It’s that I’m writing to you about, Mr Lockwood: the story I told you over those long, dark nights. It’s an old habit with me, to get the chores finished off before settling down to a bit of time for myself, and those spectacles of yours have been weighing on my mind like a half-sewn shirt or a half-swept floor.
There, I said I wasn’t writing about your things, and I have gone and done it anyway.
And that covers everything that you wrote to me was missing. I’m sure we would have found them then if they were to be found. I turned the house here inside out last month, when we were getting ready for the wedding: every drawer and cupboard emptied, and the carpets and cushions and bedding all taken out to be aired and beaten. I think they must have fallen from your overcoat pocket when you were floundering in the snow that night, and got trodden into the mud after it thawed in spring. I’m not writing about anything like that now – I am sorry to say that we never did find your other pair of spectacles. I don’t suppose you’ll be expecting to hear from me, not since I sent you the few bits of things you left behind on your last visit – you’ll remember, the handkerchiefs and your carved walking stick that turned up after you left. Sometimes, Case fleshes out briefly mentioned episodes in Wuthering Heights, such as Nelly’s nursing of the children through measles at other times, she explores entirely new tangents, with Nelly’s caring for the infant Hareton, following his mother’s death, a powerful exploration of mother love.Ĭase has an ear for Brontë's tempo and style, without sounding in any way like imitation, and while it will enthral fans of the original, it’s utterly engrossing as a stand-alone work. This is a sensitively written companion – rather than sequel – to the original (it’s no Heathcliff and Cathy part two, if that’s what you’re after – the love story, if anyone’s, is Nelly’s). Alison Case imagines what Nelly, the Earnshaws' servant, made of everything in the classic novel.
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