabbed him. "I didn’t mean to laugh, but you look so odd. If you just wash your face and brush your hair, it will be all right. But you are so dirty!"
She looked concernedly at her own dress, fearing it had been soiled by the contact. Heathcliff noticed her look and snatched his hand away. "I shall be as dirty as I please! I like being dirty!" He dashed out of the room, followed by the mocking laughter of the Earnshaws.
That evening, as I prepared the house for Christmas, I felt a deep sadness for Heathcliff. I remembered how the old master had loved him and feared he would be neglected after his death. I decided it would be better to help the boy than to cry for him, so I went to the stables to find him.
"Make haste, Heathcliff," I urged. "Let me help you dress smartly before Catherine comes out. You can sit by the fire and talk until bedtime."
He ignored me at first, but the next morning, he appeared in the kitchen and said abruptly, "Nelly, make me decent. I’m going to be good."
"It’s about time," I replied. "You’ve upset Catherine. She thinks you’re jealous of her new friends."
"I’m not jealous," he said seriously, "but I did cry last night, and I had more reason than she did."
As I washed and dressed him, I tried to boost his confidence. I told him that even though Edgar Linton was handsome, Heathcliff was taller and stronger. "You have a look of a prince in disguise," I told him, making up a story about him being the kidnapped son of an Indian Queen. He began to cheer up, and a pleasant expression replaced his usual scowl.
However, our peace was interrupted by the arrival of the Lintons. As Heathcliff tried to enter the room to show off his new, clean appearance, Hindley rudely pushed him back.
"Keep the fellow out of here, Joseph!" Hindley shouted. "Send him to the attic until dinner is over. He'll only steal the food."
"He’ll touch nothing, sir," I defended him, but Hindley threatened to strike him if he stayed.
Young Edgar Linton, peeping from the doorway, remarked, "I wonder his head doesn't ache with all that hair. It looks like a horse’s mane!"
It was an innocent enough comment, but Heathcliff’s temper exploded. He seized a tureen of hot apple sauce and dashed it directly into Edgar’s face. The boy began to howl, and Hindley immediately dragged Heathcliff upstairs to his room.
The dinner party was ruined for Catherine. Although she tried to act indifferent, I saw the tears falling into her plate. She couldn't eat a bite. That evening, while the rest of the house was busy with a band of musicians and dancing, Catherine sneaked up to the attic. She climbed across the roof and through a skylight to reach Heathcliff’s room.
I eventually found them together in the kitchen after Joseph had left. Heathcliff sat by the fire, refusing to eat. He looked pale and haunted. When I asked what he was thinking about, he replied gravely, "I’m trying to decide how I shall pay Hindley back. I don’t care how long I wait, as long as I can do it eventually."
"For shame!" I said. "God will punish him. You should learn to forgive."
"No," Heathcliff replied coldly. "God won’t get the satisfaction that I will. While I’m planning my revenge, I don’t feel the pain."
At this point, Mrs. Dean stopped her story, noticing that the clock was striking eleven.
"Please, continue," I urged, for I was completely captivated by her tale. "I’m interested in every person you’ve mentioned."
"I should let you sleep, Mr. Lockwood," she replied with a smile. "But if you insist, I will skip ahead. Let us move to the summer of 1778—nearly twenty-three years ago."