The scene is the same, two hours later. The cottage is in darkness, save for the firelight. On the table is spread a newspaper. A cup and saucer, a plate, a piece of bacon in the frying tin are on the newspaper ready for the miner’s breakfast. MRS HOLROYD has gone to bed. There is a noise of heavy stumbling down the three steps outside.
BLACKMORE’S VOICE: Steady, now, steady. It’s all in darkness. Missis! — Has she gone to bed?
He tries the latch — shakes the door.
HOLROYD’S VOICE (He is drunk.): Her’s locked me out. Let me smash that bloody door in. Come out — come out — ussza! (He strikes a heavy blow on the door. There is a scuffle.)
BLACKMORE’S VOICE: Hold on a bit — what’re you doing?
HOLROYD’S VOICE: I’m smashing that blasted door in.
MRS HOLROYD (appearing and suddenly drawing the bolts, flinging the door open): What do you think you’re doing?
HOLROYD (lurching into the room, snarling): What? What? Tha thought tha’d play thy monkey tricks on me, did ter? (Shouting.) But I’m going to show thee. (He lurches at her threateningly; she recoils.)
BLACKMORE (seizing him by the arm): Here, here — ! Come and sit down and be quiet.
HOLROYD (snarling at him): What? — What? An’ what’s thäigh got ter do wi’ it. (Shouting.) What’s thäigh got ter do wi’ it?
BLACKMORE: Nothing — nothing; but it’s getting late, and you want your supper.
HOLROYD (shouting): I want nöwt. I’m allowed nöwt in this ‘ouse. (Shouting louder.) ‘Er begrudges me ivry morsel I ha’e.
MRS HOLROYD: Oh, what a story!
HOLROYD (shouting): It’s the truth, an’ you know it.
BLACKMORE (conciliatory): You’ll rouse the children. You’ll rouse the children, at this hour.
HOLROYD (suddenly quiet): Not me — not if I know it. I shan’t disturb ’em — bless ‘em.
He staggers to his arm-chair and sits heavily.
BLACKMORE: Shall I light the lamp?
MRS HOLROYD: No, don’t trouble. Don’t stay any longer, there’s no need.
BLACKMORE (quietly): I’ll just see it’s alright.
He proceeds in silence to light the lamp. HOLROYD is seen dropping forward in his chair. He has a cut on his cheek. MRS HOLROYD is in an old-fashioned dressing-gown. BLACKMORE has an overcoat buttoned up to his chin. There is a very large lump of coal on the red fire.
MRS HOLROYD: Don’t stay any longer.
BLACKMORE: I’ll see it’s alright.
MRS HOLROYD: I shall be all right. He’ll go to sleep now.
BLACKMORE: But he can’t go like that.
MRS HOLROYD: What has he done to his face?
BLACKMORE: He had a row with Jim Goodwin.
MRS HOLROYD: What about?
BLACKMORE: I don’t know.
MRS HOLROYD: The beast!
BLACKMORE: By Jove, and isn’t he a weight! He’s getting fat, must be —
MRS HOLROYD: He’s big made — he has a big frame.
BLACKMORE: Whatever he is, it took me all my time to get him home. I thought I’d better keep an eye on him. I knew you’d be worrying. So I sat in the smoke-room and waited for him. Though it’s a dirty hole — and dull as hell.
MRS HOLROYD: Why did you bother?
BLACKMORE: Well, I thought you’d be upset about him. I had to drink three whiskies — had to, in all conscience — (smiling).
MRS HOLROYD: I don’t want to be the ruin of you.
BLACKMORE (smiling): Don’t you? I thought he’d pitch forward on to the lines and crack his skull.
HOLROYD has been sinking farther and farther forward in drunken sleep. He suddenly jerks too far and is awakened. He sits upright, glaring fiercely and dazedly at the two, who instantly cease talking.
HOLROYD (to BLACKMORE): What are thäigh doin’ ‘ere?
BLACKMORE: Why, I came along with you.
HOLROYD: Thou’rt a liar, I’m only just come in.
MRS HOLROYD (coldly): He is no liar at all. He brought you home because you were too drunk to come yourself.
HOLROYD (starting up): Thou’rt a liar! I niver set eyes on him this night, afore now.
