For a number of years Charlotte had been telling me how she was resigned to remaining a perpetual spinster, but the isolation that she felt after the deaths of her brother and sisters changed her mind, especially as her father had never been good company even at the best of times. Her thoughts turned increasingly to finding a marriage partner. However, she was not so desperate that she was prepared to accept the overtures of her father’s Irish curate, Mr Nicholls. He had loved Charlotte ever since his arrival in Haworth in 1845, although she had consistently given him no encouragement and treated him only with cold civility. Her distaste for Mr Nicholls was shared by me. He was not a handsome man, even though he had a commanding height and a strong-looking face. His eyes were too small and his curtain-fringe of a beard focused attention on his unsmiling mouth. Moreover, he was very narrow-minded and, in matters of faith, a man who would brook no disagreement from what he held to be true. I thought him unpleasantly taciturn. Charlotte deserved a better partner than him.

Just after the Christmas of 1849 I went to stay with Charlotte for three weeks and it was obvious to me that her heart inclined towards Mr George Smith, the handsome and intelligent editor who had published her novel Shirley six months after Anne’s death. He was desperate for her to produce another book and so he had entered into a very regular correspondence with her. I sensed that she was misinterpreting this as being evidence that he loved her. Charlotte said I was being unromantic. She was delighted when he invited her to stay at his mother’s residence in London in the summer of 1850. For a month he wined and dined and entertained her and he introduced her to the rich and famous, including the great writer William Thackeray. Charlotte visited me at the end of June and informed me that ‘George’ had invited her to join him in a trip to Edinburgh and the Highlands. I told her that it would be most inappropriate for her to spend so much time with a single man and that she should refuse. After two days of arguments she agreed only to go to Edinburgh.

She was not to see him again until May 1851 when, once again, he invited her to London. From my perspective, his motive was clear. Charlotte could not find the inspiration to write. Her mind kept casting back to the suffering last days of those she had lost. The fact that everyone now knew she was Currer Bell did not help because it brought her unwelcome visitors, curious to meet her. He wanted to raise her spirits in the hope this would bear literary fruit. However, I could see Charlotte hoped for more. She insisted that I should help her purchase the best possible clothes and her manner became increasingly agitated. Imagine her disappointment, therefore, when this time she was entertained in London largely by Mr Smith’s mother. The rest of that year saw Charlotte sink into an ever deeper depression and that Christmas the death of Emily’s dog, Keeper, seemed to strike her like a hammer blow. She begged me to come to Haworth, saying that she feared she might otherwise die of the same disease that had killed her sisters. I went and did what I could to cheer her up.

Encouraged by me, Charlotte began to re-work her first novel, The Professor into what eventually became Villette. It was finished in November 1852 but during that time I had to steer her through one state of depression after another. By then even Charlotte could see that her dream of becoming the wife of her editor was unlikely to come to fruition and this may have been why, in December, Mr Nicholls seized his opportunity to formally ask for her hand in marriage. Charlotte wrote to me describing how he had proposed and I can do no better than to quote from her letter:

Her father encouraged her to reject his offer because he, like me, viewed him as an inappropriate choice. Charlotte surrendered to our joint wisdom and declined his proposal, but I could sense that her relations with him had nevertheless undergone a profound change. I think rejection by Mr Smith had put Mr Nicholls’ passion for her in a new light.

It was Charlotte’s increasing obsession with whether or not she should have said no to Mr Nicholls’ offer that led indirectly to me uncovering the deep and hidden evil buried within her family’s history. In the spring of 1853 I received a letter from a family saying that they had discovered an old chest belonging to a Nelly Dean whilst cleaning out the attic of the house that they had recently acquired. As far as they could tell, it contained nothing of value but they wondered whether I might like to pass on its contents to the Brontë family. Nelly Dean was, of course, the name of the household servant in Emily’s novel Wuthering Heights. Like everyone else, I had assumed she was entirely a product of Emily’s imagination so the letter intrigued me, but when I spoke to Charlotte about the matter, she was not interested. She refused even to discuss how she and Emily had devised the story contained in the novel. It appeared to her a complication not worthy of her attention at a time when she was entirely focused on the need to find a husband.

