Complete Works of D.H. Lawrence (Illustrated)

by D. H. Lawrence

  MRS HOLROYD: No.

  BLACKMORE (hesitates): And you would leave him?

  MRS HOLROYD: I would leave him, and not care that about him any more. (She snaps her fingers.)

  BLACKMORE: Will you come with me?

  MRS HOLROYD (after a reluctant pause): Where?

  BLACKMORE: To Spain: I can any time have a job there, in a decent part. You could take the children.

  The figure of the sleeper stirs uneasily — they watch him.

  BLACKMORE: Will you?

  MRS HOLROYD: When would you go?

  BLACKMORE: To-morrow, if you like.

  MRS HOLROYD: But why do you want to saddle yourself with me and the children?

  BLACKMORE: Because I want to.

  MRS HOLROYD: But you don’t love me?

  BLACKMORE: Why don’t I?

  MRS HOLROYD: You don’t.

  BLACKMORE: I don’t know about that. I don’t know anything about love. Only I’ve gone on for a year, now, and it’s got stronger and stronger —

  MRS HOLROYD: What has?

  BLACKMORE: This — this wanting you, to live with me. I took no notice of it for a long time. Now I can’t get away from it, at no hour and nohow. (He still avoids direct contact with her.)

  MRS HOLROYD: But you’d like to get away from it.

  BLACKMORE: I hate a mess of any sort. But if you’ll come away with me — you and the children —

  MRS HOLROYD: But I couldn’t — you don’t love me —

  BLACKMORE: I don’t know what you mean by I don’t love you.

  MRS HOLROYD: I can feel it.

  BLACKMORE: And do you love me? (A pause.)

  MRS HOLROYD: I don’t know. Everything is so — so —

  There is a long pause.

  BLACKMORE: How old are you?

  MRS HOLROYD: Thirty-two.

  BLACKMORE: I’m twenty-seven.

  MRS HOLROYD: And have you never been in love?

  BLACKMORE: I don’t think so. I don’t know.

  MRS HOLROYD: But you must know. I must go and shut that door that keeps clicking.

  She rises to go upstairs, making a clatter at the stairfoot door. The noise rouses her husband. As she goes upstairs, he moves, makes coughing sounds, turns over, and then suddenly sits upright, gazing at BLACKMORE. The latter sits perfectly still on the sofa, his head dropped, hiding his face. His hands are clasped. They remain thus for a minute.

  HOLROYD: Hello! (He stares fixedly.) Hello! (His tone is undecided, as if he mistrusts himself.) What are — who are ter? (BLACKMORE does not move; HOLROYD stares blankly; he then turns and looks at the room.) Well, I dunna know.

  He staggers to his feet, clinging to the table, and goes groping to the stairs. They creak loudly under his weight. A door-latch is heard to click. In a moment MRS HOLROYD comes quickly downstairs.

  BLACKMORE: Has he gone to bed?

  MRS HOLROYD (nodding): Lying on the bed.

  BLACKMORE: Will he settle now?

  MRS HOLROYD: I don’t know. He is like that sometimes. He will have delirium tremens if he goes on.

  BLACKMORE (softly): You can’t stay with him, you know.

  MRS HOLROYD: And the children?

  BLACKMORE: We’ll take them.

  MRS HOLROYD: Oh!

  Her face puckers to cry. Suddenly he starts up and puts his arms round her, holding her protectively and gently, very caressingly. She clings to him. They are silent for some moments.

  BLACKMORE (struggling, in an altered voice): Look at me and kiss me.

  Her sobs are heard distinctly. BLACKMORE lays his hand on her cheek, caressing her always with his hand.

  BLACKMORE: My God, but I hate him! I wish either he was dead or me. (MRS HOLROYD hides against him; her sobs cease; after a while he continues in the same murmuring fashion.) It can’t go on like it any more. I feel as if I should come in two. I can’t keep away from you. I simply can’t. Come with me. Come with me and leave him. If you knew what a hell it is for me to have you here — and to see him. I can’t go without you, I can’t. It’s been hell every moment for six months now. You say I don’t love you. Perhaps I don’t, for all I know about it. But oh, my God, don’t keep me like it any longer. Why should he have you — and I’ve never had anything.

  MRS HOLROYD: Have you never loved anybody?

  BLACKMORE: No — I’ve tried. Kiss me of your own wish — will you?

  MRS HOLROYD: I don’t know.

  BLACKMORE (after a pause): Let’s break clear. Let’s go right away. Do you care for me?

  MRS HOLROYD: I don’t know. (She loosens herself, rises dumbly.)

  BLACKMORE: When do you think you will know?

  She sits down helplessly.

  MRS HOLROYD: I don’t know.

  BLACKMORE: Yes, you do know, really. If he was dead, should you marry me?

  MRS HOLROYD: Don’t say it —

  BLACKMORE: Why not? If wishing of mine would kill him, he’d soon be out of the way.

  MRS HOLROYD: But the children!

  BLACKMORE: I’m fond of them. I shall have good money.

  MRS HOLROYD: But he’s their father.

  BLACKMORE: What does that mean — ?

