Sons and Lovers Part 29

"Mater needn't know till morning," he said. "It won't upset her so much then as at night."

Miriam looked in the bookcase, saw what postcards and letters he had received, saw what books were there. She took one that had interested him. Then he turned down the gas and they set off He did not trouble to lock the door.

He was not home again until a quarter to eleven. His mother was seated in the rocking-chair. Annie, with a rope of hair hanging down her back, remained sitting on a low stool before the fire, her elbows on her knees, gloomily. On the table stood the offending loaf unswathed. Paul entered rather breathless. No one spoke. His mother was reading the little local newspaper. He took off his coat, and went to sit down on the sofa. His mother moved curtly aside to let him pa.s.s. No one spoke. He was very uncomfortable. For some minutes he sat pretending to read a piece of paper he found on the table. Then--- "I forgot that bread, mother," he said.

There was no answer from either woman.

"Well," he said, "it's only twopence ha'penny. I can pay you for that."

Being angry, he put three pennies on the table and slid them towards his mother. She turned away her head. Her mouth was shut tightly.

"Yes," said Annie, "you don't know how badly my mother is!" The girl sat staring glumly into the fire.

"Why is she badly?" asked Paul, in his overbearing way.

"Well!" said Annie. "She could scarcely get home."

He looked closely at his mother. She looked ill.

"Why could you scarcely get home?" he asked her, still sharply. She would not answer. could you scarcely get home?" he asked her, still sharply. She would not answer.

"I found her as white as a sheet sitting here," said Annie, with a suggestion of tears in her voice.

"Well, why?" why?" insisted Paul. His brows were knitting, his eyes dilating pa.s.sionately. insisted Paul. His brows were knitting, his eyes dilating pa.s.sionately.

"It was enough to upset anybody," said Mrs. Morel, "hugging those parcels-meat, and green-groceries, and a pair of curtains-"

"Well, why did you hug them; you needn't have done."

"Then who would?"

"Let Annie fetch the meat."

"Yes, and I would would fetch the meat, but how was I to know. You were off with Miriam, instead of being in when my mother came." fetch the meat, but how was I to know. You were off with Miriam, instead of being in when my mother came."

"And what was the matter with you?" asked Paul of his mother.

"I suppose it's my heart," she replied. Certainly she looked bluish round the mouth.

"And have you felt it before?"

"Yes-often enough."

"Then why haven't you told me?-and why haven't you seen a doctor?"

Mrs. Morel s.h.i.+fted in her chair, angry with him for his hectoring.

"You'd never notice anything," said Annie. "You're too eager to be off with Miriam."

"Oh, am I-and any worse than you with Leonard?"

"I was in at a quarter to ten." was in at a quarter to ten."

There was silence in the room for a time.

"I should have thought," said Mrs. Morel bitterly, "that she wouldn't have occupied you so entirely as to burn a whole ovenful of bread."

"Beatrice was here as well as she."

"Very likely. But we know why the bread is spoilt."

"Why?" he flashed.

"Because you were engrossed with Miriam," replied Mrs. Morel hotly.

"Oh, very well-then it was not!" not!" he replied angrily. he replied angrily.

He was distressed and wretched. Seizing a paper, he began to read. Annie, her blouse unfastened, her long ropes of hair twisted into a plait, went up to bed, bidding him a very curt good-night.

Paul sat pretending to read. He knew his mother wanted to upbraid him. He also wanted to know what had made her ill, for he was troubled. So, instead of running away to bed, as he would have liked to do, he sat and waited. There was a tense silence. The clock ticked loudly.

"You'd better go to bed before your father comes in," said the mother harshly. "And if you're going to have anything to eat, you'd better get it."

"I don't want anything."

It was his mother's custom to bring him some trifle for supper on Friday night, the night of luxury for the colliers. He was too angry to go and find it in the pantry this night. This insulted her.

"If I wanted wanted you to go to Selby on Friday night, I can imagine the scene," said Mrs. Morel. "But you're never too tired to go if you to go to Selby on Friday night, I can imagine the scene," said Mrs. Morel. "But you're never too tired to go if she she will come for you. Nay, you neither want to eat nor drink then." will come for you. Nay, you neither want to eat nor drink then."

"I can't let her go alone."

"Can't you? And why does she come?"

"Not because I ask her."

"She doesn't come without you want her-"

"Well, what if I do do want her-" he replied. want her-" he replied.

"Why, nothing, if it was sensible or reasonable. But to go trapseing up there miles and miles in the mud, coming home at midnight, and got to go to Nottingham in the morning-"

"If I hadn't, you'd be just the same."

"Yes, I should, because there's no sense in it. Is she so fascinating that you must follow her all that way?" Mrs. Morel was bitterly sarcastic. She sat still, with averted face, stroking with a rhythmic, jerked movement, the black sateen of her ap.r.o.n. It was a movement that hurt Paul to see.

"I do like her," he said, "but-"

"Like her!" said Mrs. Morel, in the same biting tones. "It seems to me you like nothing and n.o.body else. There's neither Annie, nor me, nor anyone now for you." her!" said Mrs. Morel, in the same biting tones. "It seems to me you like nothing and n.o.body else. There's neither Annie, nor me, nor anyone now for you."

