Wuthering Bites (2010) by Gray Sarah

Author:Gray, Sarah [Sarah, Gray,]
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2011-01-14T19:20:19.703000+00:00

Chapter 18

The twelve years, continued Nelly, following that dismal period, were the happiest of my life. Our little lady grew like a larch, and could walk and talk, too, in her own way, before the heath blossomed around (but never directly on) Mrs. Linton’s grave.

Cathy was the most winning thing that ever brought sunshine into a desolate house. She was a beauty in face, with the Earnshaws’ handsome dark eyes, but the Lintons’ fair skin, and small features, and yellow curling hair. Her spirit was high, though not rough, and qualified by a heart sensitive and lively to excess in its affections. That capacity for intense attachments reminded me of her mother. Still she did not resemble her, for she could be soft and mild as a dove, and she had a gentle voice and pensive expression. Her anger was never furious, her love never fierce. It was deep and tender.

However, it must be acknowledged, dearest Cathy had faults to foil her gifts. A propensity to be saucy was one; she possessed a perverse will that indulged children invariably acquired, whether they be good-tempered or cross. If a servant chanced to vex her, it was always—‘I shall tell Papa!’ And if he reproved her, even by a look, you would have thought it a heartbreaking business. I don’t believe he ever did speak a harsh word to her.

He took her education entirely on himself and made it an amusement. Fortunately, curiosity and a quick intellect urged her into an apt scholar. She learnt rapidly and eagerly, and did honor to this teaching.

Till she reached the age of thirteen, she had not once been beyond the range of the park by herself. Mr. Linton would take her with him a mile or so outside, on rare occasions, but he trusted her to no one else. Even though the vampires did not run rampant as they once had, they were still out there, lurking in the shadows, waiting for an unsuspecting good soul from which to make a meal. Gimmerton was an unsubstantial name in Cathy’s ears. Wuthering Heights and Mr. Heathcliff did not exist for her. She was a perfect recluse and, apparently, perfectly contented. Sometimes, indeed, while surveying the country from her nursery window, she would observe—

‘Nelly, how long will it be before I can walk to the top of those hills? I wonder what lies on the other side—is it the sea?’

‘No, Miss Cathy,’ I would answer. ‘It is hills again, just like these.’

‘Is it because of the vampires that I cannot go?’

‘Aye. They like to feast particularly on blond little girls,’ I warned.

‘Funny, but sometimes I think it is something more Papa keeps me from.’ She pointed through the window. ‘And what are those golden rocks like, when you stand under them?’ she once asked.

The abrupt descent of Penistone Crags particularly attracted her notice, especially when the setting sun shone on it and the topmost heights, and the whole extent of landscape besides lay in shadow.

I explained that they were bare masses of stone, with hardly enough earth in their clefts to nourish a stunted tree.

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