They kneel, muttering in their mother’s apron.
MINNIE (suddenly lifting her head): Can I, mam?
MRS HOLROYD (trying to be stern): Have you finished your prayers?
MINNIE: Yes.
MRS HOLROYD: If you want it — beastly thing! (She reaches the bracelet down from the mantelpiece.) Your father must have put it up there — I don’t know where I left it. I suppose he’d think I was proud of it and wanted it for an ornament.
MINNIE gloats over it. MRS HOLROYD lights a candle and they go upstairs. After a few moments the outer door opens, and there enters an old woman. She is of middling stature and wears a large grey shawl over her head. After glancing sharply round the room, she advances to the fire, warms herself, then, taking off her shawl, sits in the rocking-chair. As she hears MRS HOLROYD’S footsteps, she folds her hands and puts on a lachrymose expression, turning down the corners of her mouth and arching her eyebrows.
MRS HOLROYD: Hello, mother, is it you?
GRANDMOTHER: Yes, it’s me. Haven’t you finished ironing?
MRS HOLROYD: Not yet.
GRANDMOTHER: You’ll have your irons red-hot.
MRS HOLROYD: Yes, I s’ll have to stand them to cool. (She does so, and moves about at her ironing.)
GRANDMOTHER: And you don’t know what’s become of Charles?
MRS HOLROYD: Well, he’s not come home from work yet. I supposed he was at the New Inn — Why?
GRANDMOTHER: That young electrician come knocking asking if I knew where he was. “Eh,” I said, “I’ve not set eyes on him for over a week — nor his wife neither, though they pass th’ garden gate every time they go out. I know nowt on ‘im.” I axed him what was the matter, so he said Mrs Holroyd was anxious because he’d not come home, so I thought I’d better come and see. Is there anything up?
MRS HOLROYD: No more than I’ve told you.
GRANDMOTHER: It’s a rum ‘un, if he’s neither in the New Inn nor the Prince o’ Wales. I suppose something you’ve done’s set him off.
MRS HOLROYD: It’s nothing I’ve done.
GRANDMOTHER: Eh, if he’s gone off and left you, whativer shall we do! Whativer ‘ave you been doing?
MRS HOLROYD: He brought a couple of bright daisies here last night — two of those trollops from Nottingham — and I said I’d not have it.
GRANDMOTHER (sighing deeply): Ay, you’ve never been able to agree.
MRS HOLROYD: We agreed well enough except when he drank like a fish and came home rolling.
GRANDMOTHER (whining): Well, what can you expect of a man as ‘as been shut up i’ th’ pit all day? He must have a bit of relaxation.
MRS HOLROYD: He can have it different from that, then. At any rate, I’m sick of it.
GRANDMOTHER: Ay, you’ve a stiff neck, but it’ll be bowed by you’re my age.
MRS HOLROYD: Will it? I’d rather it were broke.
GRANDMOTHER: Well — there’s no telling what a jealous man will do. (She shakes her head.)
MRS HOLROYD: Nay, I think it’s my place to be jealous, when he brings a brazen hussy here and sits carryin’ on with her.
GRANDMOTHER: He’d no business to do that. But you know, Lizzie, he’s got something on his side.
MRS HOLROYD: What, pray?
GRANDMOTHER: Well, I don’t want to make any mischief, but you’re my son’s wife, an’ it’s nothing but my duty to tell you. They’ve been saying a long time now as that young electrician is here a bit too often.
MRS HOLROYD: He doesn’t come for my asking.
GRANDMOTHER: No, I don’t suppose he wants for asking. But Charlie’s not the man to put up with that sort o’ work.
MRS HOLROYD: Charlie put up with it! If he’s anything to say, why doesn’t he say it, without going to other folks . . . ?
GRANDMOTHER: Charlie’s never been near me with a word — nor ‘as he said a word elsewhere to my knowledge. For all that, this is going to end with trouble.
MRS HOLROYD: In this hole, every gossiping creature thinks she’s got the right to cackle about you — sickening! And a parcel of lies.
GRANDMOTHER: Well, Lizzie, I’ve never said anything against you. Charlie’s been a handful of trouble. He made my heart ache once or twice afore you had him, and he’s made it ache many, many’s the time since. But it’s not all on his side, you know.
