The Well Of Lost Plots Part 15

'Why?'

'You'll see.'

I poured some tea for Miss Havisham, remembering to put the milk in first. Deane ate a canape and asked: 'How are things with you these days? Last time we met you were having a little trouble at home.'

'I'm living in the Well,' I told him, 'as part of the Character Exchange Programme.'

'Really?' he said. 'What a lark. How's the latest Farquitt getting along?'

'Well, I think think,' I told him, always sensitive to Deane's slight shame at being a one-dimensional evil squire figure, 'the working t.i.tle is Shameless Love Shameless Love.'

'Sounds like a Farquitt.' Deane sighed. 'There'll be someone like me in it there usually is. Probably a rustic serving girl who is ravaged by someone like me, too and then cruelly cast out to have her baby in the poorhouse only to have her revenge ten chapters later.

'Well, I don't know-'

'It's not fair, you know,' he said, his mood changing. 'Why should I be condemned, reading after reading, to drink myself to a sad and lonely death eight pages before the end?'

'Because you're the bad guy and they always always get their comeuppance in Farquitt novels?' get their comeuppance in Farquitt novels?'

'It's still not fair.' He scowled. 'I've applied for an Internal Plot Adjustment countless times but they keep turning me down. You wouldn't have a word with Miss Havisham, would you? She's on the Council of Genres Plot Adjustment subcommittee, I'm told.'

'Would that be appropriate?' I asked. 'Me talking to her, I mean? Shouldn't you go through the usual channels?'

'Not really,' he retorted, 'but I'm willing to try anything. Speak to her, won't you?'

I told him I would try but decided on the face of it that I probably wouldn't. Deane seemed pleasant enough at Jurisfiction but in The Squire of High Potternews The Squire of High Potternews he was a monster; dying sad, lonely and forgotten was probably just right for him in narrative terms, anyway. he was a monster; dying sad, lonely and forgotten was probably just right for him in narrative terms, anyway.

I gave the tea to Miss Havisham, who broke off talking to Perkins abruptly as I approached. She gave me a grimace and vanished. I followed her to the second floor of the Great Library, where I found her in the Bronte section already with a copy of Wuthering Heights Wuthering Heights in her hand. I knew that she probably in her hand. I knew that she probably did did have a soft spot for Heathcliff but I imagined it was only the treacherous marsh below p.e.n.i.stone Crag. have a soft spot for Heathcliff but I imagined it was only the treacherous marsh below p.e.n.i.stone Crag.

'Did you meet the three witches, by the way?' she asked.

'Yes,' I replied. 'They told me-'

'Ignore everything everything they say. Look at the trouble they got Macbeth into.' they say. Look at the trouble they got Macbeth into.'

'But they said-'

'I don't want to hear it. Claptrap and mumbo-jumbo. They are troublemakers and nothing more.

Understand?'

'Sure.'

'Don't say "sure" it's so slovenly! What's wrong with: "Yes, Miss Havisham"?'

'Yes, Miss Havisham.'

'Better, I suppose. Come, we are Bronte bound!'

And we read ourselves into the pages of Wuthering Heights Wuthering Heights.

12.

Wuthering Heights ' Wuthering Heights Wuthering Heights was the only novel written by Emily Bronte, which some say is just as well, and others, a crying shame. Quite what she would have written had she lived longer is a matter of some conjecture; given Emily's strong-willed and pa.s.sionate character, probably more of the same. But one thing is certain; whatever feelings are aroused in the reader by was the only novel written by Emily Bronte, which some say is just as well, and others, a crying shame. Quite what she would have written had she lived longer is a matter of some conjecture; given Emily's strong-willed and pa.s.sionate character, probably more of the same. But one thing is certain; whatever feelings are aroused in the reader by Heights Heights, whether sadness for the ill-matched lovers, irritability at Catherine's petulant ways or even profound rage at how stupid Heathcliff's victims can act as they meekly line up to be abused, one thing is for sure: the evocation of a wild and windswept place that so well reflects the destructive pa.s.sion of the two central characters is captured here brilliantly and some would say, it has not been surpa.s.sed.'

