Nelly had been sent all the way to London to fetch her, a new maid for Mistress Frances Earnshaw.
She had found her at the docks, standing head and shoulders below the Africans that waited for sale, with hair like fire and eyes as blue as mermaid scales.
She had looked over several slave women, mostly Africans, beautiful women with curling hair and full lips and then she had come to this glum little drab, the hair had caught her eye…and Miss Cathy would never tolerate a woman prettier than she in the house…
The slaver had smiled broadly and approached
"A fine consideration Ma'am, she would make an excellent ladies maid would she not? Or could even be put to hard labour if that's yer wish. "
"Where did you find her?"
"Ireland ma'am, not much to look at but strong as an ox, gypsy blood I'm warned, but it cannot be much from the look of her, and I'll let you have her for a good price on that account. "
Nelly catches her chin and raises the deathly pale face, examining her.
"Do you speak English gal?"
The creature nods, burning tresses whispering in the sea air, heavy with salt and the stink of the fish markets.
The man strikes her ear and she flinches
"Yes ma'am, you hopeless creature. Yes ma'am."
She drops into a wooden curtsey and parrots his words. Though it is more noise than words, each one distorted.
Nelly sighs and glances along the line once more…Master Hindley would never tolerate a child.
"I will take her."
She barters a very fine price in view of the girl's alleged impurity of parentage and is given a length of rope to lead her with.
Nelly watches her closely all the long ride home, she tries to offer the hand of friendship, telling the girl stories of Master and Mistress, and old Joseph, if she is a good girl and mindful of her manners she shall have a happy home, Mistress Frances is a kindly woman and she shall delight to wait upon her once she comes to know her Nelly is sure.
The girl smiles sweetly, and Nelly begins to doubt she has any tongue at all.
Still a mute will be of no harm so long as her work is done.
The rain falls like tears from heaven as she dismounts from the carriage and takes it in by the servants entrance, Joseph greets it with a bible quote and it smiles on, like an idiot child.
Nelly sighs and hurries to fetch it some porridge for its supper, it would insist on praying over it in some heathen tongue whilst it grows cold, before the creature will set a spoon to it.
Though she fancies Joseph looks on it the kindlier for such.
Nelly takes the chair beside her and hurriedly explains the work she is to be set about, she shall rise with the sun and prepare the fires, help Nelly about the meals, scrub floors, clean stables, bathe as well as dress and undress the Mistress Frances as well as keeping her company should she wish it.
She will keep herself clean and neat and will be bathed after any field work before attending to the mistress and every Sunday before church whether she be used to washin' or no.
She will be allowed time from her duties to attend church on Sunday mornings with the other servants.
And now she may just see to the cleaning of her supper things.
She makes short enough work of it, singing in some strange tongue, Nelly suspects must be Irish from the lilt of it…though at some moments she would swear she hears ghosts of the gibberish Heathcliff babbled as a child.
Perhaps she was given a good price for a reason?
Mayhap the girl will likewise be given to a fearsome temper or worse…to thieving.
No, Nelly shall take her under wing and see to it that she makes a model servant of the lassie.
If she has to flog the skin from her back to do it.
She cannot conceal the maid in the kitchens all the evening, Master Hindley shall want to see for himself what his coin has bought him and be keen to make a show of his present to Mistress.
Ellen takes her by the arm and catching up a rough cloth scrubs her as clean as may be given the state of her, and then taking up her own comb no less, pulls it through the burning strands, it is the best that can be made of her.
She leads her through the servant's hallway to the parlour and bids her wait…and stand up straight.
If she truly has any English she would be wise to make use of it or Master may yet decide to turn her out onto the moors.
Hindley Earnshaw enters with Frances leading her by the hands, her eyes closed like a child on Christmas morn.
He seats her before the fire and quickly runs piggy eyes over the latest acquisition to his house.
He nods to Nelly in grim satisfaction, she will do. Though he had hoped for a pretty one.
"What is your name, girl?"
For a moment she remains silent and Nelly could throw up her hands in anguish, and then a voice, soft as the tolling of chapel bells issues
"Keela. Master, Mistress" she falls into a curtsey, it seems a little food and warmth has washed away her former woodenness, though she is too powerful of body, ever to be graceful or delicate, but bonny she is, in the fire's glow.
Frances gleams like a fresh-minted coin and claps her hands
"Oh darling Hindley! I adore her!"
She speaks as if the creature before her were a bluebird in a gilded cage and not a young lass of twelve…or mayhap thirteen.
