Work Text:
It was past midnight when Heathcliff finally returned. The wind howled, flinging snow into the house, as he staggered into the cavernous sitting room. Slamming the door close, he removed his tricorn hat, and tossed it carelessly on the floor. He raked his fingers through his long dark hair and with a brusque movement of his shoulders, shook the snow from his caped greatcoat. His eyes narrowed, as he noticed Isabella sitting quietly near the hearth, her face turned towards the fire. Beside her, on the wooden settle, one of the dogs - an immense lurcher - lay dreaming, his long snout in her lap.
"Get out, woman!" he shouted rudely. "You know I can't stand the sight of you." His head whipped around, as he searched for his servant Joseph. Where the devil was the fellow? Probably in the kitchen, reading his blasted bible. Perhaps that's where the rest of the curs were hiding. Lately, they all seemed to avoid his company, preferring the crotchety old man or Isabella to him. Even the barn cats ran when they saw him. Why did he bother with any of them? "Joseph! Where are you, man?" He turned and glared at his wife. "And get that damned dog off the furniture."
As his voice rose, the lurcher lifted his shaggy head and issued a low growl. "Shush, Gabriel," Isabella murmured, stroking his rough gray fur. "It's all right, boy."
"All right, is it?' Heathcliff said, looming over the pair. "I'll show you both what's right." He raised his hand, intending to strike her. Another growl - this time deeper and more guttural. The lurcher slid off the settle, his hackles raised, and stood protectively in front of his mistress.
"What is this?" he demanded. "You've turned my own hound against me?" But prudently, he took a quick step back.
"Your hound?" she repeated, glancing down at the animal. "What do you think, boy? Are you his?"
"This is ridiculous, Isabella," Heathcliff said. "Call it off."
The young woman smiled crookedly. "I think not."
"In that case, I'll shoot the wretched beast. And I've of a mind to shoot you too." But the ancient weapons that always hung above the mantle, were now effectively blocked by the growling dog. Muttering under his breath, Heathcliff stalked across the stone floor to the gigantic oak dresser in the corner. Frantically, he rummaged through its drawers, searching in vain for the hidden pistol he kept there.
With a snarl, he turned towards his defiant wife. "What the hell have you done with it?"
"Oh? Were you looking for this?" With a strange little laugh, Isabella pulled the flintlock from her pocket.
"Give it to me!" he ordered. "Now!"
She laughed again and rose from her seat. The dog stared hard at the man, almost daring him to rush it.
It was at that moment, that Heathcliff suddenly realized Isabella wore riding boots and her hooded traveling cloak. A knitted blue cap was pulled low over her hair, the only touch of color amidst the rusty black of her attire. Her pretty face was mottled with fading yellow bruises.
"What's going on?" he asked, clearly puzzled.
"I'm leaving, Heathcliff. In point of fact, I'm leaving you."
"What? You can't leave." There was a look of almost comical dismay on his handsome features. "Joseph!" he bellowed. "Get in here! Where the blazes are you?"
Grumbling, the old man finally answered the summons. "What is it, Master Heathcliff? Oh, 'tis Miss Isabella." He squinted at the young people - the man red with anger, the woman cooly sardonic. The head of a massive bulldog peeped out from behind Joseph's legs. When it spied Heathcliff, it growled and retreated into the kitchen.
"Take my wife up to her room, Joseph. She's not going anywhere," was the cold reply.
"Come along, Miss Isabella," the old man said, starting towards her.
Gabriel lunged. Joseph, moving surprisingly quickly for a man his age, scooted backwards, putting as much space between himself and the dog as possible. His alarmed glance traveled from the dog, to his employer, than to Isabella, and back again. "I'm not chancing those teeth," he mumbled in his thick Yorkshire accent. And without another word, he fled to the kitchen, Heathcliff's angry oaths following him like an unhappy memory.
Damn the dog, Heathcliff thought, advancing on Isabella, his furious face promising violence. "There's no way in hell I'll let you leave - especially since you carry my child." It had only been two months since she'd delicately told him the news. A half Linton spawn. But it could prove useful in the future.
The young woman raised one slim brow. "Oh really, Heathcliff?" she drawled. "What child? There's no child - and even if there were, it would be my child too. Or were you planning to carry it to term yourself?" She raised the pistol and pointed it at his heart. "I suggest you stay back. We're leaving, whether you like it or not."
"We?"
"Gabriel and myself, of course," she replied. "Do you really think I'd leave another dog to your tender mercies?" Her eyes burned with hatred. "I've not forgotten what you did when we eloped, you fiend." Gabriel echoed his human's sentiments with a ferocious snarl.