MRS HOLROYD (with a “Pf” of contempt): You don’t know what you have done to-night.
HOLROYD (shouting): I s’ll not ha’e it, I tell thee.
MRS HOLROYD: Psh!
HOLROYD: I s’ll not ha’e it. I s’ll ha’e no carryin’s on i’ my ‘ouse —
MRS HOLROYD (shrugging her shoulders): Talk when you’ve got some sense.
HOLROYD (fiercely): I’ve as much sense as thäigh. Am I a fool? Canna I see? What’s he doin’ here then, answer me that. What — ?
MRS HOLROYD: Mr Blackmore came to bring you home because you were too drunk to find your own way. And this is the thanks he gets.
HOLROYD (contemptuously): Blackymore, Blackymore. It’s him tha cuts thy cloth by, is it?
MRS HOLROYD (hotly): You don’t know what you’re talking about, so keep your tongue still.
HOLROYD (bitingly): I don’t know what I’m talking about — I don’t know what I’m talking about — don’t I? An’ what about him standing there then, if I don’t know what I’m talking about? — What?
BLACKMORE: You’ve been to sleep, Charlie, an’ forgotten I came in with you, not long since.
HOLROYD: I’m not daft, I’m not a fool. I’ve got eyes in my head and sense. You needn’t try to get over me. I know what you’re up to.
BLACKMORE (flushing): It’s a bit off to talk to me like that, Charlie, I must say.
HOLROYD: I’m not good enough for ‘er. She wants Mr Blackymore. He’s a gentleman, he is. Now we have it all; now we understand.
MRS HOLROYD: I wish you understood enough to keep your tongue still.
HOLROYD: What? What? I’m to keep my tongue still, am I? An’ what about Mr Blackymore?
MRS HOLROYD (fiercely): Stop your mouth, you — you vulgar, low-minded brute.
HOLROYD: Am I? Am I? An’ what are you? What tricks are you up to, an’ all? But that’s alright — that’s alright. (Shouting.) That’s alright, if it’s you.
BLACKMORE: I think I’d better go. You seem to enjoy — er — er — calumniating your wife.
HOLROYD (mockingly): Calamniating — calamniating — I’ll give you calamniating, you mealy-mouthed jockey: I’ll give you calamniating.
BLACKMORE: I think you’ve said about enough.
HOLROYD: ‘Ave I, ‘ave I? Yer flimsy jack— ‘ave I? (In a sudden burst.) But I’ve not done wi’ thee yet?
BLACKMORE (ironically): No, and you haven’t.
HOLROYD (shouting — pulling himself up from the arm-chair): I’ll show thee — I’ll show thee.
BLACKMORE laughs.
HOLROYD: Yes! — yes, my young monkey. It’s thäigh, is it?
BLACKMORE: Yes, it’s me.
HOLROYD (shouting): An’ I’ll ma’e thee wish it worn’t, I will. What — ? What? Tha’d come slivin’ round here, would ta? (He lurches forward at BLACKMORE with clenched fist.)
MRS HOLROYD: Drunken, drunken fool — oh, don’t.
HOLROYD (turning to her): What?
She puts up her hands before her face. BLACKMORE seizes the upraised arm and swings HOLROYD round.
BLACKMORE (in a towering passion): Mind what tha’rt doing!
HOLROYD (turning fiercely on him — incoherent): Wha’ — wha’ — !
He aims a heavy blow. BLACKMORE evades it, so that he is struck on the side of the chest. Suddenly he shows his teeth. He raises his fists ready to strike HOLROYD when the latter stands to advantage.
MRS HOLROYD (rushing upon BLACKMORE): No, no! Oh, no!
She flies and opens the door, and goes out. BLACKMORE glances after her, then at HOLROYD, who is preparing, like a bull, for another charge. The young man’s face lights up.
HOLROYD: Wha’ — wha’ — !
As he advances, BLACKMORE quickly retreats out-of-doors. HOLROYD plunges upon him. BLACKMORE slips behind the door-jamb, puts out his foot, and trips HOLROYD with a crash upon the brick yard.
MRS HOLROYD: Oh, what has he done to himself?
BLACKMORE (thickly): Tumbled over himself.
