Women in Love (Barnes & Noble Classics S - D. H. Lawrence [198]
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.
“You go up theer—an’ you ta’e th’ first—yi, th’ first turnin’ on your left—o’ that side—past Withamses tuffy shop—”
“I know,” said Gerald.
“Ay! You go down a bit, past wheer th’ water-man lives—and then Somerset Drive, as they ca’ it, branches off on ’t right hand side—an there’s nowt butcjthree houses in it, no more than three, I believe—an’ I’m a’most certain as theirs is th’ last—th’ last o’ th’ three—you see—”
“Thank you very much,” said Gerald. “Good-night.”
And he started off, leaving the tipsy man there standing rooted.
Gerald went past the dark shops and houses, most of them sleeping now, and twisted round to the little blind road that ended on a field of darkness. He slowed down, as he neared his goal, not knowing how he should proceed. What if the house were closed in darkness?
But it was not. He saw a big lighted window, and heard voices, then a gate banged. His quick ears caught the sound of Birkin’s voice, his keen eyes made out Birkin, with Ursula standing in a pale dress on the step of the garden path. Then Ursula stepped down, and came along the road, holding Birkin’s arm.
Gerald went across into the darkness and they dawdled past him, talking happily, Birkin’s voice low, Ursula’s high and distinct. Gerald went quickly to the house.
The blinds were drawn before the big, lighted window of the dining-room. Looking up the path at the side he could see the door left open, shedding a soft, coloured light from the hall lamp. He went quickly and silently up the path, and looked up into the hall. There were pictures on the walls, and the antlers of a stag—and the stairs going up on one side—and just near the foot of the stairs the half opened door of the dining-room.
With heart drawn fine, Gerald