Women in Love (Barnes & Noble Classics S - D. H. Lawrence [191]
And at last he came to high road. It had distracted him to struggle blindly through the maze of darkness. But now, he must take a direction. And he did not even know where he was. But he must take a direction now. Nothing would be resolved by merely walking, walking away. He had to take a direction.
He stood still on the road, that was high in the utterly dark night, and he did not know where he was. It was a strange sensation, his heart beating, and ringed round with the utterly unknown darkness. So he stood for some time.
Then he heard footsteps, and saw a small, swinging light. He immediately went towards this. It was a miner.
“Can you tell me,” he said, “where this road goes?”
“Road? Ay, it goes ter Whatmore.”
“Whatmore! Oh thank you, that’s right. I thought I was wrong. Good- night.”
“Good-night,” replied the broad voice of the miner.
Gerald guessed where he was. At least, when he came to Whatmore, he would know. He was glad to be on a high road. He walked forward as in a sleep of decision.
That was Whatmore village—? Yes, the King’s Head—and there the hall gates. He descended the steep hill almost running. Winding through the hollow, he passed the Grammar School, and came to Willey Green Church. The churchyard! He halted.
Then in another moment he had clambered up the wall and was going among the graves. Even in this darkness he could see the heaped pallor of old white flowers at his feet. This then was the grave. He stooped down. The flowers were cold and clammy. There was a raw scent of chrysanthemums and tube-roses, deadened. He felt the clay beneath, and shrank, it was so horribly cold and sticky. He stood away in revulsion.
Here was one centre then, here in the complete darkness beside the unseen, raw grave. But there was nothing for him here. No, he had nothing to stay here for. He felt as if some of the clay were sticking cold and unclean, on his heart. No, enough of this.
Where then?—home? Never! It was no use going there. That was less than no use. It could not be done. There was somewhere else to go. Where?
A dangerous resolve formed in his heart, like a fixed idea. There was Gudrun—she would be safe in her home. But he could get at her—he would get at her. He would not go back to-night till he had come to her, if it cost him his life. He staked his all on this throw.
He set off walking straight across the fields towards Beldover. It was so dark, nobody could ever see him. His feet were wet and cold, heavy with clay. But he went on persistently, like a wind, straight forward, as if to his fate. There were great gaps in his consciousness. He was conscious that he was at Winthorpe hamlet, but quite unconscious how he had got there. And, as in a dream, he was in the long street of Beldover, with its street-lamps.
There was a noise of voices, and of a door shutting loudly, and being barred, and of men talking in the night. The “Lord Nelson” had just closed, and the drinkers were going home. He had better ask one of these where she lived—for he did not know the side streets at all.
“Can you tell me where Somerset Drive is?” he asked of one of the uneven men.
“Where what?” replied the tipsy miner’s voice.
“Somerset Drive.”
“Somerset Drive!—Ive heard o’ such a place, but I couldn’t for my life say where it is. Who might you be wanting?”
“Mr. Brangwen—William Brangwen.”
“William Brangwen—?—?”
“Who teaches at the Grammar School, at Willey Green—his daughter teaches there too.”
“O-o-o-oh, Brangwen! Now I’ve got you. Of course, William Brangwen! Yes, yes, he’s got two lassies as teachers, aside hisself. Ay, that’s him—that’s him! Why certainly I know where he lives, back your life I do! Yi—what place do they ca’ it?”
“Somerset Drive,” repeated Gerald patiently. He knew his own colliers fairly well.
“Somerset Drive, for certain!” said the collier, swinging his arm as if catching something up. “Somerset Drive—yi! I couldn’t for my life lay hold o’ the lercalityci o’ the place. Yis, I know the place, to be sure I do—”
He turned unsteadily on his feet, and pointed up the dark, nigh-deserted road.