I asked her to let me at least take a look at what was in the chest. She acceded and I arranged for it to be brought to my home. Although I was curious, I assumed it likely that I would find nothing of any worth, so it was something of a shock when I discovered that one of the old cloths at the bottom of the trunk contained a sheaf of old papers roughly tied together. On opening these I saw they were covered with a spidery handwriting and signed ‘Cathy Linton’. I began reading the papers and suddenly realized that in my hands I held a manuscript containing what purported to be a true version of what had happened at Wuthering Heights. I read the whole account avidly. Although it had a number of similarities to Emily’s novel, there were some hugely significant differences. Those differences were to set me off on an investigation that was to shatter my perception of Charlotte and the rest of the Brontë family and make me revisit Anne’s allegations. Here is Cathy’s story:

Thrushcross Grange

March 1784

To my unborn child

I fear in giving you life I may die and I know that should that happen, Nelly Dean will undoubtedly spread false stories about Heathcliff and me. I therefore write this account in the hope that you will not think ill of me or believe for one moment that I have loved anyone other than your father.

My father, Hareton Earnshaw, counted himself a Methodist, much to my mother’s outrage because she had a horror of religious enthusiasm. His Methodism stemmed from the influence of the Reverend William Grimshaw. It may sound blasphemous but many men and women round here used to regard this minister as if he was the Lord Jesus himself. Few dared to miss his services and even the toughest of men would jump out of the window of a public house rather than face his wrath. In 1767 a business matter took my father to Liverpool, a city he visited very rarely. Whilst there he agreed to join some local Methodists in offering some clothes and food to the desperate poor amid the city’s squalid slums. In the course of that evening he saw such terrible sights that he would never describe them to me. Those that know little of the Methodists are sometimes surprised at the eager and joyful way they will enter places that most people would avoid like the plague. They should not be. For them every human being is a child of God and therefore worthy of their compassion and love.

My father ended up entering a particularly loathsome basement that acted as a home for several families, even though sewage-filled waters repeatedly flooded it. There he saw a woman who looked like a living corpse and her skeletal-shaped child, whose stomach was cruelly extended with hunger. The boy was but six years old yet had the appearance of an old man. The woman had done all she could to keep her son alive and was now so weak that she could not even attempt to eat the food that my father proffered, but the boy ate what he was given like a wild animal. Kneeling in the putrid water, my father prayed over the dying woman. She responded by making her confession, seeking our Saviour’s blessing, and entrusting her son to my father’s care. I suspect many a lesser man would have left her child behind, but my father felt that God had called him to rescue the poor creature. And so, to my mother’s surprise, when my father returned home, he drew from under his greatcoat the ragged, dirty and cruelly emaciated black-haired boy and announced that it was his intention to adopt him and name him Heathcliff after an earlier son who had died.

I was just two years old and my memory of that evening is therefore slight. However, I know from my brother Hindley, who was six years my senior, that our mother immediately objected to this new addition to our family. She said our father had no right to bring such a dark-skinned gypsy brat into the house. I am ashamed to say I spat at Heathcliff and that Hindley swore to hate him forever. My brother kept his vow but I gradually took Heathcliff to my heart because I loved my father and was prepared to love what he loved. Yet Heathcliff showed no response to any affection. The brutality of his early life appeared to have robbed him of all natural feeling. Nevertheless, when Heathcliff became ill, my father insisted my mother should nurse him day and night. She caught the same disease. He recovered but she did not. Before she died, she summoned Hindley to her side and confided in him that she believed his father had done things no Christian should and that Heathcliff was his bastard child, born from an illicit affair in Liverpool with a woman from Penzance. Whether this was true or not – and I do not believe it was – it made Hindley hate Heathcliff even more and he put the blame for our mother’s untimely death entirely on the cuckoo that had entered our family nest.

