To prevent Heathcliff’s threat from being carried out, Mr. Linton instructed me to take the boy to Wuthering Heights early the next morning on Catherine’s pony.
"Since we no longer have any influence over his destiny," he said, "you must not tell my daughter where he has gone. She cannot associate with him hereafter, and it is better that she remains ignorant of his proximity. Otherwise, she will be restless and anxious to visit the Heights. Simply tell her that his father sent for him suddenly."
Linton was very reluctant to be woken at five o’clock and was astonished to learn he had to travel again so soon. I softened the news by explaining that he was going to stay with his father, Mr. Heathcliff, who was so eager to see him that he could not wait another day.
"My father!" he cried, looking utterly puzzled. "Mamma never told me I had a father. Where does he live? I’d rather stay here with Uncle."
"He lives a short distance from the Grange," I replied. "Just beyond those hills. You should be glad to go home and see him. You must try to love him as you did your mother, and then he will surely love you in return."
"But why have I never heard of him?" Linton persisted. "Why didn't Mamma and he live together like other people?"
"He had business in the north," I answered quickly, "and your mother’s health required her to live in the south. Let us hurry now. An early ride on such a beautiful morning is far better than an extra hour of sleep."
Linton fell into a deep silence, clearly lost in thought. Eventually, he refused to move, insisting he would not go without his uncle. It took a great deal of persuasion—and several hollow promises that Mr. Edgar and Cathy would visit him soon—to finally get him out of bed and onto the pony.
As we rode, the fresh, heather-scented air and the bright sunshine gradually lifted his spirits. He began to ask questions about his new home with growing interest.
"Is Wuthering Heights as pleasant as Thrushcross Grange?" he asked, looking back at the valley where a light mist was rising.
"It’s not as sheltered by trees," I told him, "but the air is fresher and healthier for you. You might find the building old and dark at first, but it is a respectable house. You’ll have wonderful walks on the moors, and your cousin Hareton will show you all the best spots."
"And what is my father like?" he asked. "Is he as handsome as Uncle?"
"He is just as young," I said, choosing my words carefully. "But he has black hair and eyes, and a much sterner expression. He is taller and stronger altogether. He may not seem as gentle as your uncle at first, but you must be open and friendly with him."
Linton mused over this, but I couldn't help but notice how little he resembled Heathcliff. With his pale complexion, fragile frame, and large, languid eyes, he was the image of his mother—though he lacked her sparkling spirit.
When we finally reached the garden gate of the farmhouse, Linton surveyed the grey stone walls and the twisted fir trees with a look of deep disapproval. I opened the door and found the family had just finished breakfast. Joseph was complaining to his master about a lame horse, while Hareton was preparing for a day in the fields.
"Hello, Nelly!" Heathcliff remarked when he saw me. "I was afraid I’d have to come down and fetch my property myself. You’ve brought it, have you? Let’s see what we can make of it."
He stepped toward the door, followed by the curious stares of Hareton and Joseph. Poor Linton looked at the three of them with terror in his eyes. Joseph inspected the boy and chuckled sourly. "Surely, Master, there’s been a mistake—this looks like a girl!"
Heathcliff stared at his son until the boy trembled with confusion, then let out a scornful laugh.
"What a beauty! What a lovely, charming thing!" he exclaimed sarcastically. "He looks even worse than I expected, and heaven knows my expectations were low!"
The terrified child clung to me, not yet realizing that this sneering stranger was his father. When Heathcliff sat down and commanded him to come closer, Linton hid his face on my shoulder and began to weep.
"Enough of that nonsense!" Heathcliff said, roughly grabbing the boy and holding him by the chin. "We aren't going to hurt you, Linton. You are your mother’s child through and through! Where is my share in you, you whining coward?"
He examined the boy’s slender arms and small fingers, while Linton stopped crying and stared back with wide, fearful eyes.
"Do you know me?" Heathcliff asked.
"No," Linton whispered.
"No? What a shame your mother never taught you to respect me. I am your father, and your mother was a wicked woman to keep you in ignorance. Now, don't cry! Be a good lad, and I’ll look after you." He turned to me. "Nelly, you can go back to the Grange now. Tell that coward Edgar Linton that the matter is settled."
"I hope you’ll be kind to him, Mr. Heathcliff," I said. "He is all you have in the world."
"I’ll be very kind to him," he said with a dark laugh. "In fact, I want to ensure he outlives your master so that he can inherit the Grange. My son will be the master of their estates; my child will hire their children to work the land. That is the only reason I can stand the sight of him. I despise him for himself, but I will tend to him as carefully as a prize possession."
While he spoke, Joseph brought a bowl of porridge for the boy. Linton stirred it with a look of disgust and claimed he could not eat it.
"Can't eat it?" Joseph whispered, his voice trembling with suppressed anger. "Master Hareton never ate anything else when he was a lad! If it was good enough for him, it’s good enough for you!"
"I won't eat it!" Linton snapped. "Take it away."
Joseph indignantly showed the tray to Heathcliff. "This dainty fellow says he can't eat it! He’s just like his mother—she thought we were too dirty to even grow the grain for her bread."
"Don't mention his mother to me," Heathcliff snapped. "Get him something he can eat. What is he used to, Nelly?"
I suggested tea or boiled milk, and the housekeeper was sent to prepare it. I realized that Heathcliff’s selfishness might actually work in the boy’s favor; he understood that Linton was delicate and needed to be treated with care if he was to survive long enough to serve Heathcliff’s purposes.
Seeing no reason to stay longer, I slipped toward the door. Linton was distracted by a sheepdog, but as soon as he heard the latch, he realized I was leaving. He let out a frantic cry that echoed through the house.
"Don't leave me! I won't stay here! I won't stay here!"
I heard the door being locked behind me. They would not let him out. I mounted the pony and rode away as fast as I could, and so my brief time as his guardian came to an end.