MILLON DE FLOSS Wuthering Heights: Masterpiece or Turgid Rubbish?

It was snowing when we arrived and the wind whipped the flakes into something akin to a large cloud of excitable winter midges. The house was a lot smaller than I imagined but no less shabby, even under the softening cloak of snow; the shutters hung askew and only the faintest glimmer of light showed from within. It was clear we were visiting the house not in the good days of old Mr Earnshaw but in the tenure of Mr Heathcliff, whose barbaric hold over the house seemed to be reflected in the dour and windswept abode that we approached.

Our feet crunched on the fresh snow as we arrived at the front door and rapped upon the gnarled wood. It was answered, after a very long pause, by an old and sinewy man who looked at us both in turn with a sour expression before recognition dawned across his tired features and he launched into an excited gabble: 'It's bonny behaviour, lurking amang t' fields, after twelve o' t' night, wi' that fahl, flaysome divil of a gipsy, Heathcliff! They think I'm blind; but I'm noan: nowt ut t' soart! I seed young Linton boath coming and going, and I seed YAH, yah gooid-fur-nowt, slatternly witch! nip up and bolt into th' house, t'

minute yah heard t' maister's horse-fit clatter up t' road!'

'Never mind all that!' exclaimed Miss Havisham, to whom patience was an alien concept. 'Let us in, Joseph, or you'll be feeling my boot upon your trousers!'

He grumbled but opened the door anyway. We stepped in amongst a swirl of snowflakes and tramped our feet upon the mat as the door was latched behind us.

'What did he say?' I asked as Joseph carried on muttering to himself under his breath.

'I have absolutely no idea,' replied Miss Havisham, shaking the snow from her faded bridal veil. 'In fact, n.o.body n.o.body does. Come, you are to meet the others. For the rage counselling session, we insist that every major character within does. Come, you are to meet the others. For the rage counselling session, we insist that every major character within Heights Heights attends.' attends.'

There was no introductory lobby or pa.s.sage to the room. The front door opened into a large family sitting room where six people were cl.u.s.tered around the hearth. One of the men rose politely and inclined his head in greeting. This, I learned later, was Edgar Linton, husband of Catherine Earnshaw, who sat next to him on the wooden settle and glowered meditatively into the fire. Next to them was a dissolute-looking man who appeared to be asleep, or drunk, or quite possibly both. It was clear that they were waiting for us, and equally clear from the lack of enthusiasm that counselling wasn't high on their list of priorities or interests.

'Good evening, everyone,' said Miss Havisham, 'and I'd like to thank you all for attending this Jurisfiction Rage Counselling session.'

She sounded almost friendly; it was quite out of character and I wondered how long she could keep it up.

'This is Miss Next, who will be observing this evening's session,' she went on. 'Now, I want us all to join hands and create a circle of trust to welcome her to the group. Where's Heathcliff?'

'I have no idea where that scoundrel might be!' declaimed Linton angrily. 'Face down in a bog for all I care the devil may take him and not before time!'

'Oh!' cried Catherine, withdrawing her hand from Edgar's. 'Why do you hate him so? He, who loved me more than you ever could-!'

'Now, now,' interrupted Havisham in a soothing tone. 'Remember what we said last week about name-calling? Edgar, I think you should apologise to Catherine for calling Heathcliff a scoundrel, and Catherine, you did promise last week not to mention how much you were in love with Heathcliff in front of your husband.'

They grumbled their apologies.

'Heathcliff is due here any moment,' said another servant, who I a.s.sumed was Nelly Dean. 'His agent said he had to do some publicity. Can we not start without him?'

Miss Havisham looked at her watch.

'We could get past the introductions, I suppose,' she replied, obviously keen to finish this up and go home. 'Perhaps we could introduce ourselves to Miss Next and sum up our feelings at the same time.

