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

 

 

 

 

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?

 

MRS HOLROYD: Come and say your prayers.

 

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 dropped 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, revealing 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?

 

MRS HOLROYD (turning her face aside from the corpse): Lay him on the rug.

 

MANAGER: Steady now, do it steady.

 

SECOND BEARER (rising and pressing back his shoulders): By Guy, but ‘e ‘ings heavy.

 

MANAGER: Yi, Joe, I’ll back my life o’ that.

 

GRANDMOTHER: Eh, Mr Chambers, what’s this affliction on my old age. You kept your sons out o’ the pit, but all mine’s in. And to think of the trouble I’ve had — to think o’ the trouble that’s come out of Brinsley pit to me.

 

MANAGER: It has that, it ‘as that, missis. You seem to have had more’n your share; I’ll admit it, you have.

 

MRS HOLROYD (who has been staring at the men): It is too much!

 

BLACKMORE frowns; RIGLEY glowers at her.

 

MANAGER: You never knowed such a thing in your life. Here’s a man, holin’ a stint, just finishin’, (He puts himself as if in the holer’s position, gesticulating freely.) an’ a lot o’ stuff falls behind him, clean as a whistle, shuts him up safe as a worm in a nut and niver touches him — niver knowed such a thing in your life.

 

MRS HOLROYD: Ugh!

 

MANAGER: It niver hurt him — niver touched him.

 

MRS HOLROYD: Yes, but — but how long would he be (She makes a sweeping gesture; the MANAGER looks at her and will not help her out.) — how long would it take — ah — to — to kill him?

 

MANAGER: Nay, I canna tell ye. ‘E didna seem to ha’ strived much to get out — did he, Joe?

 

SECOND BEARER: No, not as far as Ah’n seen.

 

FIRST BEARER: You look at ‘is ‘ands, you’ll see then. ‘E’d non ha’e room to swing the pick.

 

The MANAGER goes on his knees.

 

MRS HOLROYD (shuddering): Oh, don’t!

 

MANAGER: Ay, th’ nails is broken a bit —

 

MRS HOLROYD (clenching her fists): Don’t!

 

MANAGER: ‘E’d be sure ter ma’e a bit of a fight. But th’ gas ‘ud soon get hold on ‘im. Ay, it’s an awful thing to think of, it is indeed.

 

MRS HOLROYD (her voice breaking): I can’t bear it!

 

MANAGER: Eh, dear, we none on us know what’s comin’ next.

 

MRS HOLROYD (getting hysterical): Oh, it’s too awful, it’s too awful!

 

BLACKMORE: You’ll disturb the children.

 

GRANDMOTHER: And you don’t want them down here.

 

MANAGER: ‘E’d no business to ha’ been left, you know.

 

RIGLEY: An’ what man, dost think, wor goin’ to sit him down on his hams an’ wait for a chap as wouldna say “thank yer” for his cump’ny? ‘E’d bin ready to fall out wi’ a flicker o’ the candle, so who dost think wor goin’ ter stop when we knowed ‘e on’y kep on so’s to get shut on us.

 

MANAGER: Tha’rt quite right, Bill, quite right. But theer you are.

 

RIGLEY: Ah’ if we’d stopped, what good would it ha’ done —

 

MANAGER: No, ‘appen not, ‘appen not.

 

RIGLEY: For, not known —

 

MANAGER: I’m sayin’ nowt agen thee, neither one road nor t’other. (There is general silence — then, to MRS HOLROYD.) I should think th’ inquest’ll be at th’ New Inn to-morrow, missis. I’ll let you know.

 

MRS HOLROYD: Will there have to be an inquest?

 

MANAGER: Yes — there’ll have to be an inquest. Shall you want anybody in, to stop with you to-night?

 

MRS HOLROYD: No.

 

MANAGER: Well, then, we’d best be goin’. I’ll send my missis down first thing in the morning. It’s a bad job, a bad job, it is. You’ll be a’ right then?

 

MRS HOLROYD: Yes.

 

MANAGER: Well, good night then — good night all.

 

ALL: Good night. Good night.

 

The MANAGER, followed by the two bearers, goes out, closing the door.

 

RIGLEY: It’s like this, missis. I never should ha’ gone, if he hadn’t wanted us to.

 

MRS HOLROYD: Yes, I know.

 

RIGLEY: ‘E wanted to come up by ‘s sen.

 

MRS HOLROYD (wearily): I know how it was, Mr Rigley.

 

RIGLEY: Yes —

 

BLACKMORE: Nobody could foresee.

 

RIGLEY (shaking his head): No. If there’s owt, missis, as you want —

 

MRS HOLROYD: Yes — I think there isn’t anything.