Hindley took to striking him whenever our father was out of the house. Hardened by years of neglect, Heathcliff bore the many blows without shedding a tear, but my father was furious when he found out what was happening. He took the decision to send Hindley away. Publicly it was said that this was done to ensure he received the best possible education, but everyone knew it was really to protect Heathcliff. Our servant Nelly Dean, with whom we had grown up, was furious because Hindley had always been her favourite. Over the next couple of years Heathcliff and I spent more and more time together, and both Nelly and our oldest servant, Joe, complained regularly to my father that he was letting Heathcliff corrupt me. They said that from morning to night I did nothing but try their patience by countless acts of mischief. My father became increasingly agitated and eventually was taken seriously ill. He was constantly vomiting and his once ruddy complexion turned a pallid and sickly white. The doctor came regularly but could find no remedy. One evening when I went to bid him good night, I found him lifeless.

I mourned my father deeply and I was upset that Heathcliff showed no emotion over his death. When Hindley returned for the funeral, I hardly recognized him so much had he grown in the three years since his expulsion. He had become quite the gentleman, though I sensed an innate cruelty in his look that did not bode well. He brought home with him a newly acquired attractive wife called Frances. Her background was kept a secret from us. I could not gauge my brother’s real feelings for her because sometimes he seemed besotted with her and at other times he treated her with contempt. Only later did I come to know that his mood changed according to whether or not Nelly Dean was present in the room.

Hindley quickly made himself master of the house and he reduced Heathcliff to the standing of a farm labourer. When I objected, he treated me as no more than a servant. The only person who defended me was Nelly Dean. She had been dumbfounded when Hindley had arrived with a wife in tow and she made little disguise of her contempt for her new mistress. I found consolation for my frequent banishment from the house in being able to spend more time playing with Heathcliff in the fields. Having the attention of a very attractive sixteen-year-old boy when you are but twelve is very flattering but, with hindsight, I recognize this was undesirable. I dread to think how much I might have fallen in character had not an injury intervened to end our unfettered association.

In the October of 1777 I foolishly agreed to join Heathcliff in a night-time exploration of the grounds of nearby Thrushcross Grange. I blush with shame now to think of such inappropriate behaviour and I was rightfully punished when, in trying to peep in at the windows of the house, I was savaged by a guard dog. As a consequence I was carried indoors and thus introduced for the first time to the very different and fashionable world of the Lintons. The family was not entirely unknown to me because I had seen its members at church, but I had never had occasion to speak with any one of them. Mrs Linton ordered the servants to tend to my wound and, seeing my filthy condition, bathe me, while Mr Linton dispatched Heathcliff back to Wuthering Heights to inform my brother of my injury. Dressed in borrowed clothes that were far finer than anything I had ever possessed, I was immediately befriended by their daughter Isabella. She was a year younger than me but far advanced in terms of behaviour. She could not have been kinder and her handsome brother Edgar was no less welcoming.

I stayed at Thrushcross Grange five weeks till my ankle was fully recovered and in that short time my life was utterly transformed. Outwardly I abandoned my rags for a grand plaid silk frock, white trousers and shiny shoes. Inwardly I changed from someone content to wander the moors to one keen to remain in polite society. On my return home I greeted Heathcliff warmly because I still valued our previous friendship, but I soon made clear to him that our earlier free association should end. I had come to accept that he was, in the words of the Lintons, a ‘naughty swearing boy’ and not worthy of being my companion. Heathcliff made an effort to improve his appearance and dress but his black-browed visage, surly manners and foul language did not compare favourably with Edgar Linton’s fine features, graceful etiquette and entertaining conversation.

Hindley encouraged me to visit the Lintons whenever I wished. Heathcliff thus found himself truly alone for the first time since he had joined our family and, not surprisingly, he cursed the day he had taken me to Thrushcross Grange. He turned for comfort to my sister-in-law and she seemed to welcome that, though never, of course, when her husband was around. The following summer Frances gave birth to a son and he was named Hareton after his grandfather. Nelly tended mother and child, but this did not prevent Frances being seized with such violent vomiting that, within a couple of days, she died. Over the next few weeks I have never heard a man so curse God as did my brother. Despite the fact that Hindley had often mistreated her, he now appeared to be devastated and yet strangely he took no interest in his infant son. Nelly did all she could to comfort him, leaving me to care for Hareton. Increasingly my brother took to drinking heavily. This made him violent and I tried to avoid him when he was at his alcohol-induced worst.

