“We’re lost souls,” I wailed. “We’ve been wandering the moor these twenty years. Won’t you let us in?”

I scraped the glass again.

They shrieked so loudly that their dear mama and papa came running.

“Ghosts! Evil spirits!” screamed Edgar and Isabella. But their parents did not believe that what was outside the window was anything other than human.

“Robbers!” said Mrs Linton.

“Thieves! Cut throats!” said Mr Linton. He started yelling for the servants and a moment later we heard a door being unbolted.

We fled and we would have got clean away had they not set the dogs on us.

A bulldog’s bite is a terrible thing. When its jaws clamp together, they grip so hard it is impossible to pull them apart. I’d lost my shoes – my feet were bare. When the dog’s teeth closed on my ankle, there was nothing at all to protect it. They punctured my flesh and I could feel muscle peeling from bone. I’d never felt pain like it. I fell flat on my face and the bulldog started dragging me back towards the house, snorting and slavering. It shook me as if I was a piece of meat. I truly feared I was going to be eaten alive. Heathcliff grabbed a rock and tried to beat the dog off, but he could not get me free. He was swearing and cursing and the dog was growling, while a man shouted at it to hold me tight, to not let go. But when the man got nearer and held up his lantern he gave a cry of shock and ordered the bulldog off.

Pain and loss of blood made me lose my senses. I must have fainted, because I remember nothing after that until I woke to find myself lying in a crimson room, staring up at a ceiling of gold and white. My head was spinning, but I was dimly aware of two golden haired figures hovering close by. For a moment I thought I’d died and gone to Heaven. But if that was the case, why was I in such pain? Was this Hell?

There was a man standing nearby who smelled of stables and the outdoors. A great bulldog sat by his side. Behind me I heard Heathcliff cursing and a woman shrieking with horror at the foulness of his language. Someone else was threatening to lock Heathcliff in the cellar.

They’ll have to catch him first, I thought. He’ll lead them a merry dance!

I turned my head towards Heathcliff and then I heard a boy saying, “That’s Miss Earnshaw, Mother!”

Mrs Linton took a closer look at me and decided her son was right. It didn’t take the Lintons long to work out that Heathcliff was the “dirty Spanish castaway” that my father had brought home from Liverpool. They handed Heathcliff a lantern and thrust him out into the night, and I was too weak to object.

I was not myself at all. If I’d been myself, I’d have spat in Mrs Linton’s face when she took off my cloak. I’d have gone running after Heathcliff, but I could not stand, let alone walk. They had me trapped. And yet they were not treating me like a prisoner. Mrs Linton held a glass of something warm and sweetly scented to my lips and told me to drink. I’ve no idea what was in it, but warmth spread into my veins and dulled the pain in my ankle. It made my head feel light and a haze of contentment washed over me as if I was in a happy dream.