Wuthering Heights: Level 6

Mr. Lockwood’s First Visit to Wuthering Heights

I have rented an amazing house named Thrushcross Grange in a rather lonely section of England. The only other house located nearby is Wuthering Heights, inhabited by my new landlord. He appears to be just as happy as I am to live his life alone.

When I had settled, I saddled my horse and crossed the land to introduce myself to him. Judging by the look on his face, he didn’t seem the least bit happy to see me, and in fact, he hardly spoke beyond what was absolutely necessary. He was leaning on the gate as if to keep it closed.

I inquired to determine if he were Mr. Heathcliff.

He nodded affirmatively that he was indeed my new landlord.

I supplied him my name, Mr. Lockwood, sir. I want to inform you how simply pleased I am to be living at Thrushcross Grange.

Come in, he directed, but his words were meaningless, for he only opened the gate when my horse pushed firmly against it.

As we neared the front entryway, he summoned his servant and said, Joseph, take Mr. Lockwood’s horse and bring some wine for us. This indicated Heathcliff kept only the one servant who had to do both the outside as well as the inside duties associated with the home.

I thought, Why, it’s no wonder the gardens and fields look dreadfully untidy.

Joseph was quite elderly and looked at me angrily as he secured my horse at his boss’s request.

The house was built of the most solid of stone and was extremely strong. The house was adorned with narrow windows because of the fierce storms experienced in this part of England. Before entering the house, I stopped upon noticing some writingcarved above the door, which said Hareton Earnshaw. 1500. I wanted to query Heathcliff about this carving, but I could easily see by his facial expression he was rather impatient for me to either move forward or else depart so as not to intrude any further. So I entered.

There was no foyer, so we found ourselves immediately in the living room. I could hear people talking from elsewhere and some pots and pans being utilized in the kitchen that was somewhere beyond inside the house.

I allowed my eyes to observe the room. There was a huge collection of shelves with a multitude of silver jugs and plates, some old guns displayed on the walls, and a few heavy green wooden chairs set about on the white stone floor. Several dogs were lazing in the corners of the room, and one of them was lying with her puppies.

It resembled a farmer’s room, but Mr. Heathcliff did not have the appearance of a farmer. He had a dark complexion and dressed and acted like a gentleman through and through, although he was not very tidy. He actually seemed to be a lot like me.

I find it ever so difficult to be friendly to people. I recall an instance last summer. I met a beautiful girl, and I was quite attracted to her, but I could not bring myself to speak to her. I just looked at her from a distance. When she finally looked back my way, I became so confused that I could not be friendly with her at all, and soon she and her mother left, and my chance was forever gone. For reasons such as that, people think I have no heart, but I assure you they are wrong. However, I think Mr. Heathcliff truly is like that.

I took a seat near the fireplace, and the dog with the puppies left them and stood by my legs. I attempted stroking her with my hand, but she growled at me, and Mr. Heathcliff growled as well. Leave the dog alone. It’s a hunting dog, not a pet.

He moved to the doorway and shouted, Joseph!

I could hear Joseph moving about in the cellar, but he did not come as summoned, so Mr. Heathcliff descended the stairs to find him, leaving me alone with the dogs. I decided I should not touch them, but the mother of the puppies suddenly began barking and jumping on me. I pushed her away, but all the other dogs joined in on the barking. I was quite fearful they wanted to bite me, so I maneuvered my position and managed to place myself so the table was between them and me and defended myself handily with the poker from Heathcliff’s fireplace. I called out loudly for help.

I could hear Mr. Heathcliff and Joseph coming, but ever so slowly, up the stairs from the cellar of Wuthering Heights. But before they arrived, a rotund woman from the kitchen rushed into the room. She hit the dogs with a pan she carried and shouted loudly at them. They almost immediately ceased their attack and returned to their original places. The woman went back to the kitchen, and it was suddenly very quiet.

Mr. Heathcliff arrived with his servant in tow.

He asked, What’s happened?

I replied, Your dogs attacked me.

He said, They won’t attack if you don’t touch anything. He followed that with, Would you like some wine?

