Wuthering Heights — Chapter 33 | Full Audiobook - Chapter by Chapter

Chapter 33 The next day, with Earnshaw still unable to resume his usual tasks and thus lingering around the house, it quickly became clear that keeping my charge close by, as I had before, was no longer feasible. She was up and out before me, heading into the garden where she found her cousin engaged in some light work. By the time I went to call them in for breakfast, she had already convinced him to clear a large patch of ground, uprooting current and gooseberry bushes, and they were eagerly plotting to bring in plants from the Grange.

I was alarmed by the destruction wrought in such a short span. Joseph prized those black currant trees above all else, and she had chosen to place a flower bed right in the middle of them. Look here, this will be reported to the Master the moment it's discovered. I exclaimed. What justification do you have for taking such liberties with the garden? We're in for quite the uproar over this. Just wait and see, Mr. Horton. I'm surprised you didn't have the sense to refuse her and avoid this mess. I forgot they were Josephs.

Earnshaw replied, looking somewhat confused. But I'll tell him it was my doing. We always shared our meals with Mr. Heathcliff. I took on the role of Hostess, preparing tea and carving the meat, making my presents at the table essential. Catherine typically sat beside me, but today she edged closer to Hareton. It was clear she would show as little restraint in her friendship as she did in her animosity. Remember, don't engage too much with your cousin. I whispered as we entered the room. It will surely irritate Mr. Heathcliff and he'll be angry with both of you.

I'm not going to, she replied. Yet moments later she had sidled over to him, placing primroses in his bowl of porridge. He didn't dare speak to her there. He barely dared to look. Still, she continued her teasing until he was nearly provoked into laughter. Twice. I frowned, and she glanced at the Master. His thoughts were clearly elsewhere, as his expression showed. She grew serious for a moment, studying him with intense gravity. Then she turned back and resumed her antics. Eventually, Hareton let out a muffled laugh.

Mr. Heathcliff started, his eyes quickly scanning our faces. Catherine met his gaze with her usual mix of nervousness and defiance, which he detested. It's a good thing you're out of my reach. He exclaimed. What devil compels you to keep staring at me with those damned eyes? Look away and don't remind me of your presence again. I thought I'd broken you. That laughter. It was me. Hareton mumbled. What did you say? The master demanded. Hareton stared at his plate, unwilling to repeat himself. Mr. Heathcliff glanced at him briefly, then returned to his breakfast and his interrupted thoughts.

We were nearly done, and the two young people wisely moved farther apart, so I expected no more disruptions during the meal. Just then, Joseph appeared at the door, his trembling lip and furious eyes revealing that he had discovered the damage to his cherished shrubs. He must have seen Cathy and her cousin near the scene before inspecting it, for as his jaws worked like a cow chewing cud, making his speech hard to follow, he began. I must have my wages and I must leave. I had planned to die where I've served for 60 years.

I thought I'd haul my books up to to the attic, along with all my belongings and let them have the kitchen to themselves for the sake of peace. It was hard to give up my own Hearthstone, but I thought I could manage it. But now she's taken my garden from me, and by God, Master, I can't stand it. You may bend to the yoke if you wish. I'm not used to it, and an old man doesn't easily adapt to new burdens. I'd rather earn my bread and drink by breaking stones on the road. Enough, you fool. Heathcliff interrupted sharply.

Get to the point. What's your complaint? I won't get involved in any disputes between you and Nelly. She could lock you in the coal cellar for all I care. It's not Nelly, Joseph retorted. I wouldn't bother with Nelly. Nasty creature that she is. Thank God she can't steal anyone's soul. She was never so attractive that you couldn't look at her without blinking. It's that frightful, shameless girl who's bewitched our boy with her bold eyes and forward ways until, oh, it breaks my heart. He's forgotten everything I've done for him, everything I've given him, and he's gone and torn up a whole row of the finest current bushes in the garden.

At this he broke down, completely overwhelmed by the sense of his deep grievances and Earnshaw's ingratitude and precarious state. Is the idiot drunk? Heathcliff Asked. Hareton. Is it you he's complaining about? I pulled up a couple of bushes. The young man admitted. But I'm going to replant them. And why have you uprooted them? The master asked. Catherine quickly interjected. We wanted to plant some flowers there. She exclaimed. I'm the one to blame. It was my idea. And who on earth gave you permission to touch anything around here?

Her father-in-law demanded, clearly taken aback. And who told you to follow her orders? He added, turning to Hareton. Hareton was silent, but his cousin spoke up. You shouldn't begrudge me a few yards of soil to beautify when you've taken all my land. Your land, you insolent girl. You never had any. Heathcliff retorted. And my money. She continued, meeting his furious gaze while biting into a piece of crust left from her breakfast silence. He shouted. Finish up and get out. And Hareton's land and his money.