  MRS HOLROYD: Yes, I know — (a pause) but —

  BLACKMORE: Is it him that keeps you?

  MRS HOLROYD: No.

  BLACKMORE: Then come with me. Will you? (He stands waiting for her; then he turns and takes his overcoat; pulls it on, leaving the collar turned up, ceasing to twist his cap.) Well — will you tell me to-morrow?

  She goes forward and flings her arms round his neck. He suddenly kisses her passionately.

  MRS HOLROYD: But I ought not. (She draws away a little; he will not let her go.)

  BLACKMORE: Yes, it’s alright. (He holds her close.)

  MRS HOLROYD: Is it?

  BLACKMORE: Yes, it is. It’s alright.

  He kisses her again. She releases herself but holds his hand. They keep listening.

  MRS HOLROYD: Do you love me?

  BLACKMORE: What do you ask for?

  MRS HOLROYD: Have I hurt you these months?

  BLACKMORE: You haven’t. And I don’t care what it’s been if you’ll come with me. (There is a noise upstairs and they wait.) You will soon, won’t you?

  She kisses him.

  MRS HOLROYD: He’s not safe. (She disengages herself and sits on the sofa.)

  BLACKMORE (takes a place beside her, holding her hand in both his): You should have waited for me.

  MRS HOLROYD: How wait?

  BLACKMORE: And not have married him.

  MRS HOLROYD: I might never have known you — I married him to get out of my place.

  BLACKMORE: Why?

  MRS HOLROYD: I was left an orphan when I was six. My Uncle John brought me up, in the Coach and Horses at Rainsworth. He’d got no children. He was good to me, but he drank. I went to Mansfield Grammar School. Then he fell out with me because I wouldn’t wait in the bar, and I went as nursery governess to Berryman’s. And I felt I’d nowhere to go, I belonged to nowhere, and nobody cared about me, and men came after me, and I hated it. So to get out of it, I married the first man that turned up.

  BLACKMORE: And you never cared about him?

  MRS HOLROYD: Yes, I did. I did care about him. I wanted to be a wife to him. But there’s nothing at the bottom of him, if you know what I mean. You can’t get anywhere with him. There’s just his body and nothing else. Nothing that keeps him, no anchor, no roots, nothing satisfying. It’s a horrible feeling there is about him, that nothing is safe or permanent — nothing is anything —

  BLACKMORE: And do you think you can trust me?

  MRS HOLROYD: I think you’re different from him.

  BLACKMORE: Perhaps I’m not.

  MRS HOLROYD (warmly): You are.

  BLACKMORE: At any rate, we’ll see. You’ll come on Saturday to London?

  MRS HOLROYD: Well, you see, there’s my money. I haven’t got it yet. My uncle has left me about a hundred and twenty pounds.

/>   BLACKMORE: Well, see the lawyer about it as soon as you can. I can let you have some money if you want any. But don’t let us wait after Saturday.

  MRS HOLROYD: But isn’t it wrong?

  BLACKMORE: Why, if you don’t care for him, and the children are miserable between the two of you — which they are —

  MRS HOLROYD: Yes.

  BLACKMORE: Well, then I see no wrong. As for him — he would go one way, and only one way, whatever you do. Damn him, he doesn’t matter.

  MRS HOLROYD: No.

  BLACKMORE: Well, then — have done with it. Can’t you cut clean of him? Can’t you now?

  MRS HOLROYD: And then — the children —

  BLACKMORE: They’ll be alright with me and you — won’t they?

  MRS HOLROYD: Yes —

  BLACKMORE: Well, then. Now, come and have done with it. We can’t keep on being ripped in two like this. We need never hear of him any more.

  MRS HOLROYD: Yes — I love you. I do love you —

  BLACKMORE: Oh, my God! (He speaks with difficulty — embracing her.)

  MRS HOLROYD: When I look at him, and then at you — ha — (She gives a short laugh.)

  BLACKMORE: He’s had all the chance — it’s only fair — Lizzie —

  MRS HOLROYD: My love.

  There is silence. He keeps his arm round her. After hesitating, he picks up his cap.

  BLACKMORE: I’ll go then — at any rate. Shall you come with me?

  She follows him to the door.

  MRS HOLROYD: I’ll come on Saturday.

  BLACKMORE: Not now?

  CURTAIN

  ACT III

  Scene, the same. Time, the following evening, about seven o’clock. The table is half-laid, with a large cup and saucer, plate, etc., ready for HOLROYD’S dinner, which, like all miners, he has when he comes home between four and five o’clock. On the other half of the table MRS HOLROYD is ironing. On the hearth stand newly baked loaves of bread. The irons hang at the fire. JACK, with a bowler hat hanging at the back of his head, parades up to the sofa, on which stands MINNIE engaged in dusting a picture. She has a soiled white apron tied behind her, to make a long skirt.

  JACK: Good mornin’, missis. Any scissors or knives to grind?

  MINNIE (peering down from the sofa): Oh, I can’t be bothered to come downstairs. Call another day.

  JACK: I shan’t.

  MINNIE (keeping up her part): Well, I can’t come down now. (JACK stands irresolute.) Go on, you have to go and steal the baby.