One day he came home so drunk that I hid in a cupboard, clutching Hareton, then not yet aged two, to my breast. I prayed the child would not cry and so betray our presence. For a while all I could hear was Hindley’s swearing once he entered the room, but then I heard Nelly’s voice. She told him in no uncertain terms that his behaviour was a disgrace. I could not see what was happening, but his words and her scream left me in no doubt of his response. He had placed a carving knife to her throat. I should have gone to her rescue had not fear rooted me to the spot. Fortunately, I heard Nelly break free and the knife drop to the floor. It was then I heard a conversation that I wish I had not.

‘I cannot believe you are the man I have loved since we were children together,’ said Nelly. ‘How can you have sunk so low! Do you not recall the life we used to have before your wretched wife entered the scene? Why mourn her passing when you can once again have me? What was her weak love compared to mine! Did you and I not vow to be eternally one long before your father sent you away? Did I not give to you freely what no man should have until a marriage has taken place? It was only because you promised me faithfully that you would return to make me your wife that I stayed in this hellhole. And when the months passed and still your father refused to permit your return, who do you think it was that ensured his untimely demise? I poisoned him day by day so that you could return and inherit his property.’

I almost fainted with the horror of what Nelly had disclosed and even my poor brother’s befuddled mind grasped the hideous enormity of what she had said. I could not make out what he muttered, but Nelly continued remorselessly, ‘And what was my reward? It was the shock of discovering that you had married another. You had given me no warning, no word. Can you even begin to imagine my horror when you turned up with a bride, smiling at me as if I was just a servant, as if there had never been anything between us?’

‘I told you, Nelly, I had no choice in the matter,’ replied my brother. ‘My father arranged the marriage. I had to obey him or face penury. It is you that I truly love.’

‘It was because I foolishly believed you loved me that I administered to your wife the same poison that killed your father,’ muttered Nelly in reply.

My brother’s sobbing became even more uncontrolled at this revelation. Whatever he might have said to Nelly, and despite his infidelity, I suspected that he had chosen his wife and that my father had not demanded the marriage. Nelly continued speaking, unmoved by his obvious anguish. ‘It was only once she was dead and I saw your grief that I knew I had been deluded. I have been no more to you than an occasional fancy. Look at you! The bottle holds more attraction to you than I do. I have killed two people for your sake and this is my reward. To have a knife held at my throat!’

‘I do not drink, Nelly, because I mourn my wife. I drink because I fear that I may not be Hareton’s father. I see more of Heathcliff ’s appearance in the child than mine own! That bastard destroyed my mother and turned my father against me. Now I fear that he has also cuckolded me!’

‘It would not surprise me if he had,’ sneered Nelly. ‘Heathcliff is twice the man you are. I now think it would have been better for me if I had attached myself to him from the start. I’m sure your father would have blessed our marriage and given me part of your inheritance.’ I heard my brother beg her to be quiet, but this only incensed her further. ‘Look at me, you pathetic sot! I know you will not even have the courage to denounce what I have done.’ I heard her slap his face with all her might. ‘And if you did dare, I would deny everything and attribute your accusations to a brain confused by too much gin.’

She hit him again and then left him. It seemed an age before my broken brother summoned the strength to also exit the room. Only then did I leave my hiding place. I had no confidence that anyone would believe me if I said what had happened. My father’s death was far too removed for me to prove foul play and too many women die after childbirth to make my sister-in-law’s death appear an unusual occurrence. Nelly would deny my allegations and I feared that Hindley would not support me. Would he really wish to admit to having seduced Nelly and to having made her his mistress? And, if he admitted her guilt, would not others assume that he had encouraged her to get rid of our father and his wife? And, as to the accusation that Heathcliff might have seduced Frances and be Hareton’s father, what evidence did I have? Surely that belief just stemmed from Hindley’s obsessive hatred of Heathcliff?