The mistress holds out pale hands and the girl moves to take them as Frances draws her near with a gentle smile
"I shall be kind to you. We will be the greatest of friends I know it."
The servant smiles "I thank you mistress, for your goodness."
How queer and old fashioned she sounds…still Mistress seems well pleased and has taken the little lassie to heart. She glances up at Nelly with guileless eyes
"What is the matter with her voice Ellen dear? Is she simple? I care not, truly. But would have you answer honestly."
Hindley smiles on Frances's charity…she has such a good heart, his little wife. Kind to all and sundry even the most undeserving.
Ellen cannot help but laugh, "She is Irish ma'am. That is all, I daresay it shall go away in time if you do not like it, or if Master will allow, we might send for the curate to correct her speech."
She watches his eyes narrow and regrets speaking so freely.
"She will do, Ellen. You have done well. Go on then. Bring her to help my wife this evening…and don't let Cathy see her. She will only be put out of humour."
Nelly curtsies "Yes, Sir."
Lord save them if Miss Catherine should come across the little drab, she will tease her mercilessly she is quite sure, and if there is even a touch of the gypsy in her then the whole house shall be put in an uproar lest the lassie should heave her fist against her tormentor.
They must be kept apart, for little mistresses' wicked ways would test a saint beyond all endurance.
With her pinches and her slaps and her nasty little remarks.
She must be warned against rambling about the house, but keep company only with her own kind…Still she seems a good girl.
Back in the kitchen Joseph is to be found seated at the kitchen table armed with the good book, he would but read a passage to her before she sets about her work and Nelly is forced to listen as he recites Colossians 3:23-24
"Whatever ye do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men, knowing that from the Lord ye shall receive the inheritance as your reward. Ye are serving the Lord Christ."
"Amen."
Nelly laughs to watch the smile on the wizened face at such piety.
Perhaps it will do his pharisaical old heart good to have a body in the home that will not mock his speeches and sermons but rather listen with good faith and an honest attention.
The girl's head comes up from the page at the sound of hooves on cobbles and Joseph turns to the door with a smile
"Ye like horses?"
She nods "Aye, Sir."
He beams "Not sir, only Joseph, as is proper fer a brother in Christ."
"Forgive me, Yes, Joseph. I love them."
He gestures to the door, "Be off with ye then, out to the stables, no tarryin mind ye, and beware the devil."
She giggles, "How may the devil lurk in a stable?"
Nelly sighs, "He means Heathcliff."
The girl smiles "What?"
"Not what, he's…the stable boy."
"Why should I mind him? How can I think to find him wicked when you are both so kind?"
This brings forth a tirade from Joseph who can restrain himself no longer, and he spits forth venom on that fahl de'il of a gipsy, an imp o' Satan.
Keela nods and smiles to appease his wrath "Then I shall be most careful, of him. Truly"
Joseph holds out his most precious treasure in all the world, as if it were a shield.
"Guard yeself wi' th' word."
She takes this talisman of truth and righteousness with her out into the bitter night.
"I see you met Joseph."
She turns, raising the book as if it were a weapon.
Heathcliff laughs at the sight of her, hunched with the book, like a goblin over its treasure, gripping it as if it were a sword, she fumbles at her throat and in the darkness he cannot see what she does.
He curses at the water that strikes him in the face. She stands in triumphant silence, and waits,
As though she thought he would burn…so, Hindley has bought himself a superstitious little vixen.
Never in all his days has he yet had holy water thrown over him.
Even by Joseph.
She watches him expectantly and then pouts as though his resultant humanity has disappointed her.
"Joseph said I might see the horses."
Heathcliff smiles "And you expect me to show you after so introducing yourself, do you?"
She straightens up for what little it is worth, saints alive she really is tiny as a fairy.
"I expect nothing from you." So saying she marches past him into the candlelight of the stables, leaving him in the dark to stare after her.
In that moment he sees Cathy in the flash of her eyes and the imperious lilt of her voice.
And God help him, he cannot but follow in her footsteps, he finds her admiring the white mare, though it lays back its ears and stamps, he moves closer…should the beast take against her…and yet it does not, she stretches forth a hand, delicate as elven silver in the light and caresses its head, it stills at her touch, at the soft whisperings he cannot discern, in the shadows, and the amber glow that makes hellfire of her hair and sapphires of her eyes.
He turns from her then and pulls off his shirt, soaked as it is with holy water.
Her scream would wake the dead.