  JACK: I’m not.

  MINNIE: Well, you can steal the eggs out of the fowl-house.

  JACK: I’m not.

  MINNIE: Then I shan’t play with you.

  JACK takes off his bowler hat and flings it on the sofa; tears come in MINNIE’S eyes.

  Now I’m not friends. (She surveys him ruefully; after a few moments of silence she clambers down and goes to her mother.) Mam, he won’t play with me.

  MRS HOLROYD (crossly): Why don’t you play with her? If you begin bothering, you must go to bed.

  JACK: Well, I don’t want to play.

  MRS HOLROYD: Then you must go to bed.

  JACK: I don’t want to.

  MRS HOLROYD: Then what do you want, I should like to know?

  MINNIE: I wish my father’d come.

  JACK: I do.

  MRS HOLROYD: I suppose he thinks he’s paying me out. This is the third time this week he’s slunk past the door and gone down to Old Brinsley instead of coming in to his dinner. He’ll be as drunk as a lord when he does come.

  The children look at her plaintively.

  MINNIE: Isn’t he a nuisance?

  JACK: I hate him. I wish he’d drop down th’ pit-shaft.

  MRS HOLROYD: Jack! — I never heard such a thing in my life! You mustn’t say such things — it’s wicked.

  JACK: Well, I do.

  MRS HOLROYD (loudly): I won’t have it. He’s your father, remember.

  JACK (in a high voice): Well, he’s always comin’ home an’ shoutin’ an’ bangin’ on the table. (He is getting tearful and defiant.)

  MRS HOLROYD: Well, you mustn’t take any notice of him.

  MINNIE (wistfully): ‘Appen if you said something nice to him, mother, he’d happen go to bed, and not shout.

  JACK: I’d hit him in the mouth.

  MRS HOLROYD: Perhaps we’ll go to another country, away from him — should we?

  JACK: In a ship, mother?

  MINNIE: In a ship, mam?

  MRS HOLROYD: Yes, in a big ship, where it’s blue sky, and water and palm-trees, and —

  MINNIE: An’ dates — ?

  JACK: When should we go?

  MRS HOLROYD: Some day.

  MINNIE: But who’d work for us? Who should we have for father?

  JACK: You don’t want a father. I can go to work for us.

  MRS HOLROYD: I’ve got a lot of money now, that your uncle left me.

  MINNIE (after a general thoughtful silence): An’ would my father stop here?

  MRS HOLROYD: Oh, he’d be alright.

  MINNIE: But who would he live with?

  MRS HOLROYD: I don’t know — one of his paper bonnets, if he likes.

  MINNIE: Then she could have her old bracelet back, couldn’t she?

  MRS HOLROYD: Yes — there it is on the candlestick, waiting for her.

  There is a sound of footsteps — then a knock at the door. The children start.

  MINNIE (in relief): Here he is.

  MRS HOLROYD goes to the door. BLACKMORE enters.

  BLACKMORE: It is foggy to-night — Hello, aren’t you youngsters gone to bed?

  MINNIE: No, my father’s not come home yet.

  BLACKMORE (turning to MRS HOLROYD): Did he go to work then, after last night?

  MRS HOLROYD: I suppose so. His pit things were gone when I got up. I never thought he’d go.

  BLACKMORE: And he took his snap as usual?

  MRS HOLROYD: Yes, just as usual. I suppose he’s gone to the New Inn. He’d say to himself he’d pay me out. That’s what he always does say, “I’ll pay thee out for that bit — I’ll ma’e thee regret it.”

  JACK: We’re going to leave him.

  BLACKMORE: So you think he’s at the New Inn?

  MRS HOLROYD: I’m sure he is — and he’ll come when he’s full. He’ll have a bout now, you’ll see.

  MINNIE: Go and fetch him, Mr Blackmore.

  JACK: My mother says we shall go in a ship and leave him.

  BLACKMORE (after looking keenly at JACK: to MRS HOLROYD): Shall I go and see if he’s at the New Inn?

  MRS HOLROYD: No — perhaps you’d better not —

  BLACKMORE: Oh, he shan’t see me. I can easily manage that.

  JACK: Fetch him, Mr Blackmore.

  BLACKMORE: Alright, Jack. (To MRS HOLROYD.) Shall I?

  MRS HOLROYD: We’re always pulling on you — But yes, do!

  BLACKMORE goes out.

  JACK: I wonder how long he’ll be.

  MRS HOLROYD: You come and go to bed now: you’d better be out of the way when he comes in.

  MINNIE: And you won’t say anything to him, mother, will you?

  MRS HOLROYD: What do you mean?

  MINNIE: You won’t begin of him — row him.

  MRS HOLROYD: Is he to have all his own way? What would he be like, if I didn’t row him?

  JACK: But it doesn’t matter, mother, if we’re going to leave him —

  MINNIE: But Mr Blackmore’ll come back, won’t he, mam, and dad won’t shout before him?

  MRS HOLROYD (beginning to undress the children): Yes, he’ll come back.

  MINNIE: Mam — could I have that bracelet to go to bed with?