My heart hurt and yet I would not let my brother see how badly I was wounded. I had to carry on smiling. I’d talk to Heathcliff later when I could get him on his own.

And so I played the game of being a lady. Edgar and Isabella had been invited to dine with us the following day and Frances had acquired an array of trinkets to give them as gifts. I sat with Frances and cooed over their loveliness and decided which would be best for whom. And all the while we talked nonsense, I waited to hear Heathcliff’s steps in the kitchen.

But he did not come home that night. And he was not there the following morning. I rode to church feeling crushed and miserable. When I prayed, I prayed only for Heathcliff. The rest of the world could go hang itself.

Edgar and Isabella came back with us after church, riding in their family’s carriage. When we arrived at Wuthering Heights, I led them into the house and stood them in front of the fire. The fragile darlings were shivering from the cold.

And oh! How wonderful! Heathcliff was there – scrubbed and brushed and in clean clothes, looking magnificent. I was so very, very glad to see him! But before I could tell Heathcliff so, Hindley came in.

My brother began roaring, yelling at Heathcliff to be gone, to not show his face while we had guests. And when Heathcliff did not move, Hindley threatened to drag him out by the hair, shouting, “I’ll pull those locks of yours even longer!”

“They’re long enough already,” Edgar said, the damned fool that he was. “They must make his head ache. It’s a mane over his eyes.” He laughed at his own joke.

Nelly had set food on the table before we’d come in. Heathcliff grabbed the first thing that came to hand, throwing a jug of hot apple sauce into Edgar’s face. Edgar began to scream like a baby and Isabella joined in with her brother, though nobody had laid a finger on her. Hindley was big and he was powerful. My brother snatched up Heathcliff, threw him over his back like he was a sack of wheat and hoisted him up the stairs.

I knew what was coming. My fingers itched to slap Edgar. I had to ball my hands into fists to stop myself. “Why did you say that?” I asked him. “Hindley will beat Heathcliff now. I hate him being beaten. Why did you speak to him?”

Nelly was mopping sauce off Edgar’s face. “I didn’t speak to him,” Edgar said. “I promised Mother I wouldn’t. She said we were only allowed here if we didn’t speak a word to that filthy brute.” He started to snivel.

“Stop crying!” I told Edgar. “You’re not killed. There’s not even a mark on you. And you, Isabella. What are you bawling for? No one’s hurt you!”

Their weeping and wailing continued until they heard Hindley’s steps on the stair. My brother came back in, flushed and cheerful after the pounding he’d given Heathcliff. Hindley ordered us to the table, a great smile spread across his face. He began carving the goose, piling our plates, urging us to eat, drink and be merry. Frances made such bright conversation that Isabella and Edgar recovered themselves perfectly. They had no care for Heathcliff and gave no thought as to how he suffered.