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Gone to Earth

<h2 id="id02188" style="margin-top: 4em">Chapter 29</h2> On Sunday Vessons put his resolve—to go to the Mountain and reveal Hazel's whereabouts—into practice. If he had waited, gossip would have done it for him. He set out in the afternoon, having 'cleaned' himself and put on his pepper-and-salt suit, buff leggings, red waistcoat, and the jockey-like cap he affected. He arrived at the back door just as Martha was taking in supper. 'Well?' said Martha, who wanted to have her meal and go home. 'Well?' said Vessons. 'When I say "well," I mean what d'you want?' 'Allus say what you mean.' 'Who d'you want? Me?' 'The master.' 'The master's out.' 'I'll wait, then.' He sat down by the fire, and looked so fixedly at Martha as she poured out her tea that she offered him some in self-defence. He drew up his chair. Now that he was receiving hospitality, he felt that he must be agreeable and complimentary. 'Single, I suppose?' he asked. 'Ah,' said Martha coyly, 'I'm single; but I've no objection to matrimony.' 'Oh!' Vessons spoke sourly, 'I'm sorry for you, then.' 'Maybe you're a married man yourself?' 'Never.' 'Better late than never!' 'If I've kep' out of it in the heat of youth, is it likely I'll go into it in the chilly times? Maiden I am to my dying day!' 'But if you was to meet a nice tidy woman as had a bit saved?' To Martha, a bridegroom of sixty-five seemed better than nothing. 'If I met a score nice tidy women, if I met a gross nice tidy women, it 'ud be no different.' 'Not if she could make strong ale?' 'I can make ale myself. No woman shall come into my kitchen for uncounted gold.' Martha sighed as she changed the subject. 'What do you want the master for?' 'Never tell your tidings,' said Vessons, 'till you meet the king.' 'Martha!' Mrs. Marston stood at the kitchen door in the most splendid of her caps—a pagoda of white lace—and her voice was, as she afterwards said, 'quite sharp,' its mellifluousness being very slightly reduced. Vessons rose, touching his hair. 'What is it, my good man?' 'A bit of news, mum.' 'For my son?' 'Ah!' 'You may go, Martha,' said Mrs. Marston, and Martha went without alacrity. 'Now.' Mrs. Marston spoke encouragingly. 'It's for the master.' 'He cannot see you.' The two old faces regarded each other with silent obstinacy, and Vessons recognized that, for all Mrs. Marston's soft outlines, she was as obstinate as he was. He cleared his throat several times. Mrs. Marston produced a lozenge, which he ate reluctantly, chumbling it with nervous haste. He was so afraid that she would give him another that he told her his news. 'Thank you,' she said, keeping her dignity in a marvellous manner. 'Mrs. Edward Marston, of course, wrote to the minister, but she forgot to give her address.' 'Accidents will 'appen,' Vessons remarked, as he went out. It was some time before Edward came in. He had spent most of his time since last Sunday tramping the hillsides. It was not till he had finished his very cursory meal that his mother said calmly, looking over her spectacles: 'I know where Hazel is.' 'You know, mother? Why didn't you tell me?' 'I am telling you, dear. There's nothing to be in a taking about. You've had no supper yet. A little preserve?' Edward, in a sudden passion that startled her, threw the jam-dish across the room. It made a red splash on the wall. Mrs. Marston stopped chumbling her toast, and remained with the rotary motions of her mouth in abeyance. Then she said slowly: 'Your poor father always said, dear, that you'd break out some day. And you have. The best dish! Of course the jam I say little about; jam is but jam, after all; but the cut-glass dish—!' 'Can't you go on with the tale, mother?' 'Yes, my dear, yes. But you fluster me like the Silverton Cheap-jack does; I never can buy the dish he holds up, for I get in such a fluster for fear he'll break it, and then he does. And now you have.' Edward pushed back his chair in desperation. 'For pity's sake!' he said. 'I'm telling you. I never thought Hazel was steadfast, you know.' 'Where is she? Why will you torment me?' 'An old man came. A very untrustworthy old man, I fear. A defiant manner, and that is never pleasant. There he was in the kitchen with Martha! Age is no barrier to wrong, and Martha was very flushed. There was a deal of laughter, too.' 'Mother! If you keep on like this, I shall go mad.' 'Why, Edward, you are all in a fever. There, there! It's more peaceful without her, and I wish Mr. Reddin well of her.' 'Reddin? What Reddin?' 'Mr. Reddin of Undern. Who else?' 'Damn the fellow!' 'Edward! What words you take on your lips! And just think,' she went on sorrowfully, 'that he seemed such a nice man. He liked the gooseberry wine so much, and gave me a "ma'am," which is more than Martha does half her time. Where are you going?' 'To Undern.' 'What for?' 'Hazel.' Mrs. Marston sat bolt upright. 'But, of course, she'll never darken the door again!' 'I shall bring her back to-night, of course.' 'But, my dear! You must divorce her, however unpleasant on account of the papers. Remember, she has been there a week.' 