 

RIGLEY (after a moment): Well — good night — we’ve worked i’ the same stall ower four years now —

 

MRS HOLROYD: Yes.

 

RIGLEY: Well, good night, missis.

 

MRS HOLROYD and BLACKMORE: Good night.

 

The GRANDMOTHER all this time has been rocking herself to and fro, moaning and murmuring beside the dead man. When RIGLEY has gone MRS HOLROYD stands staring distractedly before her. She has not yet looked at her husband.

 

GRANDMOTHER: Have you got the things ready, Lizzie?

 

MRS HOLROYD: What things?

 

GRANDMOTHER: To lay the child out.

 

MRS HOLROYD (she shudders): No — what?

 

GRANDMOTHER: Haven’t you put him by a pair o’ white stockings, nor a white shirt?

 

MRS HOLROYD: He’s got a white cricketing shirt — but not white stockings.

 

GRANDMOTHER: Then he’ll have to have his father’s. Let me look at the shirt, Lizzie. (MRS HOLROYD takes one from the dresser drawer.) This’ll never do — a cold, canvas thing wi’ a turndown collar. I s’ll ‘ave to fetch his father’s. (Suddenly.) You don’t want no other woman to touch him, to wash him and lay him out, do you?

 

MRS HOLROYD (weeping): No.

 

GRANDMOTHER: Then I’ll fetch him his father’s gear. We mustn’t let him set, he’ll be that heavy, bless him. (She takes her shawl.) I shan’t be more than a few minutes, an’ the young fellow can stop here till I come back.

 

BLACKMORE: Can’t I go for you, Mrs Holroyd?

 

GRANDMOTHER: No. You couldn’t find the things. We’ll wash him as soon as I get back, Lizzie.

 

MRS HOLROYD: Alright.

 

She watches her mother-in-law go out. Then she starts, goes in the scullery for a bowl, in which she pours warm water. She takes a flannel and soap and towel. She stands, afraid to go any further.

 

BLACKMORE: Well!

 

MRS HOLROYD: This is a judgment on us.

 

BLACKMORE: Why?

 

MRS HOLROYD: On me, it is —

 

BLACKMORE: How?

 

MRS HOLROYD: It is.

 

BLACKMORE shakes his head.

 

MRS HOLROYD: Yesterday you talked of murdering him.

 

BLACKMORE: Well!

 

MRS HOLROYD: Now we’ve done it.

 

BLACKMORE: How?

 

MRS HOLROYD: He’d have come up with the others, if he hadn’t felt — felt me murdering him.

 

BLACKMORE: But we can’t help it.

 

MRS HOLROYD: It’s my fault.

 

BLACKMORE: Don’t be like that!

 

MRS HOLROYD (looking at him — then indicating her husband): I daren’t see him.

 

BLACKMORE: No?

 

MRS HOLROYD: I’ve killed him, that is all.

 

BLACKMORE: No, you haven’t.

 

MRS HOLROYD: Yes, I have.

 

BLACKMORE: We couldn’t help it.

 

MRS HOLROYD: If he hadn’t felt, if he hadn’t known, he wouldn’t have stayed, he’d have come up with the rest.

 

BLACKMORE: Well, and even if it was so, we can’t help it now.

 

MRS HOLROYD: But we’ve killed him.

 

BLACKMORE: Ah, I’m tired —

 

MRS HOLROYD: Yes.

 

BLACKMORE (after a pause): Shall I stay?

 

MRS HOLROYD: I — I daren’t be alone with him.

 

BLACKMORE (sitting down): No.

 

MRS HOLROYD: I don’t love him. Now he’s dead. I don’t love him. He lies like he did yesterday.

 

BLACKMORE: I suppose, being dead — I don’t know —

 

MRS HOLROYD: I think you’d better go.

 

BLACKMORE (rising): Tell me.

 

MRS HOLROYD: Yes.

 

BLACKMORE: You want me to go.

 

MRS HOLROYD: No — but do go. (They look at each other.)

 

BLACKMORE: I shall come to-morrow.

 

BLACKMORE goes out.

 

MRS HOLROYD stands very stiff, as if afraid of the dead man. Then she stoops down and begins to sponge his face, talking to him.

