Читать книгу Wuthering Heights / Грозовой перевал. Уровень 3 - Эмили Бронте, Эмили Бронте - Страница 5

That evening, at Thrushcross Grange, I desired Mrs. Dean, when she brought in supper, to sit down while I ate it.

'You have lived here a considerable time,' I said; 'did you say sixteen years?'

'Eighteen, sir: I came when the mistress was married, to wait on her[6]; after she died, the master retained me for his housekeeper. Ah, times are greatly changed since then!'

'Yes,' I remarked, 'you've seen a good many changes, I suppose?'

'I have: and troubles too,' she said.

Then I asked Mrs. Dean why Heathcliff had left Thrushcross Grange, and preferred to live in a situation and residence so much inferior.

'Is he not rich enough to keep the estate in good order?' I inquired.

'Rich, sir!' she returned. 'He has a lot of money, and every year it increases. Yes, yes, he's rich enough to live in a finer house than this: but he's very mean. And if he hears of a good tenant he won't miss the chance of getting a few hundreds more. It is strange that people can be so greedy, when they are alone in the world!'

'He had a son, it seems?'

'Yes, he had one – he is dead.'

'And that young lady, Mrs. Heathcliff, is his widow?'

'Yes.'

'Where did she come from originally?'

'Why, sir, she is my late master's daughter: Catherine Linton was her maiden name. I nursed her, poor thing[7]!'

'What! Catherine Linton?' I exclaimed, astonished.

But a minute's reflection convinced me it was not my ghostly Catherine.

'Then,' I continued, 'my predecessor's name was Linton?'

'It was.'

'And who is that Earnshaw: Hareton Earnshaw, who lives with Mr. Heathcliff? Are they relations?'

'No; he is the late Mrs. Linton's nephew.'

'The young lady's cousin, then?'

'Yes; and her husband was her cousin also: one on the mother's, the other on the father's side: Heathcliff married Mr. Linton's sister.'

'I see the house at Wuthering Heights has “Earnshaw” carved over the front door. Are they an old family?'

'Very old, sir; and Hareton is the last of them, as our Miss Cathy is of us – I mean, of the Lintons. Have you been to Wuthering Heights? I beg pardon for asking; but I want to hear how she is.'

'Mrs. Heathcliff? She looked very well, and very handsome; yet, I think, not very happy.'

'Oh dear, I don't wonder! And how did you like the master?'

'A rough fellow, rather, Mrs. Dean. Is not that his character?'

'Indeed! The less you meddle with him the better. I know all about it: except where he was born, and who were his parents, and how he got his money at first. And Hareton was cast out like a dog! The unfortunate lad is the only one in all this parish that does not guess how he was cheated.'

'Well, Mrs. Dean, it will be a charitable deed to tell me something of my neighbours: I feel I shall not rest if I go to bed; so be good enough to sit and talk.'

And so she told me the whole story.

Before I came to live here, she said, I was almost always at Wuthering Heights; because my mother had nursed Mr. Hindley Earnshaw, that was Hareton's father. I used to play with the children, I helped a little, too. One fine summer morning – it was the beginning of harvest, I remember – Mr. Earnshaw, the old master, went to Liverpool for a short time. But it seemed a long time to us all – the three days of his absence. Mrs. Earnshaw expected him by supper-time on the third evening, but only about eleven o'clock, the door opened, and the master stepped in. He threw himself into a chair, laughing and groaning, as he was exhausted.

'But see here, wife!' he said, opening his great-coat, which he held bundled up in his arms. 'You must take it as a gift of God; though it's as dark almost as if it came from the devil.'

We crowded round, and there was a dirty, ragged, black-haired child; big enough both to walk and talk. Indeed, its face looked older than Catherine's; yet when it was set on its feet, it only stared round, and repeated over and over again some gibberish that nobody could understand. I was frightened, and Mrs. Earnshaw was ready to fling it out of doors. She was angry, asking how he could bring that gipsy into the house, when they had their own children to feed. The master, apparently, saw the child, starving and houseless, in the streets of Liverpool, where he picked it up and inquired for its owner. Nobody knew to whom it belonged. Well, the conclusion was, that my mistress got calm; and Mr. Earnshaw told me to wash it, and give it clean things, and let it sleep with the children. He promised some presents for them, but they all got lost or broken while he was attending to the stranger. Hindley and Cathy were not happy about it, of course. They entirely refused to have it in bed with them, or even in their room. I had no more sense, so I put it on the landing of the stairs, hoping it might go in the morbibg. By chance, it crept to Mr. Earnshaw's door, and there he found it. Inquiries were made; I was obliged to confess. Because of my cowardice and inhumanity, I was sent out of the house.

On coming back a few days afterwards, I found they had christened him 'Heathcliff': it was the name of a son who died in childhood. Miss Cathy and he were now very close; but Hindley hated him. To say the truth, I did the same. We plagued and treated him shamefully: for I wasn't reasonable enough to feel my injustice, and the mistress never protected him, too.

He seemed a sullen, patient child; hardened, perhaps, to ill-treatment. He was standing Hindley's blows without winking. This endurance made old Earnshaw furious; he believed all the boy said (and he said precious little, and generally the truth), and loved him more than Cathy, who was too mischievous and wayward.

So, from the very beginning, he was an apple of discord in the house. At Mrs. Earnshaw's death, which happened in less than two years after, the young master, Hindley, saw his father as an oppressor rather than a friend, and Heathcliff as a usurper of his parent's affections and his privileges. I sympathised a while; but when the children fell ill with the measles, and I had to tend them, I changed my mind. Heathcliff was as uncomplaining as a lamb; though hardness, not gentleness, made him give little trouble. Thus Hindley lost me, his last ally. Heathcliff complained so seldom, indeed, even when he got seriously beaten by his brother, that I really thought him not vindictive. I was deceived completely, as you will hear.