'What of that?' 'But a week, dear!' 'Mother, I did not think to hear the talk of the filthy world from you.' Mrs. Marston quailed a little. There is nothing in the world so pure, so wonderful, so strong, as a young man's love can be—nothing so spiritual, nothing so brave. Mrs. Marston, in her own words, 'shed tears.' 'Don't cry, mother, but help me,' Edward said. 'Be ready for her, love her. She is as pure as a dew-drop. I know it. And I want her more than life.' 'But if she doesn't want you, Edward, what more is to do?' 'To seek and to save,' snapped Edward, and he banged the door and went hatless down the path between the heavy-browed tombstones. But he came back to suggest that there should be some tea ready. As he went down the batch, owls were shrieking in the woods, and the sky was pied with grey and crimson, like bloodstained marble. The cries of the owls were hard as marble also, and of a polished ferocity. They would have their prey. He walked fast through the lonely fields where Hazel had passed on her mushrooming morning. The roses that had then been in the bud were falling. At Alderslea people stared at him as he went by, flushed and hatless. From Alderslea to Wolf batch was some miles; from there to Undern the way lay over Bitterly Hill, where he missed the path. So it was quite dark when he came past Undern Pool, lying black and ghastly in its ring of skeleton trees. The foxhound set up a loud baying within. Only one window was lit. Edward hammered on the knocker, and the sound echoed in the hollow house. There was a noise within of a door opening, and Hazel's voice cried: 'I wouldna go. It's a tramp, likely.' Then Reddin laughed, and Edward clenched his hands in rage at the easy self-confidence of him. The bolt was drawn back, and Reddin stood in the doorway, outlined by pale light. 'Who is it?' he asked in rather a jovial tone. He felt at peace with the world now Hazel was here. 'Beast!' Edward said tersely. 'Just come in a minute, my lad, and let's have a look at you. People don't call me names twice.' Hazel had heard Edward's voice. She ran to the door, and the apple-green gown rustled about her. 'Ed'ard! Ed'ard! Dunna go for to miscall him! He'll hurt 'ee! He's stronger'n you. Do 'ee go back, Ed'ard!' 'Never! till you come, too.' 'I like that,' said Reddin. 'Can't you see she's got my gown on her back? She's mine. She was never yours.' He looked meaningly and triumphantly at Edward. 'Oh, dunna, Jack! What for do you go to shame me?' said Hazel, twisting her hands. Edward took no notice of her. 'I don't know what evil means you used, or how you brought the poor child here,' he said, controlling himself with an effort. 'But you have tried to rob me, and you have insulted her—' 'Oh, don't come here talking like an injured husband,' Reddin said; 'you know you aren't her husband.' 'Keep your foul mouth shut before innocence! To try and rob a poor child of her freedom, of her soul—' Hazel wondered at him. His eyes darkened so upon Reddin, his face was so powerful, irradiated with love and anger. 'So young!' he went on—'so young, and as wild as a little bird. How could anyone help letting her take her own way? She wanted to go free in the woods. I let her; and there you were like a sneaking wolf.' He threw a look at Hazel so full of wistful tenderness that she flung the green skirt over her head and sobbed. 'Stow it, can't you?' said Reddin. 'If you want a fight, say so; but don't preach all night.' His tone was injured. He felt that he had been particularly considerate to Edward in sending him the letter. Also, he was convinced that he had only taken what Edward did not want. That Edward could love Hazel was beyond his comprehension. If a man loved a woman, he possessed her, took his pleasure of her. Love that was abnegation was to his idea impossible. So that, now, when Edward spoke of his love, Reddin simply thought he was posing. 'Why didn't you let her be?' 'Women don't want to be let be,' said Reddin with a very unpleasant laugh. 'Oh! stop talking about me as if I wunna here!' cried Hazel. 'If she loved you, I'd say nothing,' Edward went on, staring at Reddin fixedly. 'The fact that I'm her husband would not have counted with me, if you'd loved her and she you.' 'A fine pastor!' 'But you don't. You only wanted—Oh! you make me sick!' 'Indeed! Well, I'm man enough to take what I want; you're not.' 'You trapped her; you would have betrayed her. But, thank God! a young girl's innocence is a wonderful and powerful thing.' Reddin was astounded. Could Marston really be such a fool as to believe in Hazel still? 'The innocent young girl—' he began, but Hazel struck him on the mouth. 'All right, spitfire!' he said; 'mum's the word.' He was surprisingly good-humoured. 'Well, Hazel'—Edward spoke in a matter-of-fact tone—'shall we go home now?' 'Dunnat ask me, Ed'ard! I mun bide.' 'Why?' Hazel was silent. She could not explain the strange instinct, stronger than her wildness, that Reddin had awakened in her, and that chained her here with invisible chains. 