HOLROYD is seen struggling to rise, and is heard incoherently cursing.
MRS HOLROYD: Aren’t you going to get him up?
BLACKMORE: What for?
MRS HOLROYD: But what shall we do?
BLACKMORE: Let him go to hell.
HOLROYD, who has subsided, begins to snarl and struggle again.
MRS HOLROYD (in terror): He’s getting up.
BLACKMORE: Alright, let him.
MRS HOLROYD looks at BLACKMORE, suddenly afraid of him also.
HOLROYD (in a last frenzy): I’ll show thee — I’ll —
He raises himself up, and is just picking his balance when BLACKMORE, with a sudden light kick, sends him sprawling again. He is seen on the edge of the light to collapse into stupor.
MRS HOLROYD: He’ll kill you, he’ll kill you!
BLACKMORE laughs short.
MRS HOLROYD: Would you believe it! Oh, isn’t it awful! (She begins to weep in a little hysteria; BLACKMORE stands with his back leaning on the doorway, grinning in a strained fashion.) Is he hurt, do you think?
BLACKMORE: I don’t know — I should think not.
MRS HOLROYD: I wish he was dead; I do, with all my heart.
BLACKMORE: Do you? (He looks at her quickly; she wavers and shrinks; he begins to smile strainedly as before.) You don’t know what you wish, or what you want.
MRS HOLROYD (troubled): Do you think I could get past him to come inside?
BLACKMORE: I should think so.
MRS HOLROYD, silent and troubled, manoeuvres in the doorway, stepping over her husband’s feet, which lie on the threshold.
BLACKMORE: Why, you’ve got no shoes and stockings on!
MRS HOLROYD: No. (She enters the house and stands trembling before the fire.)
BLACKMORE (following her): Are you cold?
MRS HOLROYD: A little — with standing on the yard.
BLACKMORE: What a shame!
She, uncertain of herself, sits down. He drops on one knee, awkwardly, and takes her feet in his hands.
MRS HOLROYD: Don’t — no, don’t!
BLACKMORE: They are frightfully cold. (He remains, with head sunk, for some moments, then slowly rises.) Damn him!
They look at each other; then, at the same time, turn away.
MRS HOLROYD: We can’t leave him lying there.
BLACKMORE: No — no! I’ll bring him in.
MRS HOLROYD: But — !
BLACKMORE: He won’t wake again. The drink will have got hold of him by now. (He hesitates.) Could you take hold of his feet — he’s so heavy.
MRS HOLROYD: Yes.
They go out and are seen stooping over HOLROYD.
BLACKMORE: Wait, wait, till I’ve got him — half a minute.
MRS HOLROYD backs in first. They carry HOLROYD in and lay him on the sofa.
MRS HOLROYD: Doesn’t he look awful?
BLACKMORE: It’s more mark than mar. It isn’t much, really.
He is busy taking off HOLROYD’S collar and tie, unfastening the waistcoat, the braces and the waist buttons of the trousers; he then proceeds to unlace the drunken man’s boots.
MRS HOLROYD (who has been watching closely): I shall never get him upstairs.
BLACKMORE: He can sleep here, with a rug or something to cover him. You don’t want him — upstairs?
MRS HOLROYD: Never again.
BLACKMORE (after a moment or two of silence): He’ll be alright down here. Have you got a rug?
MRS HOLROYD: Yes.
She goes upstairs. BLACKMORE goes into the scullery, returning with a ladling can and towel. He gets hot water from the boiler. Then, kneeling down, he begins to wipe the drunken man’s face lightly with the flannel, to remove the blood and dirt.
MRS HOLROYD (returning): What are you doing?
BLACKMORE: Only wiping his face to get the dirt out.
MRS HOLROYD: I wonder if he’d do as much for you.
BLACKMORE: I hope not.
MRS HOLROYD: Isn’t he horrible, horrible —
BLACKMORE (looks up at her): Don’t look at him then.
MRS HOLROYD: I can’t take it in, it’s too much.
BLACKMORE: He won’t wake. I will stay with you.
MRS HOLROYD (earnestly): No — oh, no.
BLACKMORE: There will be the drawn sword between us. (He indicates the figure of HOLROYD, which lies, in effect, as a barrier between them.)