She pressed on, undeterred. Hareton and I are friends now, and I'll tell him everything about you. The master seemed momentarily stunned. He turned pale and stood up, watching her with an expression of intense hatred. If you strike me, Hareton will strike you, she warned. So you might as well sit down. If Hareton doesn't throw you out of this room, I'll send him straight to hell. Heathcliff Broad, you damned twitch. Do you dare to turn him against me? Get her out of here, do you hear me? Throw her into the kitchen.

I'll kill her, Ellen Dean, if she crosses my path again. Hareton, in a low voice, tried to coax her to leave, drag her away. Heathcliff shouted, his voice filled with menace. Are you just standing there talking? He moved forward to enforce his demand. He won't follow your orders anymore, you vile man, Catherine declared. Soon he'll hate you, ha, as much as I do. Quiet, quiet. Hareton murmured reproachfully. I won't listen to you speak to him like that. Stop it. But you won't let him hit me, will you?

She pleaded. Come on then, He whispered urgently, but it was too late. Heathcliff had already seized her. Now it's your turn, he barked at Earnshaw. Damnable witch, she's pushed me past my limit this time, and I'll make her regret it forever. He had his hand tangled in her hair. Hareton tried to free her, bleeding with him, not to hurt her just this once. Heathcliff's dark eyes blazed. He looked ready to tear Catherine apart, and I was on the verge of stepping in to help when suddenly his grip loosened.

He shifted his hold from her hair to her arm and stared intently into her face. Then he rubbed his eyes, stood still for a moment as if to gather himself, and turned back to Catherine with a forced calmness. You need to learn not to provoke me, or one day I might really kill you. Go with Mrs. Dean, stay with her, and keep your insolence for her ears. As for Hareton Earnshaw, if I catch him listening to you, I'll send him off to fend for himself. Your love will turn him into an outcast and a beggar.

Nelly, take her away. All of you. Leave me. Leave me. I LED my young lady out. She was too relieved to resist. The others followed, and Mr. Heathcliff had the room to himself until dinner. I had advised Catherine to eat upstairs, but as soon as he noticed her empty seat, he sent me to fetch her. He spoke to none of us, ate sparingly, and left immediately afterward, indicating he wouldn't return until evening. In his absence, the two new friends settled into the house. I overheard Hareton firmly admonished his cousin when she attempted to disclose her father in law's behaviour to his father.

He declared he wouldn't tolerate a single disparaging word against him. Even if he were her, the devil, it wouldn't matter. He would defend him. He preferred she criticize him as she used to, and rather than start on Mr. Heathcliff. Catherine grew irritable at this, but he managed to silence her by asking how she would feel if he spoke I'll of her father. Then she understood that Earnshaw took the Master's reputation personally, and was bound by ties stronger than a reason could sever chains forged by habit, which it would be cruel to attempt to break.

From then on she showed a good heart by avoiding complaints and expressions of dislike about Heathcliff, and admitted to me her regret for trying to stir animosity between him and Hareton. Indeed, I don't believe she's uttered a word against her oppressor in Hareton's presence since. Once this minor disagreement was resolved, they were friends again, fully engaged in their roles as student and teacher. After finishing my work, I joined them, and watching them brought me such comfort and peace that I lost track of time.

You see, they both felt like my children to some extent. I had long been proud of 1, and now I was certain the other would bring me equal joy. His honest, warm and intelligent nature quickly dispelled the ignorance and degradation in which he had been raised, and Catherine's genuine praise spurred his diligence. His mind, now a light with clarity, illuminated his features, infusing them with a new found spirit and nobility. It was hard to believe he was the same person I had seen when I found my young lady at Wuthering Heights after her adventure to the cracks.

As I watched in admiration and they worked, dusk settled in. Bring with it the master. He arrived unexpectedly through the front entrance, catching a full view of all three of us before we could lift our heads to acknowledge him. I thought to myself, there could be no more pleasant or innocent sight. It would be a terrible injustice to reprimand them. The red glow of the firelight danced on the two bright heads, revealing faces alive with the eager curiosity of youth. For though he was 23 and she 18, they both had so much new to experience and learn that they showed none of the jaded sentiments of disillusioned adulthood.

They raised their eyes in unison to meet Mr. Heathcliff's gaze. Perhaps you haven't noticed, but their eyes are exactly engaged, like Catherine Earnshaw's, the coroner. Catherine shares no other resemblance to her, apart from a broad forehead and a certain arch of the nostril that lends her an air of haughtiness, whether she intends it or not. With Hareton the likeness extends further. It is always remarkable, but at that moment it was particularly striking, as his senses were keen and his mind unusually active.