'Come home, little Hazel!' he pleaded. 'I canna,' she whispered. 'Why? You can if you want to. Don't you want to?' 'Ah! I do that.' She was torn between her longing to go and her powerlessness to leave Reddin. The light went out of Edward's face. 'Do you love this man?' he asked. 'No.' 'Does it make you better to live with him?' 'No. It was living with you as did that.' Reddin was so enraged that he struck her, and her expression of submission as she cowered under the blow was worse to Edward than the blow itself. He forgot his views about violence, and struck Reddin back. 'Come outside,' said Reddin in a tone of relief. The situation had now taken a comprehensible turn for him. 'If it's fighting you're after, I'm with you; that's settling it like gentlemen. What are you grinning at?' He spoke huffily. 'Dunna snab at each other! What for do you?' said Hazel. 'Because you're husband's jealous.' Edward was exasperated by the realization that his action in coming did look like that of the commonplace husband. But, after all, what did it matter? Nothing mattered but Hazel. He looked across at her crouched in the armchair sobbing. He went to her and patted her shoulder. 'No one's angry with you, dear,' he said. 'Afterwards, when we're home, you shall explain it all to me.' 'If you win!' put in Reddin. Edward stooped and kissed Hazel's hand. The momentary doubt of her—cruel as hell—had gone. She was his lady, and he was going to fight for her. Hazel looked up at him, and in that instant she almost loved him. They went out. It was a black moonless night. They stood near the lit window. 'Draw the blind up!' shouted Reddin. Hazel drew it up. They faced each other in the square of light. They were both quite collected. It seemed difficult to begin. The humour of this struck Reddin, and he laughed. Edward looked at him disgustedly. Reddin began to feel a fool. 'We must begin,' he said. Seeing that Edward was waiting for him to strike the first blow, and not being angry enough to do so, Reddin said coarsely: 'No good fighting, parson! She's mine—from head to foot.' He received as good a blow as Edward was capable of. They fought with hard-drawn breath, for they were neither of them in training. To Edward it seemed ridiculous to be fighting; to Reddin it seemed ridiculous to be fighting such an opponent. They moved out of the light and back again in the tense silence of the night. A rat splashed in the pool, and silence fell again. Edward could not do much more than defend himself, and Reddin's eyes shone triumphantly. Within, Hazel leaned against the glass faintly. It was as if evil and good, angels and devils, fought for her. And whichever won, she was equally forlorn. She did not want heaven; she wanted earth and the green ways of earth. 'Oh, he'll kill Ed'ard!' she moaned. Edward staggered under a blow, and she hid her eyes. Suddenly she thought of Vessons. Where was he? She ran to the kitchen calling him. He was not there. She went to the stables. He was nowhere to be found. Drawn by an irresistible curiosity, she rushed back to the front of the house. Under the yew-tree she ran into Vessons. 'Sh!' he whispered. 'Say nought! I'll tell you what's a mortal good thing for a dog-fight—pepper!' He held up the kitchen pepper-pot. In the other hand he had the poker. 'Now I'll part 'em, missus, you see!' 'Quick, then!' But as she spoke Reddin got in a blow on Edward's jaw, and he fell. Hazel rushed forward. 'You murderer!'—she screamed, and she bit Reddin's hand as he stretched it out to catch her, and bent over Edward. The victor in the fight was fated to be the loser with Hazel, for she had a never-broken compact with all creatures defeated. She ran to the pool for water. 'Catch a holt on him!' she cried to Vessons; 'he's a murderer!' Reddin stood by, confused and mystified at Hazel's unlooked-for behaviour. Vessons bent over Edward. He struck a match and held it to the end of his nose, chuckling as Edward winced. 'I'll tell you summat as is mortal tough!' he remarked. 'A minister of the Lord! Will the gen'leman stay supper?' he inquired of Reddin. 'No!' said Hazel; 'Mr. Reddin'll take supper alone, for allus, to his dying day. Put the horse in, please, Mr. Vessons.' 'Right you are, missus.' Reddin was so taken aback by the turn of events, and his head ached so much, that he had nothing to say. He watched Vessons bring the horse round, blinked at Hazel as she tore off the silk dress and borrowed Edward's coat instead, and glowered dumbly at Edward as he was helped into the trap. Hazel sat between the two men. 'Pluck up!' said Vessons to the cob unemotionally, and the trap jogged through the gate and out on to the open hill. 'And if it cosses me my place, I'll tell ye one thing!' Vessons said to himself: 'There's as good to be had, and better.' 'Well, I'm damned, said Reddin as they disappeared in the darkness. He went in and finished the whisky in a state of mystification that ended in sleep. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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