Chapter Text
‘You can’t go through with it, Cat. It’s not right. You’ll regret it bitterly, you’ll see that you will. I won’t let you do it.’
Catherine Earnshaw lifted her impenetrable dark eyes from the wedding invitation she was in the process of writing out. She held her aunt’s accusing gaze unflinchingly for a few seconds, then shrugged her shoulders and looked back down.
‘I don’t know what you mean, Aunt Nell. You know very well I’m doing the only sensible thing in the circumstances. You were Edgar’s biggest champion. Besides, there is no question of you letting me do anything. I'm eighteen, and can do as I please. And you’re going to benefit from it as well, so please kindly stop whining.’
‘But, Cat, that doesn’t matter at all. We can sell the house - we can move to a smaller one - we can both get a job and earn the money.’ The older woman sounded desperate, and in an attempt to get the girl’s attention she reached out a hand and put it on the one with which Catherine was holding the pen. She felt that it was cold as stone, but firm. ‘Anything, Cat, anything rather than selling yourself to Edgar Linton.’
‘It’s not selling myself if I love him.’
‘Do you?’
Silence.
‘Do you, Cat?’
The girl scoffed. ‘Who doesn’t?’
‘You,’ replied Nelly, goaded into exasperation by the other’s wooden irresponsiveness. ‘You don’t. And you never will, Cat. If you could learn to love him it would be different, but you know you can’t. You know you’ll always keep waiting for-’
‘For Heathcliff?’ Catherine put in, and the tone of her voice made Nelly flinch, it was filled with such raw hate. ‘Don’t be afraid to say his name, Aunt Nell,’ she added, smiling cruelly. ‘He’s been gone without a trace for the past two month, of his own free will, and he can stay there as far as I’m concerned. I don’t want him back. I never think about him - no, not even to curse him, as I used to do before. He’s dead to me, and I hope he’s in hell, every day of his miserable existence. But I’m not going to join him there. I’m going to marry Edgar, and live the happy life of a spoiled rich brat, the life I was always meant to live, and that Heathcliff could never have given me. He doesn’t deserve your pity. He ran away like a traitor, without even having the courage to say goodbye. He left me,’ she said, and it sounded as though she was stating a fact she could still not bring herself to believe, ‘He threw me away like a broken toy. But I am not broken. He cannot break me. I will not give him that satisfaction.’
As she finished speaking, she looked up at her friend as though to defy her to tell her she was lying to herself. But Nelly did not do that, for she was waging an internal struggle, not for the first time since the fateful day of Edgar’s proposal and Heathcliff’s disappearance. She knew something Cat did not, and the weight of that knowledge lay heavily on her mind. She made a sudden decision to speak.
‘Cat, dear, there is something I should tell you’ she began, forcing the words to come out. ‘He-’
At that moment, the door of the room was flung open, and a handsome, though somewhat mild-looking man of about twenty-five walked in.
Nelly broke off, and took a step back from Catherine’s desk, while the latter got up with a radiant smile to greet her fiance.
‘Hullo, darling,’ she said, returning his delicate, quick kiss. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’ve come to take you out to lunch. You can come too, Mrs Dean, if you want.’
‘No, thank you, Edgar,’ said Nelly stiffly, inwardly shaken at the thought of what she had almost done. She saw now that it would have been fatal to speak - that Catherine must never, ever know the truth. It would not change anything; it would not bring Heathcliff back or turn back the time. ‘I’ve some errands to run. Do you want me to come back in the evening and help you with the invitations, Cat?’ she asked, praying that the girl would reply in the negative. She was almost suffocating with the fear that, as soon as they were face to face again, Catherine would ask her to finish what she had begun saying.
‘No, thanks. Edgar will come back with me and help, won’t you, darling? It’s your wedding as well, you know,’ she said, smiling sweetly up at him.
The man looked back at her with eyes so full of adoration Nelly felt sick.
‘Of course I will, love,’ he said.
Catherine flinched. A dangerous spark flashed in her eyes. ‘I’ve told you not to call me that.’
Edgar laughed. ‘Why not?’ he said teasingly. ‘After all, you are the love of my life.’
‘Just don’t,’ Catherine snapped, sliding out of his arms. ‘It’s not much to ask, is it?’
‘It’s not - love,’ he taunted.
Nelly saw Catherine go pale with anger. The next moment she had gone out, slamming the door so hard the furniture shook.
Edgar looked mildly pained. ‘What’s bitten her?’ he asked, looking at Nelly with a frown.
‘You know Catherine,’ she said with forced lightness. ‘She’s got her moods.’
‘Yes, I know, but it seems strange not to be able to call the person you love “love”, don’t you think?’
‘I shouldn’t think too much about it if I were you,’ said Nelly, who sincerely wished the subject to be closed. ‘I'm sure it’s nothing personal.’
But she knew, only too well, that it was something extremely personal.