Edgar, would you mind?'

'Me? Oh, very well. My name is Edgar Linton, true owner of Thrushcross Grange, and I hate and despise Heathcliff because no matter what I do, my wife Catherine is still in love with him.'

'My name is Hindley Earnshaw,' slurred the drunk, 'old Mr Earnshaw's eldest son. I hate and despise Heathcliff because my father preferred Heathcliff to me, and later, because that scoundrel cheated me out of my birthright.'

'That was very good, Hindley,' said Miss Havisham, 'not one single swear word. I think we're making good progress. Who's next?'

'I am Hareton Earnshaw,' said a sullen-looking youth who stared at the table as he spoke and clearly resented these gatherings more than most, 'son of Hindley and Frances. I hate and despise Heathcliff because he treats me as little more than a dog and it's not as though I did anything against him, neither; he punishes me because my father father treated him like a servant.' treated him like a servant.'

'I am Isabella,' announced a good-looking woman, 'sister of Edgar. I hate and despise Heathcliff because he lied to me, abused me, beat me and tried to kill me. Then, after I was dead, he stole our son and used him to gain control of the Linton inheritance.'

'Lot of rage in that that one,' whispered Miss Havisham. 'Do you see a pattern beginning to emerge?' one,' whispered Miss Havisham. 'Do you see a pattern beginning to emerge?'

'That they don't much care for Heathcliff?' I whispered back.

'Does it show that badly?' she replied, a little crestfallen that her counselling didn't seem to be working as well as she'd hoped.

'I am Catherine Linton,' said a confident and headstrong young girl of perhaps no more than sixteen, 'daughter of Edgar and Catherine. I hate and despise Heathcliff because he kept me prisoner for five days away from my dying father to force me to marry Linton solely to gain the t.i.tle of Thrushcross Grange, the true Linton residence.'

'I am Linton,' announced a very sickly looking child, coughing into a pocket handkerchief, 'son of Heathcliff and Isabella. I hate and despise Heathcliff because he took away the only possible happiness I might have known, and let me die a captive, a p.a.w.n in his struggle for ultimate revenge.'

'Hear, hear,' murmured Catherine Linton.

'I am Catherine Earnshaw,' said the last woman, who looked around at the small group disdainfully, 'and I love love Heathcliff more than life itself!' Heathcliff more than life itself!'

The group groaned audibly, several members shook their heads sadly and the younger Catherine did the 'fingers down throat' gesture.

'None of you know him the way I do, and if you had treated him with kindness instead of hatred none of this would have happened!'

'Deceitful harlot!' yelled Hindley, leaping to his feet. 'If you hadn't decided to marry Edgar for power and position, Heathcliff might have been half reasonable no, you brought all this on yourself, you selfish little minx!'

There was applause at this, despite Havisham's attempts to keep order.

'He is a real real man,' continued Catherine, amid a barracking from the group, 'a Byronic hero who transcends moral and social law; my love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks. Group, I man,' continued Catherine, amid a barracking from the group, 'a Byronic hero who transcends moral and social law; my love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks. Group, I am am Heathcliff! He's always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being!' Heathcliff! He's always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being!'

Isabella thumped the table and waved her finger angrily at Catherine.

'A real real man would love and cherish the one he married,' she shouted, 'not throw a carving knife at her and use and abuse all those around him in a never-ending quest for ultimate revenge for some perceived slight of twenty years ago! So what if Hindley treated him badly? A good Christian man would forgive him and learn to live in peace!' man would love and cherish the one he married,' she shouted, 'not throw a carving knife at her and use and abuse all those around him in a never-ending quest for ultimate revenge for some perceived slight of twenty years ago! So what if Hindley treated him badly? A good Christian man would forgive him and learn to live in peace!'