She stands, hands clapped to both eyes, shrieking like one possessed.
He cannot help but laugh at her, though it seems cruel. She makes quite the sight, standing and howling so.
In the kitchen Nelly rises at the sound of the gypsies laughter like silver bells.
"Oh dear."
She bustles out and finds poor Keela still standing with her eyes hidden, at least she has stopped yowling like a scalded cat.
Nelly raises an eyebrow
"And what would Miss Cathy have to say of such behavior? Stop tormentin' her, its dreadful ungentlemanly. Put yer damn clothes on. Wicked boy."
The gypsy crosses his arms and stares her down, "Can't, it were her choice to throw holy water all over me. Thank Joseph for the state of her."
Nelly sighs "Fine, bring yer shirt in, we'll dry it out on the fire, but find something, else she'll fall into fits. Don't yer wish you could have such an effect on Miss Catherine."
Heathcliff scowls at her as she leads the girl back to the house for the silly creature refuses on all that is holy to uncover her eyes, it would be a sin.
She's worse than Joseph. What a pair.
Heathcliff drops down before the fire and Nelly resolutely seats Keela facing the opposite wall, and thus Hindley finds her, he eyes his former foster brother with open dislike.
"What is it doing in here?"
Nelly sighs "The girl took it into her head to drench him in holy water."
Keela dares not look round until the master sniggers, a horrible sound like a pig at its feeding.
"Well, it would seem she has the measure of him. Send her up Nelly, my wife would be abed."
"Yes, Sir." She ushers the girl out into the hall and she follows her corpulent master to where his wife reclines before the fire, round as the full moon with the child in her belly.
Keela offers her hand and helps her to rise, she brushes the long flaxen locks, and helping her from her gown and stays washes the pale body, and then dresses her in her rich white nightdress, she resembles nothing quite so much as a Christmas dainty, all soft white cotton and frothing lace.
But she is kind as Christ, and ready to praise Keela's little efforts.
Then the maid must sit with her an hour and read to her from a novel, though her accent makes a mockery of the telling, and then they might pray together before Mistress retires.
Keela falls to her knees and throwing her apron over her head makes the sign of the cross, Frances snatches at her hands, laughing
"Oh no my dear, we are not a papist house! I shall not say a word to Hindley of course, but you must learn to pray to God in the manner that is most pleasing to Him. Come, I will show you how to begin, and then you must go to Joseph and beg his instruction!"
And the mistress clasps her hands and bows her angelic head and prays to the Good Lord in English as if he were a neighboring farmer and she were not on her knees before the King of Kings.
At last Keela is bidden to her bed and descends the stairs in the darkness without so much as a candle to guide her faltering steps.
The warmth of the kitchen welcomes her, she would feel a fool to close her eyes again after the scolding it brought…and so she resumes her seat and taking a breath turns to the gypsy before the fire.
"Forgive me." Her voice is sweet as honey.
He does not even look at her, Nelly sighs
"I had saved cakes fer the both o' ya but you'll neither have 'em if ye won't be friends, and ye've no one to blame but yerself, she might well think ye the devil appearin' outa the dark like that, it's a laughin' matter when its Old Mrs Green or the priest but not when its yer own kind, so ye shan't do it again shall ya?"
He rolls black eyes heavenward and acquiesces
Nelly turns to Keela.
"And you, lass. Lets be havin' no more o' this superstitious nonsense, if he looked like master I could forgive the horrified shrieking."
Joseph chokes on his beer and Heathcliff sparkles like some evil jewel before the flames as the girl averts her eyes and colours pink as the roses in the garden.
Nelly eyes them as they watch each other, wary as cat and mouse, the girl trying and failing to pretend that she does not glance his way whenever she thinks he will not notice.
Miss Cathy would not approve…still they would be well matched…she is of his own station in life…and it would free Miss Cathy to encourage the attentions of Master Linton, a far more sensible choice upon which to bestow her heart.
Hmmm it could do no harm to encourage a little familiarity and dare she say even affection if such could be roused between the gypsy and the Taig.
They will surely be seeing enough of each other…in the evenings at least…and with the girl's love of horses, now if only there were some seemly way to bring mention to her bad blood, where Heathcliff is sure to hear it.
Nelly smiles and hands round the tiny cakes she has baked with the leftovers, the four of them make an odd little domestic scene below stairs, in the great house as their Lords and masters sleep the evening away.
And in that moment Ellen Dean would not trade the simple joy of good food and well-earned rest among friends for her master's weight in diamonds.