"All of this took place last winter," Mrs. Dean remarked, "hardly more than a year ago. Back then, I never imagined I would be sharing these family secrets with a stranger. Yet, I suspect you won’t remain a stranger for long. No one could look at a girl like Catherine Linton and not fall in love with her. You smile, sir—but why do you look so interested when I speak of her? And why have you asked me to hang her portrait over your fireplace?"
"Hold on, my good friend!" I interrupted. "It is certainly possible that I could fall for her, but I doubt she would feel the same. Besides, my home is not here; I belong to the busy world and must eventually return to it. But tell me—was Catherine obedient to her father’s wishes?"
"She was," the housekeeper continued. "Her affection for him was the strongest feeling in her heart, and Edgar spoke to her with great tenderness. He was like a man about to leave his most precious treasure in a world full of enemies. A few days later, he asked me for my honest opinion of Linton. He wanted to know if the boy had improved as he approached manhood.
'He is very fragile, sir,' I replied, 'and it is unlikely he will live to be a man. However, he is nothing like his father. If Miss Catherine were to marry him, she would easily be the one in control, unless she were foolishly indulgent.'
Edgar sighed and gazed out the window toward the village churchyard. It was a misty February afternoon, and the gravestones were barely visible in the dim sunlight. For years, he had looked forward to the day he would be buried beside his late wife, but now that the time was near, he felt a deep sense of fear for his daughter.
'I have been so happy with my little Cathy,' he mused. 'She has been a living hope at my side. But I have also been happy dreaming of the day I would finally lie beneath that green mound next to her mother. What will happen to Cathy when I am gone? I wouldn’t care if Linton were Heathcliff’s son, or even if Heathcliff gained control of my property, as long as I knew the boy could comfort her. But if Linton is merely a weak tool for his father, I cannot abandon her to him! I would rather trust her to God and see her buried before me than leave her to such a fate.'"
As spring arrived, my master failed to regain his strength, though he resumed his walks with his daughter. To Cathy’s inexperienced eyes, his bright eyes and flushed cheeks were signs of recovery, and she felt certain he would get well. On her seventeenth birthday, it rained, and for the first time, Edgar stayed home instead of visiting the churchyard.
He wrote to Linton again, expressing a desire to see him. Heathcliff, however, would not allow the boy to visit the Grange. Instead, he forced Linton to write a clever response. The letter suggested that they meet on the neutral ground of the moors, under Edgar’s supervision.
'Am I never to see her?' Linton wrote, likely following his father’s instructions. 'We have done nothing to deserve this separation. Dear uncle, let us meet anywhere you please, except at Thrushcross Grange. I believe an interview would convince you that my father’s character is not mine. He claims I am more like you than him. I know I have faults, but Catherine has forgiven them, and for her sake, you should too. My health is better, but how can I truly recover while I am doomed to this solitude?'
Edgar felt for the boy but was too weak to accompany Catherine himself. He suggested they continue writing, unaware that Heathcliff was monitoring every line Linton sent. In his letters, Linton stopped complaining about his own misery and instead focused entirely on how much he suffered being apart from Catherine. He hinted that if they did not meet soon, he would fear that Edgar’s promises were empty.
Cathy was a powerful ally for Linton at home, and between the two of them, they finally persuaded my master to agree. He eventually allowed them to ride or walk together once a week on the moors nearest the Grange, provided I was there to guard them.
By June, Edgar’s health was declining rapidly. He desperately wanted Catherine to remain in her ancestral home, and he believed her only prospect of doing so was to marry the heir, Linton. He had no idea that the boy was failing almost as fast as he was. No doctor visited Wuthering Heights, and we received no honest reports of Linton’s condition. I even began to think my own fears had been wrong. I could not imagine a father treating a dying child as cruelly as I later learned Heathcliff had treated Linton—forcing the boy to act healthy and eager simply to ensure his own cold-hearted plans were successful.