I declined with a polite, No, thank you.

He asked, Did they bite you?

No, I said, I would have kicked them if they had.

Mr. Heathcliff smiled a bit. You needn’t worry, he told me. You’re upset. It is rare that we have visitors here at Wuthering Heights, so my dogs and I are not accustomed to catering to them. Do share some wine.

I certainly didn’t want to start a quarrel, so I agreed, and we spent a significant amount of time talking about Thrushcross Grange. I tentatively suggested that I would visit again tomorrow or soon after, and although Heathcliff didn’t seem to really welcome the idea, I decided I shall visit anyway. I admit, I liked my new landlord.

Mr. Lockwood Visits Wuthering Heights Again

The air yesterday afternoon was bitterly cold and terribly damp, and I desired nothing more than to relax at home near the heat of a fire; however, one of the servants had chosen this day of all days to clean the fireplace, so I walked four long miles through the thick mud to visit my landlord at Wuthering Heights. As I arrived at his gate, snowflakes began drifting down from the heavy, gray clouds.

I knocked heavily on the door at Wuthering Heights until the searing pain in my hand forced me to cease the pounding. The dogs fiercely howled, yet my call was never answered. The temperature was blisteringly cold, and for that reason if no other, I decided to enter even though there was no answer. I reached for the handle and shook it, and at that moment, Joseph stuck his head out from the window of the barn.

He shouted, What do you want? When I didn’t immediately answer, he offered, The master’s down with the sheep. Go around the back if you wish to speak to him.

I inquired, Is there anyone inside to open the door and let me in?

He replied, There’s only the wife, and she won’t open the door if you shout all day!

I asked, Can’t you tell her it’s me?

He answered angrily, Not me! He quickly disappeared from sight.

The snow was falling heavier now, and I resumed my shaking of the door handle. A young man carrying a pitchfork arrived in the yard and requested I follow him, so I dropped my hand from the handle and followed his lead. He led me to another door; it was a different entry from the one we used on my first visit. Regardless of the entry, we ended up in the very room I had visited the previous day.

A large fire was raging in the fireplace, and the table was appropriately set for a meal. A woman, no doubt the lady of the house, rested in a nearby chair; she looked at me but offered no comments.

I remarked, It’s terrible weather!

I waited, but she didn’t reply, and we stared at each other.

The young man who had led me to this room said, Sit down. He continued, He’ll be here soon.

I attempted to start a conversation again, this time about the dogs and puppies which were in the room as they had been just the day before.

I said, She’s a beautiful dog. Then, I asked, Are you going to keep the puppies?

At last the woman responded, They’re not mine! Her voice was horribly ugly and her tone unfriendly.

Not to be put off, I tried again. I remembered I thought I saw some cats near a window, so I said, So these are your favorites.

She answered, Strange favorites!

I looked again and saw that they were not cats at all, but instead, they were dead rabbits.

I felt ever so uncomfortable, so I repeated myself, It’s terrible weather! I didn’t know what else to say or how best to initiate a conversation. How should I handle this situation I had found myself in? I felt incredibly stupid.

She said, You should have stayed home.

She stood to retrieve some tea from a high shelf along one side of the room. As she reached up, I noticed she was more a girl than a woman. In years, she was young, and her body was slim. Her head was covered with beautiful blonde hair, and she was graced with a small, pretty face, but her eyes were hard and cold. I extended an offer to help her, but she quickly insisted she needed none of my help.

She said coldly, I can do it myself.

As she was about to place some tea in the pot, she asked, Were you invited for tea?

No, I answered.

She halted her actions and sat again. She and the young man, who was dressed like a servant but certainly did not act like one, looked at me as if I were a much-feared enemy. I wanted to depart for home, but now I was afraid of losing my way in the storm, so when Heathcliff finally arrived, I asked if he could let me have the services of one of his servants to guide me home.

He quickly said with no remorse, No, I can’t!

The young man rudely asked the girl. Are you going to make the tea?

She addressed Heathcliff, Is he having any? she asked, nodding her head toward me.

He replied, Get it ready, will you? I was quite surprised