The dawn brought a rare calm to the moors, the clouds retreating and yielding to the bright, merciless sun. The moors gleamed in the light: yellow and purple and green and gold, all clearly evident from any window in the Heights.
To Hareton Earnshaw, it brought a welcome light as he went about his tasks, Hareton having been up since well before that dawn, as he always was, to set to his chores. It brought a smile to his face, as well, for with the clear day came an assurance that Heathcliff might be spared the torments of the previous night.
To Catherine Linton, it brought a wakening from uneasy dreams that she could not recall, but which left an awful feeling in the back of her mind which spoke of loss, and reminded her all through the poor fare that served as breakfast that her only friend was gone.
To Joseph, it brought another day of prayer and hard work, and the Lord well knew he expected little more than that.
To the whole household, it brought Heathcliff, a manic gleam in his eyes, dry and sunken though they were from a night of broken sleep and silent screams, of turning over and over in the bed, and of staring, unseeing and insensible, even as his body must surely have slept.
A genteel smile was fixed upon his face, which Catherine, upon seeing him enter the kitchen, took for a sign of kindliness.
"How are you this morning, sir?" enquired she, as politely and pleasantly as she could manage; while beside her, Hareton, who knew Heathcliff's expressions far better than did she, turned his face quickly away. "Is the morning not fair?"
Heathcliff took his seat at table, his lips not moving a fraction of an inch, and ladled his porridge into a bowl without looking at it, his gaze fixed upon Catherine's face. Catherine began to feel somewhat uncomfortable, and lowered her eyes to her own bowl. Still his eyes bored into her, even as she ate, and an uncomfortable silence descended: for neither she nor Hareton dared speak before Heathcliff answered Catherine, and Heathcliff seemed quite content to leave her delicate enquiries hanging in the air between them.
He did not eat, himself, but sat as still as though rigor mortis had overcome him, with only the rare blink of his eyes to confirm his continued life, watching the pair of them as they finished their meal. Finally Cathy could take the awkward silence no more, and entreated Heathcliff again. "Will you not eat, sir? I fear yours will become cold."
Heathcliff looked down, apparently rather surprised to find his breakfast before him, and seemed as though he were about to begin; but then he looked up again, and settled once more into his unsettling trance, his eyes once more upon her face.
At last, when it seemed to Catherine that perhaps Heathcliff might never speak again, he rose, beamed at both of them, and said, brightly, "A fine day, indeed! Now, 'tis time I got that funeral planned."
And as Catherine blinked away the tears that came unbidden to her eyes for the loss of her friend, Heathcliff swept from the room, leaving his food uneaten on the table.
It was inappropriate, in young Catherine's eyes, that such fine weather should present itself for a funeral. It was as though the sun mocked her continually, and her poor father complained that the light got in his eyes painfully.
Indeed, she worried for her father, who looked more drawn and pale than he had when she had left for Wuthering Heights. It seemed his health had declined quite dismally in the few days she had been away, for Nellie stayed ever at his side, looking protective and alert, and insisted he take his various medicines at strictly appointed times. It was an effort, in fact, for Edgar Linton to attend the church for his nephew's funeral, and Catherine had the distressing feeling that he had come only for her sake – and, perhaps, that he should not have, for his own. She resolved, then and there, to return to her father's house directly the funeral was over, and nurse him back to some degree of health.
Heathcliff, Hareton, Joseph, and a hired mourner from the funeral service made up the mourners, and in truth, Linton's body was so light that the expense of another mourner was almost unnecessary. The whole thing had been arranged with almost troubling rapidity: scarce two days had passed since she watched him breathe his last. Though she would never say it out loud, she was almost sad to see the body removed so quickly, as though she had not had time to say her goodbyes, or to become accustomed to the sudden loss of the one friend she had known in her life.
True, Hareton was tolerable company enough; but so coarse and unlettered that there was precious little of which they could speak: she would mention some marvellous book, and he would know nothing of it; he would show her the birds in the yard, and she could not tell one from another. Neither of them had the patience to continue such exchanges long before the one's ignorance would grate across the nerves of the other, and more harsh and critical words would lie unsaid between them than Catherine would ever allow to pass her lips.
The clergyman was speaking, monotonous words that would have fitted any soul: "We recommend this soul to God Almightly… May his sins be forgiven… Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…" Catherine found her eyes prickling with tears, though the priest's words meant nothing to her.