Despite his bravado, her husband kept his distance. "I see," he said slowly. "What is this really all about, Isabella?"
"You never fail to astound me with your self-centered malice - and stupidity." She laughed bitterly. "What is it about? Pray explain to me why I should stay where I'm not wanted and continue to endure your hateful attitude and violence? I would think you'd be glad to be rid of me."
Heathcliff shrugged. "I care nothing for you, that's true," he admitted. "But the child...I have plans for it, assuming it's a boy."
"I'm sure you do." Giving him a wide berth, and with the gun still trained on his heart, Isabella headed for the door, dog in tow. "I already told you. There's no child."
Angrily, Heathcliff darted towards the mantle, quickly ripping an old horse pistol off the wall. As he turned and took aim, she snorted. "It will avail you not," she said. "Once you left for the day, I took the precaution of unloading all of them."
"You're lying." But as he pulled the trigger, all he heard was a sharp click. "Damn you," he muttered. How had this soft, spineless creature found the courage to defy him? And where would she go? He doubted her worthless brother would offer shelter. And if he did, he'd simply ride to Thrushcross Grange and demand her back. Edgar was too much the coward to deny him. "You don't have the guts to shoot me," he sneered.
"Don't be too sure," she replied. "But then, you've never understood or respected the intelligence and courage of women. Not your precious Cathy, not Ellen, and certainly not me." She hesitated. "You know, I really loved you - at least in the beginning. We could have been happy and made a real life together, raised a loving family, but instead, you chose to hate, poisoning everyone around you."
Heathcliff clutched the useless pistol to his chest, his eyes wild. "You can't go!" he cried. "You'll ruin all my plans! And what about the child?"
She flung open the door. The wind shrieked like a banshee, and a flurry of snow invaded the room. And with it, came something else, something cold and insubstantial, that desperately called Heathcliff's name. Isabella's eyes widened. That voice, so faint and eerie - Catherine?
Isabella took one last look at her husband. He'd fallen to his knees, staring at something only he could see. In a low voice, full of yearning, he called Cathy's name.
Some things never change, Isabella thought, pulling up her hood. Pity stirred in her heart, but she ruthlessly pushed it aside. He'd made his choice long ago. As she and Gabriel stepped into the storm, her lips tightened. There was no child. She'd lost it the last time he beat her.
Woman and canine trudged through the snow, making their way to the stable, where her bay mare Daisy waited, already saddled. Earlier, she'd packed the saddlebags with a full canteen and food - bread and hard cheese, some shriveled apples, dried meat for the dog, along with carrots and a sack of oats for the horse. There was also a change of clothes and her two favorite books. Her deep cloak pockets held ammunition and a fire flint. Beneath her gown, she'd hidden coins (stealthily liberated from Joseph's household funds), and her last pieces of jewelry. Heathcliff had never found them, as she'd hidden them beneath a loose floorboard in her room. Once she reached her destination, she'd sell the garnet necklace and sapphire earrings. There was also her wedding ring, a narrow band of plain gold. That would be sold too - and gladly.
With all of her precise planning, she asked herself why she'd delayed her escape until Heathcliff came home. Perhaps she couldn't resist seeing his expression when she told the arrogant fool she was leaving him. Certainly, it had been a risk, but her life was all about risk - so what was one more?
Isabella returned the flintlock to its pocket and lightly swung into the saddle. As she cantered forward, she unhooked a lantern from the wall, its tallow candle already aflame, and held it high, its flickering light golden in the darkness. She glanced down at Gabriel, who returned her look with one of doggy adoration, his long pink tongue lolling. "My sweet boy," she murmured, with a gentle smile
As the two left the stable and made their way out of the farmyard, she went over her plans for escape. The idealistic girl had become a pragmatic woman. She'd learned to endure - and survive. She knew better than to go to Edgar. That was the first place Heathcliff would look. Even London was not far enough. Besides, she was a country lass at heart. She'd decided on Cornwall - distant and beautiful, and so she heard, much warmer. Besides, she'd always dreamed of living by the sea.
She was not afraid of hard work. Well educated, she could become a governess or teacher - and she had other useful skills. She could sew, embroider, and cook, and had discovered a knack for gardening and keeping a house tidy. Eventually, she'd find some sort of useful work, and would make a home and safe haven for herself and Gabriel.
As Isabella rode through the falling snow, and Wuthering Heights receded into the distance, her spirits rose. With the devoted lurcher racing by her side, she headed into the night - and freedom.