MRS HOLROYD (hotly): No, I don’t know.
GRANDMOTHER: You thought yourself above him, Lizzie, an’ you know he’s not the man to stand it.
MRS HOLROYD: No, he’s run away from it.
GRANDMOTHER (venomously): And what man wouldn’t leave a woman that allowed him to live on sufferance in the house with her, when he was bringing the money home?
MRS HOLROYD: “Sufferance!” — Yes, there’s been a lot of letting him live on “sufferance” in the house with me. It is I who have lived on sufferance, for his service and pleasure. No, what he wanted was the drink and the public house company, and because he couldn’t get them here, he went out for them. That’s all.
GRANDMOTHER: You have always been very clever at hitting things off, Lizzie. I was always sorry my youngest son married a clever woman. He only wanted a bit of coaxing and managing, and you clever women won’t do it.
MRS HOLROYD: He wanted a slave, not a wife.
GRANDMOTHER: It’s a pity your stomach wasn’t too high for him, before you had him. But no, you could have eaten him ravishing at one time.
MRS HOLROYD: It’s a pity you didn’t tell me what he was before I had him. But no, he was all angel. You left me to find out what he really was.
GRANDMOTHER: Some women could have lived with him happy enough. An’ a fat lot you’d have thanked me for my telling.
There is a knock at the door. MRS HOLROYD opens.
RIGLEY: They tell me, missus, as your mester’s not hoom yet.
MRS HOLROYD: No — who is it?
GRANDMOTHER: Ask him to step inside. Don’t stan’ there lettin’ the fog in.
RIGLEY steps in. He is a tall, bony, very roughly hewn collier.
RIGLEY: Good evenin’.
GRANDMOTHER: Oh, is it you, Mr Rigley? (In a querulous, spiteful tone to MRS HOLROYD.) He butties along with Charlie.
MRS HOLROYD: Oh!
RIGLEY: Au’ han yer seen nowt on ‘im?
MRS HOLROYD: No — was he all right at work?
RIGLEY: Well, e’ wor nowt to mention. A bit short, like: ‘adna much to say. I canna ma’e out what ‘e’s done wi’ ‘issen. (He is manifestly uneasy, does not look at the two women.)
GRANDMOTHER: An’ did ‘e come up i’ th’ same bantle wi’ you?
RIGLEY: No — ’e didna. As Ah was comin’ out o’ th’ stall, Ah shouted, “Art comin’, Charlie? We’re a’ off.” An’ ‘e said, “Ah’m comin’ in a minute.” ‘E wor just finishin’ a stint, like, an’ ‘e wanted ter get it set. An’ ‘e ‘d been a bit roughish in ‘is temper, like, so I thöwt ‘e didna want ter walk to th’ bottom wi’ us. . . .
GRANDMOTHER (wailing): An’ what’s ‘e gone an’ done to himself?
RIGLEY: Nay, missis, yo munna ax me that. ‘E’s non done owt as Ah know on. On’y I wor thinkin’, ‘appen summat ‘ad ‘appened to ‘im, like, seein’ as nob’dy had any knowings of ‘im comin’ up.
MRS HOLROYD: What is the matter, Mr Rigley? Tell us it out.
RIGLEY: I canna do that, missis. It seems as if ‘e niver come up th’ pit — as far as we can make out. ‘Appen a bit o’ stuff’s fell an’ pinned ‘im.
GRANDMOTHER (wailing): An’ ‘ave you left ‘im lying down there in the pit, poor thing?
RIGLEY (uneasily): I couldna say for certain where ‘e is.
MRS HOLROYD (agitated): Oh, it’s very likely not very bad, mother! Don’t let us run to meet trouble.
RIGLEY: We ‘ave to ‘ope for th’ best, missis, all on us.
GRANDMOTHER (wailing): Eh, they’ll bring ‘im ‘ome, I know they will, smashed up an’ broke! An’ one of my sons they’ve burned down pit till the flesh dropp
ed off ‘im, an’ one was shot till ‘is shoulder was all of a mosh, an’ they brought ‘em ‘ome to me. An’ now there’s this. . . .