I suspect this resemblance softened Mr. Heathcliff. He approached the hearth, visibly agitated, though this quickly transformed as he looked at the young man. Or rather, it changed in nature, for the agitation remained. He took the book from my hand, glanced at the open page, then handed it back without a word, merely gesturing for Catherine to leave. The companion lingered only a moment longer, and as I prepared to depart as well, he instructed me to stay seated. It's a disappointing end, isn't it?

He remarked after brooding over the scene. He had just witnessed an absurd conclusion to all my furious efforts. I gather tools and train myself to demolish these two houses, ready to work like Hercules. And when everything is set and within my grasp, I find I've lost the will to even lift a single slate from either roof. My old adversaries haven't defeated me. Now would be the perfect moment to exact my revenge on their descendants. I could do it and no one could stop me. But what's the point? I have no desire to strike.

I can't even muster the energy to raise my hand. It sounds as if I've been striving all this time just to show off some noble trait of magnanimity. That's far from the truth. I've lost the ability to take pleasure in their downfall, and I'm too indifferent to destroy for no reason. Nelly, there's a strange change coming. I'm in its shadow now. I'm so disinterested in my daily life that I barely remember to eat and drink. Those two who just left the room are the only things that still have a clear, tangible presence for me.

And that presence causes me pain and agony that's hard to bear. I won't speak of her. I don't even want to think about her, I just wish she could vanish because her presence only stirs up a storm inside me. He affects me in a different way, yet if I could avoid him without seeming deranged, I would. You might think I'm on the verge of madness, He added, attempting a smile. If I try to explain the myriad memories and ideas he stirs up or embodies. But you won't speak of what I confide in you. My mind is so perpetually blocked within itself, it's tempting to finally share it with someone else.

Just 5 minutes ago, Hareton seemed less a person and more living embodiment of my youth. I felt so many conflicting emotions towards him that speaking to him rationally was out of the question. His uncanny resemblance to Catherine ties him to her in a haunting way, but strangely, what you might think would most captivate my imagination is actually the least significant. For what isn't linked to her in my mind, what doesn't bring her to mind. I can't even look at this floor without seeing her features etched in the stones, in every cloud, every tree.

Her image fills the night air and flashes before me in every object. By day I'm surrounded by her likeness, the most ordinary faces of men and women. Even my own reflection taunt me with her resemblance. The whole world is grim archive of reminders that she was real and that I've lost her. Hareton's presence is like a shadow of my eternal love, a reflection of my fierce attempts to claim what was mine, my fall from grace. My pride, my joy, and my suffering. But it's madness to share these thoughts with you.

It only explains why, despite my aversion to solitude, his company offers no solace. Instead, it intensifies the relentless torment I endure. It partly makes me indifferent to how he and his cousin fare together. I can no longer pay them any mind. But what do you mean by a change, Mr. Heathcliff? I asked, concerned by his demeanour. Though he showed no signs of losing his mind or nearing death, in my estimation, he was robust and healthy, and As for his mental state, he had always found pleasure in brooding over dark matters and indulging in peculiar notions.

Perhaps he was obsessed with the memory of his lost idol. But in all other respects, his mind was as sharp as mine. I won't know until it happens, he replied. I'm only vaguely aware of it now. You don't feel unwell, do you? I inquired. No, Nelly, I don't, he replied. Then you're not afraid of dying, I continued. Afraid. No, he answered. I harbour neither fear nor foreboding. Nor do I hope for death. Why should I? With my robust constitution, my moderate lifestyle and my safe pursuits, I should and likely will remain alive until the last of my black hair has turned grey.

Yet I cannot persist in the state. I have to remind myself to breathe. Almost to remind my heart to beat. It's like forcing A stiff spring back into place. I perform even the smallest action, not driven by a singular thought, through sheer will. And I notice anything, living or dead, not connected to 1, all consuming idea only by force. I have one desire and my entire being and faculties are straining to achieve it. They've yearned for it so long and so unwaveringly that I'm convinced it will be realized, and soon.

Because it has consumed my existence, I am engulfed in the anticipation of its fulfilment. My confessions have not brought me relief, but they might explain some otherwise inexplicable moods I display. Oh, God, it's a long battle. I wish it were over. He began to pace the room, muttering dreadful things to himself, until I was inclined to believe, as he said Joseph did, that his conscience had turned his heart into an earthly hell. I wondered greatly how it would end. Though he had seldom revealed the state of mind before, even through his expressions, I had no doubt it was his habitual mood.

He claimed it himself, yet from his general demeanour no one would have guessed the truth. You didn't recognize him then, Mr. Lockwood, and at the time I'm referring to, he was exactly the same as you saw him, more inclined to solitude and perhaps even more terse in conversation.

The Story