Page 7
At the end of the last page, Lockwood asked Joseph to go let "the missus" know he was there so as to be let in.
" Nor-ne me! I'll hae no hend wi't," muttered the head, vanishing.
THE HEAD! IT VANISHED! I am getting some serious Cheshire Cat vibes, here.
The snow comes down harder and Lockwood decides to make another go at breaking in when who should appear but...
...a young man! Sans coat. Obviously he works on the farm in some capacity. More importantly, said young man waves our intrepid narrator over and leads him to...
...the back door! What do you know. (They have pigeons! Do you think they are carrier pigeons?)
He is extremely glad to find himself once more in that dog-infested room - or, at least, in an enclosed area with a warm fire. Sitting by the fire is none other than "the missis", who gives him a warm welcome.
I bowed and waited, thinking she would bid me take a seat. She looked at me, leaning back in her chair, and remained motionless and mute.
Yep. Quite the warm welcome.
Lockwood strikes up a friendly conversation about how terrible the weather is - or would, if she deigned to speak even a single word in response. She just sits and stares at him. It is quite hilarious.
He refers to the woman as "Mrs. Heathcliff", but considering his demonstrated judgement and sense so far, I am going to wager that she is no such thing. I genuinely don't remember, so it's a totally fair bet!
Speaking of demonstrated judgement and sense:
"I'm afraid, Mrs Heathcliff, the door must bear the consequence of your servants' leisure attendance:"
Hey remember back when Joseph was determined in an instant to be the only member of the household staff? Good times, good times!
The young man, still nameless, tells Lockwood to sit down. He does so, and then appears to somehow know that the dog - the one with the puppies from yesterday - is named Juno. He mentions "the villain Juno" and I admit it took me a moment of blank staring to figure out what the deuce he was talking about.
He tries to start a conversation, again, this time about the puppies, but she will have nothing of it.
"They are not mine," said the amiable hostess, more repellingly than Heathcliff himself could have replied.
Was he just being sarcastic? I do believe he was being sarcastic! Congratulations, Lockwood, your wit is improving! (It needs it.)
Now this next exchange... This may possibly be the best scene in the entire book.
"Ah, your favourites are among these?" I continued, turning to an obscure cushion full of something like cats.
"A strange choice of favourites!" she observed scornfully.
Unluckily, it was a heap of dead rabbits.
Nothing I say can improve upon this. Nothing.
So! The woman stands up to fetch one of those painted canisters and he finally describes her. She's young, slim and pretty. The description appears to continue onto the next page. Yawn.