Heathcliff's face was blank, and not a little pale: Catherine had scarcely seen him eat since the night he had screamed his throat hoarse at the window, and on the rare occasions that he had, he had picked at his meals and left them half-eaten, before retiring abruptly, sometimes even when either she or Hareton were partway through addressing him. He stared at the priest as though he could see past the dull exterior of the man, to every sin held within.
Joseph's head was bowed, his lips moving along with every passage from the Bible that had been included in the speech, no matter how obscure; and she fancied that every time the priest so much as stopped for breath, she could hear a quickly whispered prayer from the old servant's lips, as though the prayers of the priest himself were insufficient, and only Joseph himself could summon the requisite piety to truly recommend a boy to the Almighty. Poor soul, she thought, who will pray for him when he is gone? Doubtless there is none that could pray well enough for his satisfaction.
Hareton reached for her hand when she wept by the graveside, but she pulled away from his grasp: she was not ready to be touched, not now, not by anyone; and she hoped Hareton would understand her actions did not stem from unkindness. Although from the look in his eyes when she glanced up at him, it would not hurt to explain when next they spoke.
Her father stood some distance from Heathcliff, and upon the opposite side of the grave, as though Heathcliff bore some disease that he wished to avoid. Still, it seemed he could not avoid the man forever, for Heathcliff bore down upon him as they began to depart, and ailing as he was, Edgar could hardly avoid him.
Even some distance behind the two of them, she could hear every word.
"Edgar! Why, 'tis rare to see you out of the house," cried Heathcliff in an uncommonly jovial tone. "Mayhap you have come just for the delight of seeing my face?"
She did not hear her father's reply: his voice was too quiet; but she heard Heathcliff once more: speaking far more loudly than was necessary, she felt, especially given her father's frail state.
"Well, now, there's no need for such harsh words from a gentleman like you! Just think, I should not like to be spoken to in such a manner by my own brother-in-law: 'twould be impolite! Worse yet to hear such things from the man who would yet be my father-in-law, and I'm sure you shall grant your blessing to me. Oh, that reminds me: I meant to ask you if you'd mind: may I take your daughter's hand in marriage?"
Catherine did not know who was more shocked, her father or herself. She finally concluded it must be her father, for he seemed to be having some sort of apoplectic fit. Indeed, it seemed he could no longer walk for his visceral response; though Heathcliff paid no attention, if indeed he noticed at all, for he strolled on as though Edgar remained by his side, whilst Nellie did all she could to hold on to her charge. It was hard to tell whether she was trying to prevent him from falling, or from throwing himself at the man in a violent rage, but at last Catherine, as she rushed forward to aid Nellie in her attempts, could hear her father speak.
"You devil of a man! You are a poison, sir, a disease upon this place; and you shall not speak again of such a thing! My Cathy shall never be yours, as you should well have guessed. And furthermore, sir, I hope with all earnest hope that you shall never set your – your damned eyes upon her again!"
He broke into a storm of coughing at this point, which rather silenced his attempt at invective; but he had Heathcliff's full attention now, and the monster wheeled round and bore down on him again, far more threateningly than his first approach, and whispered something in his ear, which neither she, nor presumably Nellie to judge from the puzzled look on the maid's face, could make out.
Edgar went pale, or at least paler than he already was, and his jaw dropped for a moment before he drew himself up, with as upright a bearing as he could manage with both his daughter and maid to support him.
"I…" Her father's voice was quite as incensed as she had ever heard him, and yet his courage seemed to have failed him. Catherine watched her father quail before this beast of a man, who had straightened up in his turn, and admittedly looked rather more imposing than did Edgar. "I cannot believe you would say such a thing," he continued, rather lamely, and then seemed lost for words.
"Oh, you know me, Edgar," replied Heathcliff airily, "I am quite the man of my word. And rest assured the promise holds true for her, as well," he added, gesturing rather disconcertingly toward her, and Cathy's eyes widened in fear. She was not sure which would be worse: her current confusion as to the nature of the threat Mr. Heathcliff was obviously making, or the knowledge of what it actually was.
"Well," Heathcliff continued as he strolled away, "I shall have the banns prepared, then. I am sure you shall be there to give her away: your health shall recover long enough for that, at least."
He turned away, towards the Heights. "Take good care of him, Nellie," he sneered as he went. "I know you can."