Um, hi, I'm a bit new here so first I'd like to mention this is a school assignment I chose to write for my class. I wanted to write about Isabella Linton. My teacher encouraged me to continue, but I'm not sure. I have many ideas, but I'm not a very skilled writer and I don't know if I could capture the period and more importantly, English isn't my first language. But I'm giving it a go, so please tell me what you think!

"Light! Bring light! The girl is down!"

That is what Isabella heard her brother shout when she went through the corridor to reach the front door. Their neighbour's daughter had apparently snuck into their garden and had got hurt.

By the time she arrived at the scene, two of the household servants were carrying Catherine Earnshaw into the house. She was mumbling incoherently, but Isabella could make out the name "Heathcliff" repeated over and over.

Her own father had come down and was scolding her brother for throwing a fit.

"Papa, Skulker was on her! I think she's badly injured!"

"We shall see," he replied evenly, steering Edgar back inside. He hadn't noticed Isabella standing on the terrace, behind one of the pillars.

She would have followed them, but she saw a shadow from the corner of her eye. It crossed the garden fast and reached the gate. She ran after it.

It was a tall, gruff-looking boy who was trying to jump over the rails.

"You there! Stop this instant!"

The boy pretended not to hear her and doubled his efforts.

"Turn around so I can see you! Were you with Miss Earnshaw?"

The boy's back was stiff. He was obviously angry and wouldn't speak. His skin was a few shades darker and he looked like a common stable boy. But his clothes were not a stable boy's clothes. And he was cleaner than most of them, too.

"I know she didn't come here by herself. My brother and I heard two voices."

"I'll be leaving now," he barked, trying to force the gates open. They were stuck from the rain.

"You're Heathcliff, aren't you?"

The boy's every move stilled. He turned around and threw her a dark glare.

"I heard Miss Earnshaw call your name. She will probably worry if you steal into the night like that. Come inside. Father will want to speak with you."

The boy measured her with suspicion in his eyes. Here was a pristine little girl dressed in muslin, with soft curls framing her cheeks and she was telling him what to do.

"He will send after you, it's best not to anger him," she continued, her tone more grave.

Heathcliff spat on the ground. "Let him send after me then."

"You wouldn't want that. He'll tell young Mr. Earnshaw -"

"I don't care a lick about that fool."

Isabella huffed. "Well! You're very rude!"

"And you're a nuisance," he replied, scathingly.

Isabella felt stuck. She had no idea what to do next. She couldn't let him leave and if she called for one of the servants he'd surely bolt.

She took a step forward.

"You want to know what happens to Miss Earnshaw, don't you?"

She saw him clench and unclench his fists, undecided. He probably felt just as stuck as her.


When she saw he still wouldn't move, she rolled her eyes and cried: "Oh, come with me already! I am sick of standing here in the cold!"

She took his rough hand into hers and pulled him forcefully towards the entrance. The shock of the contact made Heathcliff strangely compliant and he let himself be led to the door with an astonished expression on his face. Her hand was pudgy and soft like a pincushion. His hand was calloused and leathery.

Once inside, Isabella could take a better look at him. He was a curious-looking boy with an awkward gait, but a very strong figure. His face was cast in shadows and his eyes were bright, though black. His mouth was curled up in disdain and he seemed to wear a sulking expression wherever he went.

"I will fetch a blanket, if you like. You look cold."

Heahthcliff muttered something angrily.

"Fine, then. I'll have you sit in the parlour while I check on Miss Earnshaw. Will you have some tea?"

"No. I don't need to sit in the parlour. I'll sit by her door."

Isabella looked stumped. "Surely you don't mean that."

"I do."

"You can't sit outside her door like a dog. She is in very good hands with us."

Heahthcliff grimaced. "Then tell her I'm here. Tell her to shout and I'll be at her bedside."

Isabella's eyebrows rose. "Well, I certainly won't tell her that."

Heathcliff's hand was suddenly on her arm, squeezing painfully.

"You tell her what I told you! Or I'll jump up those stairs and take her from this place myself."

His eyes shone with such fury that Isabella almost shrieked. But she was made of thicker skin than that.

She pulled away her arm and stomped her foot, trying to make herself look taller than she was.

"Now you listen here, you little...miscreant. You're lucky I haven't called my father yet! You're being terribly rude and I won't have it! You will sit and wait like a gentleman and make no further threats."

Heathcliff was startled by her display of authority, since it was coming from such a small creature. He'd seen her stupid brother sing and dance earlier at the window. He could imagine her practice being a high matron and running the house like a little lady. He would have laughed, if Cathy weren't on his mind.

"If you behave, I will tell you all I know about Miss Earnshaw when I return."

Heathcliff sighed and followed her into the parlour. He lurched down into one of the armchairs without so much as a nod and sat looking at the floor.

Isabella left him there and went to see if she could find out more about Miss Earnshaw. But before she climbed up the stairs, she told one of the servants to fetch some tea.

"There's a young man in the parlour, Miss Earnshaw's ...companion. See that he warms up. Oh, and don't mind his temper."

Heathcliff snuck a look over his shoulder at the open door. He could see Isabella Linton climb up the stairs, holding her skirts in one hand, her step graceful and elegant. She held her chin up high, like she was fighting off a gale. And she was wearing a pair of very silly silk shoes, the colour of amber with streaks of dirt from her previous encounter with him.

This time, he couldn't hold his laughter. He sniggered and turned away.