Transcriber’s Notes:

 I see now why no one ever spoke of Uncle Heathcliff, and I see no point in continuing this transcription. This man, who I now realize is of no relation to me, is nothing more than a mad man who kidnapped my grandmother and forced her to marry his invalid son. After the boy’s death, he treated my grandparents like the prisoners of Wuthering Heights. The only comfort I find in reading these ranting of a madman is the knowledge that my grandparents overcame their torment and found love with each other. 

While I do not wish to transcribe the rest of this journal, I will leave you with his final entry:

I have lost all passion for avengement. I no longer see the use of such obsession with comeuppance. No amount of ruining foes and obtaining land can compare to the happiness I feel at this moment. 

I wish for the company of no man. I cannot eat, cannot sleep. My only thought is of my beloved Catherine. Soon I shall be with her. Not on the threshold of hell or within sight of heaven, but with her on this earth. Nelly seems to find me ill, but I have never felt more fit and healthy in my life. My Catherine has returned. I have seen her on the moors, as wild and free as she was when she was my Catherine, rather than Mrs. Linton. We spend the night behaving as if we were our former selves, and no earthly occurrence can compare to my seeing her again.

 I feel as if I may die of happiness.

Undeserved Sorrow...

As of late, I have been surrounded by undeserved sorrow. Hindley has finally drunk himself to death. I cannot take credit for his demise. It was Catherine’s final gift to me. The undeserved sorrow he felt at her own demise sent him to his grave with the drink. I will not mourn him. At last I have paid Hindley is due. 

My only regret is that Hindley’s due came at the death of my beloved Catherine. She is gone. I felt it the minute she left this world, even before Nelly Dean gave me the news. It was Edgar who killed her. If only she hadn’t married that cowardly fool. Why hadn’t she left that place? It was Edgar who made her so ill, not me. I could have cared for her. Edgar knew not what she needed. Catherine and I, we are of one being. One soul. My only hope is that she will haunt me until my days have ended.  

I did not attend the funeral. I cannot look upon the face of that scoundrel and see his undeserved sorrow. Who is Linton to mourn Catherine? He did not love her as she was. He only adored the simpering fool he turned her into. With Hindley gone, I can focus all my attention on Linton’s downfall.

The Scoundrel and the Daisy...

Catherine had fallen ill in my absence. I fear that her husband has finally succeeded in killing her fire. I fear for what he has turned her into. Edgar Linton cares for no one but himself. How can a man who disowns his own sister ever love a Belle a croquer such as Catherine. Because I cannot punish the scoundrel myself, I will punish his sister for his evil deeds. I will not write here of my actions against her, but know that they are fair and just in comparison to Edgar’s abuse. 

Because I have been forbidden from the Grange, my only means of communication with my beloved Catherine is through Nelly Dean. It took a bit of convincing, but she has agreed to play Iris between the two of us. I’ve sent word that I will be in the garden, awaiting her presence. I simply hope my words will help her to snap out of this dreadful state, and to become the girl I once loved.

On to my next plan...

With Hindley’s downfall set in motion, I have set my sites on the destruction of Mr. Edgar Linton. He has taken from me the only thing I have ever loved, and he must pay retribution for this unforgivable act. I know now that it was not my Catherine who saw me as too low cast to be her husband; it was Linton who poisoned her mind against me. He shall not get away with this malfeasance.

I’d been visiting the Grange, attempting to torture the effete villain with my very presence, when my beloved Catherine gave me exactly the information that I needed. Apparently, Edgar’s despicable sister thinks me a tragically romantic hero from one of her novels. Using this to my advantage, I’ve convinced the girl that she should run away with me. We are running away because, upon embracing her in the garden, I’ve started quite the rift between Mr. Linton and my beloved Catherine. Linton does not approve of my courting his sister, Nelly knows of my plan and may tell of it, and finally Catherine is realizing the opportunity she has missed by not being my wife. 

I’m escaping with Ms. Linton within the hour, and by the end of the evening she will be my wife. Soon I will master of the Grange and the Heights. My only obstacle is procreating with such a pathetic creature.

Of my return...

My plan is coming to fruition. Hindley has drunk away his inheritance. Posing as a man of great means, I have convinced Hindley to gamble away what was left, and now I have become mortgagee of Wuthering Heights. Furthermore, I have won over his worthless spawn. Even as I have forbidden the curate to set foot on this property and downcast the boy to a farm hand, he still prefers me to his crapulous father. I have taught the boy to swear at his father, and he seems to find great joy in it. All the better, I say.  Soon I shall pay Hindley back, and it seems he will not die before I get my chance.

Transcriber's Note:

While this first entry was saved from damage, a large portion of the entries after it were too water-damaged to decipher. The only thing I was able to make out from  Uncle Heathcliff's journal at this period in his life is the sentence "I'm trying to settle how I shall pay Hindley back. I don't care how long I wait, if I can only do it at last. I hope he will not die before I do!" Written over and over again, taking up three and a half pages.  I fear that my great-uncle may have gone mad.

A Proposal and an Escape

I am alone in the world. Mr. Earnshaw, the only man to ever show me kindness, is dead. 


Hindley is master of Wuthering Heights, and his hatred for me is evident. I fear that, if it weren't for my idiotic luck at catching his slobbering spawn, I would be dead by now. 


And now her. I am in an all-fired rage over the behavior of Ms. Catherine Earnshaw. How dare she say I am not fit to marry HER.  It is by her brother's doing that I am cast so low.She's a bit barmy if she thinks her new-found placidity is anything more than a clever ruse to fool the daft Edgar Linton.


I can no longer reside at Wuthering Heights. I must take my leave of this place immediately. If Edgar has fallen into that barrel of treacle called love, it is his own undoing. I will not stand by and see Catherine's fire burn out. My only hope is that the asphyxiating air of Thrushcross Grange does not end her life.