MRS HOLROYD (blushing): Don’t!
BLACKMORE: I’m sorry.
MRS HOLROYD (after watching him for a few moments lightly wiping the sleeping man’s face with a towel): I wonder you can be so careful over him.
BLACKMORE (quietly): It’s only because he’s helpless.
MRS HOLROYD: But why should you love him ever so little?
BLACKMORE: I don’t — only he’s helpless. Five minutes since I could have killed him.
MRS HOLROYD: Well, I don’t understand you men.
BLACKMORE: Why?
MRS HOLROYD: I don’t know.
BLACKMORE: I thought as I stood in that doorway, and he was trying to get up — I wished as hard as I’ve ever wished anything in my life —
MRS HOLROYD: What?
BLACKMORE: That I’d killed him. I’ve never wished anything so much in my life — if wishes were anything.
MRS HOLROYD: Don’t, it does sound awful.
BLACKMORE: I could have done it, too. He ought to be dead.
MRS HOLROYD (pleading): No, don’t! You know you don’t mean it, and you make me feel so awful.
BLACKMORE: I do mean it. It is simply true, what I say.
MRS HOLROYD: But don’t say it.
BLACKMORE: No?
MRS HOLROYD: No, we’ve had enough.
BLACKMORE: Give me the rug.
She hands it him, and he tucks HOLROYD up.
MRS HOLROYD: You only do it to play on my feelings.
BLACKMORE (laughing shortly): And now give me a pillow — thanks.
There is a pause — both look at the sleeping man.
BLACKMORE: I suppose you’re fond of him, really.
MRS HOLROYD: No more.
BLACKMORE: You were fond of him?
MRS HOLROYD: I was — yes.
BLACKMORE: What did you like in him?
MRS HOLROYD (uneasily): I don’t know.
BLACKMORE: I suppose you really care about him, even now?
MRS HOLROYD: Why are you so sure of it?
BLACKMORE: Because I think it is so.
MRS HOLROYD: I did care for him — now he has destroyed it —
BLACKMORE: I don’t believe he can destroy it.
MRS HOLROYD (with a short laugh): Don’t you? When you are married you try. You’ll find it isn’t so hard.
BLACKMORE: But what did you like in him — because he was good-looking, and strong, and that?
MRS HOLROYD: I liked that as well. But if a man makes a nuisance of himself, his good looks are ugly to you, and his strength loathsome. Do you think I care about a man because he’s got big fists, when he is a coward in his real self?
BLACKMORE: Is he a coward?
MRS HOLROYD: He is — a pettifogging, paltry one.
BLACKMORE: And so you’ve really done with him?
MRS HOLROYD: I have.
BLACKMORE: And what are you going to do?
MRS HOLROYD: I don’t know.
BLACKMORE: I suppose nothing. You’ll just go on — even if you’ve done with him — you’ll go on with him.
There is a long pause.
BLACKMORE: But was there nothing else in him but his muscles and his good looks to attract you to him?
MRS HOLROYD: Why? What does it matter?
BLACKMORE: What did you think he was?
MRS HOLROYD: Why must we talk about him?
BLACKMORE: Because I can never quite believe you.
MRS HOLROYD: I can’t help whether you believe it or not.
BLACKMORE: Are you just in a rage with him, because of to-night?
MRS HOLROYD: I know, to-night finished it. But it was never right between us.
BLACKMORE: Never?
MRS HOLROYD: Not once. And then to-night — no, it’s too much; I can’t stand any more of it.
BLACKMORE: I suppose he got tipsy. Then he said he wasn’t a married man — vowed he wasn’t, to those paper bonnets. They found out he was, and said he was frightened of his wife getting to know. Then he said they should all go to supper at his house — I suppose they came out of mischief.
MRS HOLROYD: He did it to insult me.
BLACKMORE: Oh, he was a bit tight — you can’t say it was deliberate.
MRS HOLROYD: No, but it shows how he feels toward me. The feeling comes out in drink.
BLACKMORE: How does he feel toward you?
MRS HOLROYD: He wants to insult me, and humiliate me, in every moment of his life. Now I simply despise him.
BLACKMORE: You really don’t care any more about him?
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