'Ah!' said the young Catherine, also jumping up and yelling to be heard above the uproar of accusations and pent-up frustrations. 'There we have the nub of the problem. Heathcliff is as far from Christian as one can be; a devil in human form who seeks to ruin all those about him!'

'I agree with Catherine,' said Linton weakly. 'The man is wicked and rotten to the core!'

'Come outside and say that!' yelled the elder Catherine, brandis.h.i.+ng a fist.

'You would have him catch a chill and die, I suppose?' replied the younger Catherine defiantly, glaring at the mother who had died giving birth to her. 'It was your haughty spoilt airs that got us into this whole stupid mess in the first place! If you loved him as much as you claim, why didn't you just marry him and have done with it?'

'CAN WE HAVE SOME ORDER PLEASE!' yelled Miss Havisham so loudly that the whole group jumped. They looked a bit sheepish and sat down, grumbling slightly.

'Thank you. Now, all this yelling is not not going to help, and if we are to do anything about the rage inside going to help, and if we are to do anything about the rage inside Wuthering Heights Wuthering Heights we are going to have to act like civilised human beings and discuss our feelings sensibly.' we are going to have to act like civilised human beings and discuss our feelings sensibly.'

'Hear, hear,' said a voice from the shadows. The group fell silent and turned in the direction of the newcomer, who stepped into the light accompanied by two minders and someone who looked like his agent. The newcomer was dark, swarthy and extremely handsome. Up until meeting him I had never comprehended why the characters in Wuthering Heights Wuthering Heights behaved in the sometimes irrational ways that they did; but after witnessing the glowering good looks, the piercing dark eyes, I understood. Heathcliff had an almost electrifying charisma; he could have charmed a cobra into a knot. behaved in the sometimes irrational ways that they did; but after witnessing the glowering good looks, the piercing dark eyes, I understood. Heathcliff had an almost electrifying charisma; he could have charmed a cobra into a knot.

'Heathcliff!' cried Catherine, leaping into his arms and hugging him tightly. 'Oh, Heathcliff, my darling, how much I've missed you!'

'Bah!' cried Edgar, swis.h.i.+ng his cane through the air in anger. 'Put down my wife immediately or I swear to G.o.d I shall-'

'Shall what?' enquired Heathcliff. 'You gutless popinjay! My dog has more valour in its pizzle than you possess in your entire body! And Linton, you weakling, what did you say about me being "wicked and rotten"?'

'Nothing,' said Linton quietly.

'Mr Heathcliff,' said Miss Havisham sternly, 'it doesn't pay to be late for these sessions, nor to aggravate your co-characters.'

'The devil take your sessions, Miss Havisham,' he said angrily. 'Who is the star of this novel? Who do the readers expect to see when they pick up this book? Me. Who has won the "Most Troubled Romantic Lead" at the BookWorld Awards seventy-seven times in a row? Me. All me. Without me, Heights Heights is a tediously overlong provincial potboiler of insignificant interest. I am the star of this book and I'll do as I please, my lady, and you can take that to the Bellman, the Council, or all the way to the Great Panjandrum for all I care!' is a tediously overlong provincial potboiler of insignificant interest. I am the star of this book and I'll do as I please, my lady, and you can take that to the Bellman, the Council, or all the way to the Great Panjandrum for all I care!'

He pulled a signed glossy photo of himself from his breast pocket and pa.s.sed it to me with a wink. The odd thing was, I actually recognised recognised him. He had been acting with great success in Hollywood under the name of Buck Stallion, which probably explained where he got his money from; he could have bought Thrushcross Grange and Wuthering Heights three times over on his salary. him. He had been acting with great success in Hollywood under the name of Buck Stallion, which probably explained where he got his money from; he could have bought Thrushcross Grange and Wuthering Heights three times over on his salary.