I was rescued from the dilemma of what to do by Edgar Linton. He offered to marry me in the January of 1780. I did not want to risk losing him by telling him of my brother’s sinfulness and so I decided to say nothing to anyone. Nelly tried to dissuade me from the marriage, presumably because she knew it pleased Hindley and she wanted to further upset him by engineering its failure. She tried to persuade me that my first love was for Heathcliff, saying that he was twice the man compared to Edgar Linton and that only his lowly station prevented me seeing that. According to her, our souls were made for each other, whereas Linton’s and mine were as different as a moonbeam from lightning or frost from a fire. To this nonsense I responded by saying I had no intention of degrading myself by marrying Heathcliff. I assured her that Edgar had no equal in my sight and that I loved the ground under his feet and the air over his head and every word he uttered.

Nevertheless, I asked Hindley if I could take Heathcliff as a servant to Thrushcross Grange once I was married. I did this because I feared what my brother might eventually do to him, but Hindley’s response was to accuse me of intending to cuckold Edgar – in this I detected Nelly’s influence. When I foolishly persisted with my request, Hindley waited until I was away for a few days at Thrushcross Grange and, in my absence, summoned Heathcliff and ordered him to leave and never return. When I heard what had happened, I asked Edgar to send out a search party but it could find no trace of where Heathcliff had gone. I confess part of me was relieved.

I married Edgar on 16 May 1781 and after a joyous honeymoon we returned to take up residence at Thrushcross Grange. Imagine my horror when, on going upstairs to my room, I was greeted by Nelly Dean. Without consulting me – for he wished it to be a surprise – my husband had secretly appointed her to be my maidservant, believing this would please me. I would have stormed downstairs and denounced her had she not made it clear that she would accuse my brother of the murder of our father and of his wife if I tried to get rid of her. I surrendered to this blackmail and accepted her appointment. I paid a high price for this decision. Not only did I have to put up with Nelly’s smirking and hateful presence, but also, unbeknown to me, she insidiously began making my husband believe that I had married him only for his wealth and position and that I had always loved Heathcliff. His manner to me became gradually cooler – to my great distress, for I knew not its cause.

The discovery that I was pregnant in the autumn of 1782 temporarily changed all that. Edgar rejoiced in his forthcoming fatherhood and Heathcliff ’s continued absence made it difficult for Nelly to find reasons for still linking his name with mine. Unfortunately our happiness proved short-lived. One day in January 1783, just as Edgar and I were about to have our tea, a servant announced the arrival of a Mr Heathcliff Earnshaw to see us. Edgar wanted to refuse him entry to the house but I foolishly said that I could not turn away my half-brother. And so, after a gap of almost three years, I met Heathcliff again. The last time I had seen him he was just a dirty uncouth ploughboy. Now he appeared looking like the handsomest of gentlemen – upright in body, intelligent in face, dignified in manner. I could not believe the transformation. He looked at me with undisguised admiration, much to the understandable annoyance of my husband. I was stupid enough not to register the significance of this and to take delight in seeing how much Heathcliff had bettered himself. In that moment I unwittingly rekindled all your father’s latent jealousy.

‘It is wonderful to see you again, Catherine,’ said Heathcliff. ‘I have always remembered your affection for me with much gratitude. I knew that you were always genuinely sorry for the way that your brother treated me and I am still eternally grateful for that, even though our paths have separated. I’ve fought through many bitter battles since I last heard your voice and I want you to know the memory of you alone sustained me and enabled me to persevere in my attempts to better myself.’

Edgar interrupted this flattering speech, making it clear that he felt the visit was ill-timed. Heathcliff said that he would return at a more convenient moment. To our surprise he announced he was staying at Wuthering Heights. I had retained very little contact with my brother since my marriage and I wrongly assumed Heathcliff must have sought and achieved their reconciliation. It was left to Nelly to disillusion me. She took delight in telling me in the privacy of my bedroom that my drunken brother had stupidly gambled with Heathcliff and was now so far in his debt that he had no option but to let him take over the family home. If I had possessed more sense I would have recognized that Heathcliff was now not only the master of my former home but also becoming the master of Nelly’s heart.