MRS HOLROYD (shuddering): Oh, don’t, mother. (Appealing to RIGLEY.) You don’t know that he’s hurt?
RIGLEY (shaking his head): I canna tell you.
MRS HOLROYD (in a high hysterical voice): Then what is it?
RIGLEY (very uneasy): I canna tell you. But yon young electrician — Mr Blackmore — ’e rung down to the night deputy, an’ it seems as though there’s been a fall or summat. . . .
GRANDMOTHER: Eh, Lizzie, you parted from him in anger. You little knowed how you’d meet him again.
RIGLEY (making an effort): Well, I’d ‘appen best be goin’ to see what’s betide.
He goes out.
GRANDMOTHER: I’m sure I’ve had my share of bad luck, I have. I’m sure I’ve brought up five lads in the pit, through accidents and troubles, and now there’s this. The Lord has treated me very hard, very hard. It’s a blessing, Lizzie, as you’ve got a bit of money, else what would ‘ave become of the children?
MRS HOLROYD: Well, if he’s badly hurt, there’ll be the Union-pay, and sick-pay — we shall manage. And perhaps it’s not very much.
GRANDMOTHER: There’s no knowin’ but what they’ll be carryin’ him to die ‘i th’ hospital.
MRS HOLROYD: Oh, don’t say so, mother — it won’t be so bad, you’ll see.
GRANDMOTHER: How much money have you, Lizzie, comin’?
MRS HOLROYD: I don’t know — not much over a hundred pounds.
GRANDMOTHER (shaking her head): An’ what’s that, what’s that?
MRS HOLROYD (sharply): Hush!
GRANDMOTHER (crying): Why, what?
MRS HOLROYD opens the door. In the silence can be heard the pulsing of the fan engine, then the driving engine chuffs rapidly: there is a skirr of brakes on the rope as it descends.
MRS HOLROYD: That’s twice they’ve sent the chair down — I wish we could see. . . . Hark!
GRANDMOTHER: What is it?
MRS HOLROYD: Yes — it’s stopped at the gate. It’s the doctor’s.
GRANDMOTHER (coming to the door): What, Lizzie?
MRS HOLROYD: The doctor’s motor. (She listens acutely.) Dare you stop here, mother, while I run up to the top an’ see?
GRANDMOTHER: You’d better not go, Lizzie, you’d better not. A woman’s best away.
MRS HOLROYD: It is unbearable to wait.
GRANDMOTHER: Come in an’ shut the door — it’s a cold that gets in your bones.
MRS HOLROYD goes in.
MRS HOLROYD: Perhaps while he’s in bed we shall have time to change him. It’s an ill wind brings no good. He’ll happen be a better man.
GRANDMOTHER: Well, you can but try. Many a woman’s thought the same.
MRS HOLROYD: Oh, dear, I wish somebody would come. He’s never been hurt since we were married.
GRANDMOTHER: No, he’s never had a bad accident, all the years he’s been in the pit. He’s been luckier than most. But everybody has it, sooner or later.
MRS HOLROYD (shivering): It is a horrid night.
GRANDMOTHER (querulous): Yes, come your ways in.
MRS HOLROYD: Hark!
There is a quick sound of footsteps. BLACKMORE comes into the light of the doorway.
BLACKMORE: They’re bringing him.
MRS HOLROYD (quickly putting her hand over her breast): What is it?
BLACKMORE: You can’t tell anything’s the matter with him — it’s not marked him at all.
MRS HOLROYD: Oh, what a blessing! And is it much?
BLACKMORE: Well —
MRS HOLROYD: What is it?
BLACKMORE: It’s the worst.
GRANDMOTHER: Who is it? — What does he say?
MRS HOLROYD sinks on the nearest chair with a horrified expression. BLACKMORE pulls himself together and enters the room. He is very pale.
BLACKMORE: I came to tell you they’re bringing him home.
GRANDMOTHER: And you said it wasn’t very bad, did you?
BLACKMORE: No — I said it was — as bad as it could be.
MRS HOLROYD (rising and crossing to her MOTHER-IN-LAW, flings her arms round her; in a high voice): Oh, mother, what shall we do? What shall we do?