 

MRS HOLROYD: My dear, my dear — oh, my dear! I can’t bear it, my dear — you shouldn’t have done it. You shouldn’t have done it. Oh — I can’t bear it, for you. Why couldn’t I do anything for you? The children’s father — my dear — I wasn’t good to you. But you shouldn’t have done this to me. Oh, dear, oh, dear! Did it hurt you? — oh, my dear, it hurt you — oh, I can’t bear it. No, things aren’t fair — we went wrong, my dear. I never loved you enough — I never did. What a shame for you! It was a shame. But you didn’t — you didn’t try. I would have loved you — I tried hard. What a shame for you! It was so cruel for you. You couldn’t help it — my dear, my dear. You couldn’t help it. And I can’t do anything for you, and it hurt you so! (She weeps bitterly, so her tears fall on the dead man’s face; suddenly she kisses him.) My dear, my dear, what can I do for you, what can I? (She weeps as she wipes his face gently.)

 

Enter GRANDMOTHER.

 

GRANDMOTHER (putting a bundle on the table, and taking off her shawl): You’re not all by yourself?

 

MRS HOLROYD: Yes.

 

GRANDMOTHER: It’s a wonder you’re not frightened. You’ve not washed his face.

 

MRS HOLROYD: Why should I be afraid of him — now, mother?

 

GRANDMOTHER (weeping): Ay, poor lamb, I can’t think as ever you could have had reason to be frightened of him, Lizzie.

 

MRS HOLROYD: Yes — once —

 

GRANDMOTHER: Oh, but he went wrong. An’ he was a taking lad, as iver was. (She cries pitifully.) And when I waked his father up and told him, he sat up in bed staring over his whiskers, and said should he come up? But when I’d managed to find the shirt and things, he was still in bed. You don’t know what it is to live with a man that has no feeling. But you’ve washed him, Lizzie?

 

MRS HOLROYD: I was finishing his head.

 

GRANDMOTHER: Let me do it, child.

 

MRS HOLROYD: I’ll finish that.

 

GRANDMOTHER: Poor lamb — poor dear lamb! Yet I wouldn’t wish him back, Lizzie. He must ha’ died peaceful, Lizzie. He seems to be smiling. He always had such a rare smile on him — not that he’s smiled much of late —

 

MRS HOLROYD: I loved him for that.

 

GRANDMOTHER: Ay, my poor child — my poor child.

 

MRS HOLROYD: He looks nice, mother.

 

GRANDMOTHER: I hope he made his peace with the Lord.

 

MRS HOLROYD: Yes.

 

GRANDMOTHER: If he hadn’t time to make his peace with the Lord, I’ve no hopes of him. Dear o’ me, dear o’ me. Is there another bit of flannel anywhere?

 

MRS HOLROYD rises and brings a piece. The GRANDMOTHER begins to wash the breast of the dead man.

 

GRANDMOTHER: Well, I hope you’ll be true to his children at least, Lizzie. (MRS HOLROYD weeps — the old woman continues her washing.) Eh — and he’s fair as a lily. Did you ever see a man with a whiter skin — and flesh as fine as the driven snow. He’s beautiful, he is, the lamb. Many’s the time I’ve looked at him, and I’ve felt proud of him, I have. And now he lies here. And such arms on ‘im! Look at the vaccination marks, Lizzie. When I took him to be vaccinated, he had a little pink bonnet with a feather. (Weeps.) Don’t cry, my girl, don’t. Sit up an’ wash him a’ that side, or we s’ll never have him done. Oh, Lizzie!

 

MRS HOLROYD (sitting up, startled): What — what?

 

GRANDMOTHER: Look at his poor hand!

 

She holds up the right hand. The nails are bloody.

 

MRS HOLROYD: Oh, no! Oh, no! No!

 

Both women weep.

 

GRANDMOTHER (after a while): We maun get on, Lizzie.

 

MRS HOLROYD (sitting up): I can’t touch his hands.

 

GRANDMOTHER: But I’m his mother — there’s nothing I couldn’t do for him.

 

MRS HOLROYD: I don’t care — I don’t care.

 

GRANDMOTHER: Prithee, prithee, Lizzie, I don’t want thee goin’ off, Lizzie.

 

MRS HOLROYD (moaning): Oh, what shall I do!

 

GRANDMOTHER: Why, go thee an’ get his feet washed. He’s setting stiff, and how shall we get him laid out?

 

MRS HOLROYD, sobbing, goes, kneels at the miner’s feet, and begins pulling off the great boots.

 

GRANDMOTHER: There’s hardly a mark on him. Eh, what a man he is! I’ve had some fine sons, Lizzie, I’ve had some big men of sons.

 

MRS HOLROYD: He was always a lot whiter than me. And he used to chaff me.

 

GRANDMOTHER: But his poor hands! I used to thank God for my children, but they’re rods o’ trouble, Lizzie, they are. Unfasten his belt, child. We mun get his things off soon, or else we s’ll have such a job.

 

MRS HOLROYD, having dragged off the boots, rises. She is weeping.

 

 

 

CURTAIN