Nevertheless, I continued to welcome Heathcliff to Thrushcross over the next few weeks, ignoring Edgar’s dislike of him. Had I been less solicitous about upholding Heathcliff ’s character, I might have seen earlier that my pretty and vivacious sister-in-law, Isabella, was falling in love with him. It was Edgar who first realized. He told her in no uncertain terms that he would not tolerate her marrying a nameless man and that Heathcliff was at heart a brute. I belatedly did all I could to ensure that Isabella should cease seeing him by putting a stop to Heathcliff ’s visits. If truth be told, I was also now beginning to have my own doubts about his character because Nelly was informing me with delight of the extent to which he was manipulating my unfortunate brother, robbing him of his remaining wealth.

I foolishly arranged for Heathcliff to see Isabella and me when Edgar was away on business. I hoped to persuade him to leave her alone, but the meeting got out of hand when Isabella said that the only thing that prevented Heathcliff loving her was his love for me and he concurred. He said that he had always loved only me and that he had no desire to marry Isabella because her mawkish, waxen face reminded him constantly of my husband. For the first time I realized that Heathcliff did not just feel friendly affection for me and I wondered how I could have been so blind for so long! No wonder Edgar had been unhappy about my willingness to meet my half-brother! I told Heathcliff in the strongest possible terms that I loved only my husband and ordered him to leave. He obeyed but not before threatening to pursue Isabella out of sheer devilment. He told me in words I shall never forget: ‘What is it to you? I have a right to kiss her, if she chooses, and you have no right to object. I’m not your husband: you needn’t be jealous of me!’

The next day I decided to go to Wuthering Heights in the hope of persuading Heathcliff that his love for me was pointless and that he should leave. To travel to the house was not a wise action for a pregnant woman and when Edgar discovered my absence and heard where I had gone, it is not surprising that he followed me. Furious, he demanded Heathcliff depart from our region, saying that his presence was a moral poison and that there was no way he would ever permit him to be entertained again at Thrushcross Grange. Unfortunately, his anger was equally directed at me because he wrongly assumed that it was love for Heathcliff that had led to my action. I told Edgar I had only been defending him and Isabella and that, if he truly loved me, he should not think any evil of my actions. Edgar then lashed out a blow at Heathcliff. Despite my condition, I intervened to prevent what would have proved a most unequal fight. My husband was not versed in any fighting skills.

When we returned home, Edgar refused to listen to my protestations of innocence and said many bitter things. I retired exhausted to my room and in deep distress. Later that evening he came to see me but his manner was icily cold. ‘Stay in your room, Catherine,’ he said. ‘I am come neither to wrangle nor to be reconciled; but I wish just to learn whether you intend to continue your intimacy with this man. Will you give up Heathcliff or give up me?’ ‘Oh for mercy’s sake,’ I interrupted, ‘let us hear no more of it! The sight of your chillness towards me makes my blood boil. Your veins appear to be full of frost and ice water. Don’t you see how you are destroying me?’ He stormed out and locked himself in his study for three days. During that time, I stayed in my room, partly because of the state of my health and partly because I had no desire to see Isabella, whom I blamed for turning my husband against me. Only Nelly saw the intensity of my despair and I am sure she took a quiet delight in it.

I could not see how to undo the harm that my unwise actions had created. In my despair and sickness I stopped eating. As time passed the knowledge of my innocence made me increasingly angry at Edgar. How could he believe me capable of loving another? On the third day of my isolation I confided my feelings to Nelly, momentarily forgetting that she was no real friend of mine. She gave me little comfort but expressed deep concern that I would lose my child if I continued not to take sustenance. She must have feared for my health and the impact that might have on her position in the house because she reported to Edgar that he needed to see me. When he came he was taken aback by my haggard appearance and he voiced his anger to Nelly that she had not told him earlier of the deterioration in my condition.

‘You encouraged me to harass her,’ he said, ‘and look at what this has achieved. Months of sickness could not have wrought such an evil change!’

‘The mistress is always headstrong and domineering,’ replied Nelly, refusing to be put down. ‘Her condition is a product of her waywardness.’