"What nonsense, mother-you know I don't love her-I-I tell you I don't don't love her-she doesn't even walk with my arm, because I don't want her to." love her-she doesn't even walk with my arm, because I don't want her to."

"Then why do you fly to her so often?"

"I do do like to talk to her-I never said I didn't. But I don't love her." like to talk to her-I never said I didn't. But I don't love her."

"Is there n.o.body else to talk to?"

"Not about the things we talk of. There's a lot of things that you're not interested in, that-"

"What things?"

Mrs. Morel was so intense that Paul began to pant.

"Why-painting-and books. You don't care about Herbert Spencer."14 "No," was the sad reply. "And you won't at my age."

"Well, but I do now-and Miriam does-"

"And how do you know," Mrs. Morel flashed defiantly, "that I I shouldn't. Do you ever try me!" shouldn't. Do you ever try me!"

"But you don't, mother, you know you don't care whether a picture's decorative or not; you don't care what manner it is in."

"How do you know I don't care? Do you ever try me? Do you ever talk to me about these things, to try?"

"But it's not that that matters to you, mother, you know t's not."

"What is it, then-what is it, then, that matters to me?" she flashed. He knitted his brows with pain.

"You're old, mother, and we're young."

He only meant that the interests of her her age were not the interests of his. But he realised the moment he had spoken that he had said the wrong thing. age were not the interests of his. But he realised the moment he had spoken that he had said the wrong thing.

"Yes, I know it well-I am old. And therefore I may stand aside; I have nothing more to do with you. You only want me to wait on you-the rest is for Miriam."

He could not bear it. Instinctively he realised that he was life to her. And, after all, she was the chief thing to him, the only supreme thing.

"You know it isn't, mother, you know it isn't!"

She was moved to pity by his cry.

"It looks a great deal like it," she said, half putting aside her despair.

"No, mother-I really don't don't love her. I talk to her, but I want to come home to you." love her. I talk to her, but I want to come home to you."

He had taken off his collar and tie, and rose, bare-throated, to go to bed. As he stooped to kiss his mother, she threw her arms round his neck, hid her face on his shoulder, and cried, in a whimpering voice, so unlike her own that he writhed in agony: "I can't bear it. I could let another woman-but not her. She'd leave me no room, not a bit of room-"

And immediately he hated Miriam bitterly.

"And I've never-you know, Paul-I've never had a husband-not really-"

He stroked his mother's hair, and his mouth was on her throat.

"And she exults so in taking you from me-she's not like ordinary girls."

"Well, I don't love her, mother," he murmured, bowing his head and hiding his eyes on her shoulder in misery. His mother kissed him a long, fervent kiss.

"My boy!" she said, in a voice trembling with pa.s.sionate love.

Without knowing, he gently stroked her face.

"There," said his mother, "now go to bed. You'll be so tired in the morning." As she was speaking she heard her husband coming. "There's your father-now go." Suddenly she looked at him almost as if in fear. "Perhaps I'm selfish. If you want her, take her, my boy."

His mother looked so strange, Paul kissed her, trembling.

"Ha-mother!" he said softly.

Morel came in, walking unevenly. His hat was over one corner of his eye. He balanced in the doorway.

"At your mischief again?" he said venomously.

Mrs. Morel's emotion turned into sudden hate of the drunkard who had come in thus upon her.

"At any rate, it is sober," she said.

"H'm-h'm! h'm-h'm!" he sneered. He went into the pa.s.sage, hung up his hat and coat. Then they heard him go down three steps to the pantry. He returned with a piece of pork-pie in his fist. It was what Mrs. Morel had bought for her son.

"Nor was that bought for you. If you can give me no more than twenty-five s.h.i.+llings, I'm sure I'm not going to buy you pork-pie to stuff, after you've swilled a bellyful of beer."

"Wha-at-wha-at!" snarled Morel, toppling in his balance. "Wha-at-not for me?" He looked at the piece of meat and crust, and suddenly, in a vicious spurt of temper, flung it into the fire.

Paul started to his feet.

"Waste your own stuff!" he cried.

"What-what!" suddenly shouted Morel, jumping up and clenching his fist. "I'll show yer, yer young jockey!"

"All right!" said Paul viciously, putting his head on one side. "Show me!"

He would at that moment dearly have loved to have a smack at something. Morel was half crouching, fists up, ready to spring. The young man stood, smiling with his lips.

"Ussha!" hissed the father, swiping round with a great stroke just past his son's face. He dared not, even though so close, really touch the young man, but swerved an inch away.

"Right!" said Paul, his eyes upon the side of his father's mouth, where in another instant his fist would have hit. He ached for that stroke. But he heard a faint moan from behind. His mother was deadly pale and dark at the mouth. Morel was dancing up to deliver another blow.

"Father!" said Paul, so that the word rang.

Morel started, and stood at attention.

"Mother!" moaned the boy. "Mother!"