GRANDMOTHER: You don’t mean to say he’s dead?
BLACKMORE: Yes.
GRANDMOTHER (staring): God help us, and how was it?
BLACKMORE: Some stuff fell.
GRANDMOTHER (rocking herself and her daughter-in-law — both weeping): Oh, God have mercy on us! Oh, God have mercy on us! Some stuff fell on him. An’ he’d not even time to cry for mercy; oh, God spare him! Oh, what shall we do for comfort? To be taken straight out of his sins. Oh, Lizzie, to think he should be cut off in his wickedness! He’s been a bad lad of late, he has, poor lamb. He’s gone very wrong of late years, poor dear lamb, very wrong. Oh, Lizzie, think what’s to become of him now! If only you’d have tried to be different with him.
MRS HOLROYD (moaning): Don’t, mother, don’t. I can’t bear it.
BLACKMORE (cold and clear): Where will you have him laid? The men will be here in a moment.
MRS HOLROYD (starting up): They can carry him up to bed —
BLACKMORE: It’s no good taking him upstairs. You’ll have to wash him and lay him out.
MRS HOLROYD (startled): Well —
BLACKMORE: He’s in his pit-dirt.
GRANDMOTHER: He is, bless him. We’d better have him down here, Lizzie, where we can handle him.
MRS HOLROYD: Yes.
She begins to put the tea things away, but drops the sugar out of the basin and the lumps fly broadcast.
BLACKMORE: Never mind, I’ll pick those up. You put the children’s clothes away.
MRS HOLROYD stares witless around. The GRANDMOTHER sits rocking herself and weeping. BLACKMORE clears the table, putting the pots in the scullery. He folds the white tablecloth and pulls back the table. The door opens. MRS HOLROYD utters a cry. RIGLEY enters.
RIGLEY: They’re bringing him now, missis.
MRS HOLROYD: Oh!
RIGLEY (simply): There must ha’ been a fall directly after we left him.
MRS HOLROYD (frowning, horrified): No — no!
RIGLEY (to BLACKMORE): It fell a’ back of him, an’ shut ‘im in as you might shut a loaf ‘i th’ oven. It never touched him.
MRS HOLROYD (staring distractedly): Well, then —
RIGLEY: You see, it come on ‘im as close as a trap on a mouse, an’ gen him no air, an’ what wi’ th’ gas, it smothered him. An’ it wouldna be so very long about it neither.
MRS HOLROYD (quiet with horror): Oh!
GRANDMOTHER: Eh, dear — dear. Eh, dear — dear.
RIGLEY (looking hard at her): I wasna to know what ‘ud happen.
GRANDMOTHER (not heeding him, but weeping all the time): But the Lord gave him time to repent. He’d have a few minutes to repent. Ay, I hope he did, I hope he did, else what was to become of him. The Lord cut him off in his sins, but He gave him time to repent.
RIGLEY looks away at the wall. BLACKMORE has made a space in the middle of the floor.
BLACKMORE: If you’ll take the rocking-chair off the end of the rug, Mrs Holroyd, I can pull it back a bit from the fire, and we can lay him on that.
GRANDMOTHER (petulantly): What’s the good of messing about — (She moves.)
MRS HOLROYD: It suffocated him?
RIGLEY (shaking his head, briefly): Yes. ‘Appened th’ afterdamp —
BLACKMORE: He’d be dead in a few minutes.
MRS HOLROYD: No — oh, think!
BLACKMORE: You mustn’t think.
RIGLEY (suddenly): They commin’!
MRS HOLROYD stands at bay. The GRANDMOTHER half rises. RIGLEY and BLACKMORE efface themselves as much as possible. A man backs into the room, bearing the feet of the dead man, which are shod in great pit boots. As the head bearer comes awkwardly past the table, the coat with which the body is covered slips off, revea
ling HOLROYD in his pit-dirt, naked to the waist.
MANAGER (a little stout, white-bearded man): Mind now, mind. Ay, missis, what a job, indeed, it is! (Sharply.) Where mun they put him?
Complete Works of D.H. Lawrence Page 730