‘The next time you say anything against your mistress, you shall quit my service,’ said Edgar, shocked by her rudeness.

‘You’d rather hear nothing then when Mr Heathcliff comes courting every time that you are away?’

‘How dare you! Get out!’

Nelly swept out of the room and I flung myself into Edgar’s arms, reasserting my innocence. This time I had the joy of knowing he believed me. We agreed it was vital we talk with Isabella and make sure she understood both my position and the undesirability of her attempting to see Heathcliff. Our happiness proved short-lived when a servant informed us that for the past three days Isabella had been using my absence to secretly meet Heathcliff and that she had now eloped with him. That night neither of us closed our eyes, so anxious were we for her. I wanted Edgar to pursue them but he was reluctant to leave me until he was sure that the doctor had assessed my condition. He told me he felt she had gone of her own accord and it would be pointless to try and intervene. He said that henceforward he had no sister.

The strains of these events proved too much for me in my pregnant condition. I fell ill with a brain fever and it was thought I might die. Your father nursed me day and night and I think it was only his love that enabled me to survive. However, I remained frail, able to move from room to room only by leaning heavily on his arm. And it was in this condition that I had to receive Nelly Dean when she arrived uninvited with the news that Isabella was now living at Wuthering Heights. We had not seen her since our altercation. She said that she had gone back to seek service with Hindley but found the house in an uproar. Heathcliff had reverted to his former brute-like status and was making a misery of Isabella’s life. She had sent Nelly to say that she begged her brother’s forgiveness for disobeying him and attaching herself to such a monster. I urged Edgar to forgive his sister but he was adamant he would not go to see her. He told Nelly, ‘Return to Wuthering Heights and say to my sister that I am not angry and I have nothing to forgive, but that it is out of the question that I should go to see her. I can have no communication with anyone connected to Heathcliff Earnshaw.’

Nelly returned the next day. Edgar was out but I stupidly agreed to see her alone. She inserted into my hand a letter, saying that it was vital I should read it. I thought it came from Isabella and was horrified when, upon breaking its seal, I saw it was written in Heathcliff ’s hand. I immediately tried to return it unread to her, but Nelly declined to receive it. Moving to the door that opened onto our garden, she opened it and, to my dismay, Heathcliff entered the room. In a stride or two, he was at my side and had grasped me in his arms. Imagine my predicament. I was too frail to either cast him aside or leave the room unaided. Nelly had also taken care to remove the bell by which I could summon assistance.

I am ashamed to say that Heathcliff bestowed kisses upon me, despite my protestations. He voiced all the anguish of his heart: ‘Oh, Cathy! Oh, my life how can I bear it? I had no idea you had been so ill! I wish I could hold you till we were both dead. You and Edgar have broken my heart. Why did you betray me and behave so cruelly? What right had you to leave me? For the poor fancy you felt for Linton? Nothing that God or Satan could inflict – no misery or degradation – could have parted us, but you, of your own will, did it.’ I urged him to see sense, saying, ‘Heathcliff, listen to me. I would have liked us to be friends. I have never wished to torment you. But I love only Edgar. Can you not let me live in peace? Do you want to kill me and my unborn child?’ To this he replied, ‘I could as soon forget you as my existence! You lie to say that I might kill you. Is it not enough for your infernal selfishness that while you are happy and at peace I writhe in the torments of hell?’

I tried to leave the room but he easily restrained me. My agitated heart beat wildly and I feared that I was about to die. I turned to Nelly for assistance but my pleas fell on deaf ears until she saw through the window that Edgar was returning. She then urged Heathcliff to leave me before he was discovered. I fainted away and, when I regained my senses, I found myself back in my bed.

Since then I have spent the day writing this account and I am pleased it is finished because already I begin to feel the onset of labour, though it is before the time expected. Dr Wroughton has already been summoned and I know he will do all that he can. I end this document as I began it. If I die and you, my child, survive, know that I have always loved your father and that my last breath will be a blessing on his head. Whatever others may say, I never saw Heathcliff as any other than a friend. And that friendship has cost me most dear.

Your loving mother

Cathy Linton