3 Books To Know Victorian Women. Elizabeth Gaskell
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woman whom I knew, and who formerly lived at Gimmerton, answered: she had been servant there since the death of Mr. Earnshaw.
“Ah,” said she, “you are come a seeking your little mistress! don’t be frightened. She’s here safe: but I’m glad it isn’t the master.”
“He is not at home then, is he?” I panted, quite breathless with quick walking and alarm.
“No, no,” she replied: “both he and Joseph are off, and I think they won’t return this hour or more. Step in and rest you a bit.”
I entered, and beheld my stray lamb seated on the hearth, rocking herself in a little chair that had been her mother’s when a child. Her hat was hung against the wall, and she seemed perfectly at home, laughing and chattering, in the best spirits imaginable, to Hareton—now a great, strong lad of eighteen—who stared at her with considerable curiosity and astonishment: comprehending precious little of the fluent succession of remarks and questions which her tongue never ceased pouring forth.
“Very well, miss!” I exclaimed, concealing my joy under an angry countenance. “This is your last ride, till papa comes back. I’ll not trust you over the threshold again, you naughty, naughty girl!”
“Aha, Ellen!” she cried gaily, jumping up and running to my side. “I shall have a pretty story to tell to-night: and so you’ve found me out. Have you ever been here in your life before?”
“Put that hat on, and home at once,” said I. “I’m dreadfully grieved at you, Miss Cathy: you’ve done extremely wrong. It’s no use pouting and crying: that won’t repay the trouble I’ve had, scouring the country after you. To think how Mr. Linton charged me to keep you in; and you stealing off so! it shows you are a cunning little fox, and nobody will put faith in you any more.”
“What have I done?” sobbed she, instantly checked. “Papa charged me nothing: he’ll not scold me, Ellen—he’s never cross, like you!”
“Come, come!” I repeated. “I’ll tie the riband. Now, let us have no petulance. Oh, for shame! You thirteen years old, and such a baby!”
This exclamation was caused by her pushing the hat from her head, and retreating to the chimney out of my reach.
“Nay,” said the servant, “don’t be hard on the bonny lass, Mrs. Dean. We made her stop: she’d fain have ridden forwards, afeard you should be uneasy. Hareton offered to go with her, and I thought he should: it’s a wild road over the hills.”
Hareton, during the discussion, stood with his hands in his pockets, too awkward to speak; though he looked as if he did not relish my intrusion.
“How long am I to wait?” I continued, disregarding the woman’s interference. “It will be dark in ten minutes. Where is the pony, Miss Cathy? And where is Phoenix? I shall leave you, unless you be quick; so please yourself.”
“The pony is in the yard,” she replied, “and Phoenix is shut in there. He’s bitten—and so is Charlie. I was going to tell you all about it; but you are in a bad temper, and don’t deserve to hear.”
I picked up her hat, and approached to reinstate it; but perceiving that the people of the house took her part, she commenced capering round the room; and on my giving chase, ran like a mouse over and under and behind the furniture, rendering it ridiculous for me to pursue. Hareton and the woman laughed, and she joined them, and waxed more impertinent still; till I cried, in great irritation:
“Well, Miss Cathy, if you were aware whose house this is, you’d be glad enough to get out.”
“It’s your father’s, isn’t it?” said she, turning to Hareton.
“Nay,” he replied, looking down, and blushing bashfully. He could not stand a steady gaze from her eyes, though they were just his own.
“Whose then—your master’s?” she asked.
He coloured deeper, with a different feeling, muttered an oath, and turned away.
“Who is his master?” continued the tiresome girl, appealing to me. “He talked about ‘our house’and ‘our folk.’ I thought he had been the owner’s son. And he never said, Miss; he should have done, shouldn’t he, if he’s a servant?”
Hareton grew black as a thundercloud, at this childish speech. I silently shook my questioner, and at last succeeded in equipping her for departure.
“Now, get my horse,” she said, addressing her unknown kinsman as she would one of the stable-boys at the Grange. “And you may come with me. I want to see where the goblin-hunter rises in the marsh, and to hear about the fairishes, as you call them: but make haste! What’s the matter? Get my horse, I say.”
“I’ll see thee damned before I be thy servant!” growled the lad.
“You’ll see me what?” asked Catherine in surprise.
“Damned—thou saucy witch!” he replied.
“There, Miss Cathy! you see you have got into pretty company,” I interposed. “Nice words to be used to a young lady! pray don’t begin to dispute with him. Come, let us seek for Minny ourselves, and begone.”
“But, Ellen,” cried she, staring, fixed in astonishment, “how dare he speak so to me? Mustn’t he be made to do as I ask him? You wicked creature, I shall tell papa what you said.—Now, then!”
Hareton did not appear to feel this threat; so the tears sprang into her eyes with indignation. “You bring the pony,” she exclaimed, turning to the woman, “and let my dog free this moment!”
“Softly, miss,” answered she addressed: “you’ll lose nothing by being civil. Though Mr. Hareton, there, be not the master’s son, he’s your cousin; and I was never hired to serve you.”
“He my cousin!” cried Cathy, with a scornful laugh.
“Yes, indeed,” responded her reprover.
“Oh, Ellen! don’t let them say such things,” she pursued, in great trouble. “Papa is gone to fetch my cousin from London: my cousin is a gentleman’s son. That my”— she stopped, and wept outright; upset at the bare mention of relationship with such a clown.
“Hush, hush!” I whispered, “people can have many cousins, and of all sorts, Miss Cathy, without being any the worse for it; only they needn’t keep their company, if they be disagreeable and bad.”
“He’s not—he’s not my cousin, Ellen!” she went on, gathering fresh grief from reflection, and flinging herself into my arms for refuge from the idea.
I was much vexed at her and the servant for their mutual revelations; having no doubt of Linton’s approaching arrival, communicated by the former, being reported to Mr. Heathcliff; and feeling as confident that Catherine’s first thought on her father’s return, would be to seek an explanation of the latter’s assertion concerning her rude-bred kindred. Hareton, recovering from his disgust at being taken for a servant, seemed moved by her distress; and, having fetched the pony round to the door, he took, to propitiate her, a fine crooked-legged terrier-whelp from the kennel, and putting it into her hand bid her wisht! for he meant nought. Pausing in her lamentations, she surveyed him with a glance of awe and horror, then burst forth anew.
I could scarcely refrain from smiling at this antipathy to the poor fellow; who was a well-made, athletic youth, good-looking in features, and stout and healthy, but attired in garments befitting his daily occupations of working on the farm, and lounging among the moors after rabbits and game. Still, I thought I could detect in his physiognomy a mind owning better qualities than his father ever possessed. Good things lost amid a wilderness of weeds, to be sure, whose rankness far overtopped their neglected growth; yet, notwithstanding, evidence of a wealthy soil, that might yield luxuriant crops under other and favourable circumstances. Mr. Heathcliff, I believe, had not treated him physically ill; thanks to his fearless nature, which offered no temptation to that course