'The Council of Genres has decreed that you will will attend the sessions, Heathcliff,' said Havisham coldly. 'If this book is to survive we have to control the emotions within it; as it is the novel is three times more barbaric than when first penned left to its own devices it won't be long before murder and mayhem start to take over completely. Remember what happened to that once gentle comedy of manners, attend the sessions, Heathcliff,' said Havisham coldly. 'If this book is to survive we have to control the emotions within it; as it is the novel is three times more barbaric than when first penned left to its own devices it won't be long before murder and mayhem start to take over completely. Remember what happened to that once gentle comedy of manners, t.i.tus t.i.tus Andronicus Andronicus? It's now the daftest, most cannibalistic bloodfest in the whole of Shakespeare. Heights Heights will go the same way unless you can all somehow contain your anger and resentment!' will go the same way unless you can all somehow contain your anger and resentment!'

'I don't want to be made into a pie!' moaned Linton.

'Brave speech,' replied Heathcliff sardonically, ' very very brave.' He leaned closer to Miss Havisham, who stood her ground defiantly. 'Let me "share" something with your little group. brave.' He leaned closer to Miss Havisham, who stood her ground defiantly. 'Let me "share" something with your little group. Wuthering Heights Wuthering Heights and all who live within her may go to the devil for all I care. It has served its purpose as I honed the delicate art of treachery and revenge but I'm now bigger than this book and bigger than all of you. There are better novels waiting for me out there, that know how to properly service a character of my depth!' and all who live within her may go to the devil for all I care. It has served its purpose as I honed the delicate art of treachery and revenge but I'm now bigger than this book and bigger than all of you. There are better novels waiting for me out there, that know how to properly service a character of my depth!'

There was a gasp from the a.s.sembled characters as this new intelligence sank in. Without Heathcliff there would be no book and in consequence, none of them, either.

'You wouldn't make it into Spot's Birthday Spot's Birthday without the Council's permission,' growled Havisham. 'Try and leave without the Council's permission,' growled Havisham. 'Try and leave Heights Heights and we'll make you wish you'd never been written!' and we'll make you wish you'd never been written!'

Heathcliff laughed.

'Nonsense! The Council has urgent need of characters such as I; leaving me stuck in the cla.s.sics where I am only ever read by bored English students is a waste of one of the finest romantic leads ever written.

Mark my words, the Council will do whatever it takes to attract a greater readers.h.i.+p a transfer will not be opposed by them or anyone else, I can a.s.sure you of that that!'

'What about us?' wailed Linton, coughing and on the verge of tears. 'We'll be reduced to text!'

'Best thing for all of you!' growled Heathcliff. 'And I'll be there at the sh.o.r.eline, ready to rejoice at your last strangled cry as you dip beneath the waves!'

'And me?' asked Catherine.

'You will come with me.' Heathcliff smiled, softening. 'You and I will live again in a modern novel, without all these trappings of Victorian rect.i.tude; I thought we could reside in a spy thriller somewhere, and have a boxer puppy with one ear that goes down-'

There was a loud detonation and the front door exploded inwards in a cloud of wood splinters and dust.

Havisham instantly pushed Heathcliff to the ground and laid herself across him, yelling: 'Take cover!'

She fired her small derringer as a masked man jumped through the smoking doorway firing a machine gun. Havisham's bullet struck home and the figure crumpled in a heap. One of Heathcliff's two minders took rounds in the neck and chest from the first a.s.sailant but the second minder pulled out his own sub-machine gun and opened up as more a.s.sa.s.sins ran in. Linton fainted on the spot, quickly followed by Isabella and Edgar. At least it stopped them screaming. I drew my gun and fired along with the minder and Havisham as another masked figure came through the door; we got him but one of his bullets caught the second bodyguard in the head, and he dropped lifeless to the flags. I crawled across to Havisham and also laid myself across Heathcliff, who whimpered: 'Help me! Don't let them kill me! I don't want to die!'

'Shut up!' yelled Havisham, and Heathcliff was instantly quiet. I looked around. His agent was cowering under a briefcase and the rest of the cast were hiding beneath the oak table. There was a pause.