Chapter Two

Catherine

It had been several hours since her father had left, the light growing less and less until it was almost pitch black outside, and still Catherine insisted that she wait for her father's return before retiring to bed.

'I shall not go, Nelly, so there is no point in asking me,' she said firmly when Nelly tried yet again to persuade her to go to bed.

'But the time, Miss Catherine! Your papa could be some hours yet. He would be worried if he knew you were still up at this hour, my love.'

'Even so, I won't be able to sleep until I see him. Please, Nelly.'

Nelly sighed but nodded. 'Very well. Just this once.'

It was indeed an hour before Catherine saw the lights of the carriage come into view on the long drive through the Grange park, but the moment they came into view, her tiredness evaporated, and the fairly ran down the stairs to meet her father.

'What, still up at this time, Catherine?' he said, embracing her. 'I should have thought Nelly would have more sense than to let you wait for me.'

'She did, but I insisted,' Catherine explained. Her father smiled tightly at this, but Catherine failed to notice the forced air of merriness he had. 'Did Linton's father receive him well?' she asked immediately.

'Allow your papa to take off his coat and hat, child,' scolded Nelly. 'He's had a hard journey today so don't go wearing him out even more.'

'Well, I don't see why he needed to do all his travelling today,' Catherine said ungraciously. 'You could have let Linton stay the night, and gone on to his father's tomorrow.'

'You know that would not have been possible, Catherine,' her father said, walking into the parlour and removing his hat and gloves.

'Why could he not stay just one night? Just long enough for me to get to know him better.'

'Because I do not think that is what his father would wish for him, Catherine.'

Catherine paused as her father unwound his scarf from around his neck, before saying: 'Is he far away?'

'Exceeding far.'

'Your father travelled all night,' Nelly reminded her.

Mr Linton turned and walked into his study, Catherine trailing after him.

'When Linton's mother died,' her father began, 'I wanted nothing more than to have him here with us, but that is simply not possible. We will have to remain as we have always been, just you and me, the two of us – and Nelly here.'

Catherine clenched her jaw at her father's betrayal. Was it so much to ask, just for her to get to know her cousin a little better? She knew hardly anyone – her father was always telling her she shouldn't be going out on the moors, or even to Gimmerton – it was sometimes almost as if he were frightened of something. 'All I wanted was a friend,' she said forcefully, 'but you took him away, and you will not tell me why! So it is not like it always was – it never can be like that any more!'

~{}~

Hareton

Heathcliff's son had only been there a month, but he was certainly making his presence known. Never had Hareton known a boy so ill, or so complaining of his discomfort! True, Heathcliff certainly wasn't gentle towards him, but that wasn't Heathcliff's way – surely Linton could see that?

To begin with, everything had been better. Heathcliff had treated Linton carefully – or as carefully as it was within his nature to allow – and Linton had seemed relatively strong, at least compared to now. Within a few weeks, everything had taken a turn for the worse. Almost simultaneously, Linton had grown worse, and Heathcliff had tired of playing the caring father. Or semi-caring father. And now that Linton was ill, he required tending to, and that naturally fell to Hareton and Joseph, who had enough duties without adding playing nursemaid to their master's son to them as well.

Hareton didn't attempt to hide his dislike and contempt for Linton. The boy – with his soft accent and pampered ways – knew nothing of the life Hareton was accustomed to. He could not be further from the rough ways of Wuthering Heights. And yet somehow, he was the son to Heathcliff, the closest thing to a father Hareton had ever known. And now Linton was here, Hareton was second-best, thrown out by this cuckoo in the nest.

'Hareton!'

Again there came the pitiful, wailing cry from the hall, and Hareton was obliged to leave his work in the kitchen and go see to the owner of the voice.

'What dust tha' want?' he grumbled.

'Get me some water, I'm dying of thirst!'

Resignedly, Hareton turned back to the kitchen, but before he reached there, Heathcliff appeared. Hareton paused, as if to speak to Heathcliff, but he received such a quelling glare from him that he turned immediately into the kitchen, burning with shame and humiliation and hatred of Linton. Things hadn't been good, exactly, before Linton came, but they had certainly been better.

'Well, Son, how do you fare today?' he heard Heathcliff say mockingly behind him. His only consolation was the fact that Heathcliff seemed to dislike Linton nearly as much as Hareton himself.