He got up again and went out,towards the park gates this time:then slowly along the path towards the house.It was nearly four o'clock,still clear and cold,but no sign of dawn.He was used to the dark,he could see well.
Slowly,slowly the great house drew him,as a magnet.He wanted to be near her.It was not desire,not that.It was the cruel sense of unfinished aloneness,that needed a silent woman folded in his arms.Perhaps he could find her.Perhaps he could even call her out to him:or find some way in to her.For the need was imperious.
He slowly,silently climbed the incline to the hall.Then he came round the great trees at the top of the knoll,on to the drive,which made a grand sweep round a lozenge of grass in front of the entrance.He could already see the two magnificent beeches which stood in this big level lozenge in front of the house,detaching themselves darkly in the dark air.
There was the house,low and long and obscure,with one light burning downstairs,in Sir Clifford's room.But which room she was in,the woman who held the other end of the frail thread which drew him so mercilessly,that he did not know.
He went a little nearer,gun in hand,and stood motionless on the drive,watching the house.Perhaps even now he could find her,come at her in some way.The house was not impregnable:he was as clever as burglars are.
Why not come to her?
He stood motionless,waiting,while the dawn faintly and imperceptibly paled behind him.He saw the light in the house go out.But he did not see Mrs Bolton come to the window and draw back the old curtain of dark-blue silk,and stand herself in the dark room,looking out on the half-dark of the approaching day,looking for the longed-for dawn,waiting,waiting for Clifford to be really reassured that it was daybreak.For when he was sure of daybreak,he would sleep almost at once.
She stood blind with sleep at the window,waiting.And as she stood,she started,and almost cried out.For there was a man out there on the drive,a black figure in the twilight.She woke up greyly,and watched,but without making a sound to disturb Sir Clifford.
The daylight began to rustle into the world,and the dark figure seemed to go smaller and more defined.She made out the gun and gaiters and baggy jacket--it would be Oliver Mellors,the keeper.'Yes,for there was the dog nosing around like a shadow,and waiting for him'!
And what did the man want?Did he want to rouse the house?What was he standing there for,transfixed,looking up at the house like a love-sick male dog outside the house where the bitch is?
Goodness!The knowledge went through Mrs Bolton like a shot.He was Lady Chatterley's lover!He!He!
To think of it!Why,she,Ivy Bolton,had once been a tiny bit in love with him herself.When he was a lad of sixteen and she a woman of twenty-six.
It was when she was studying,and he had helped her a lot with the anatomy and things she had had to learn.He'd been a clever boy,had a scholarship for Sheffield Grammar School,and learned French and things:and then after all had become an overhead blacksmith shoeing horses,because he was fond of horses,he said:but really because he was frightened to go out and face the world,only he'd never admit it.
But he'd been a nice lad,a nice lad,had helped her a lot,so clever at making things clear to you.He was quite as clever as Sir Clifford:and always one for the women.More with women than men,they said.
Till he'd gone and married that Bertha Coutts,as if to spite himself.
Some people do marry to spite themselves,because they're disappointed of something.And no wonder it had been a failure.--For years he was gone,all the time of the war:and a lieutenant and all:quite the gentleman,really quite the gentleman!--Then to come back to Tevershall and go as a game-keeper!Really,some people can't take their chances when they've got them!And talking broad Derbyshire again like the worst,when she,Ivy Bolton,knew he spoke like any gentleman,really .
Well,well!So her ladyship had fallen for him!Well her ladyship wasn't the first:there was something about him.But fancy!A Tevershall lad born and bred,and she her ladyship in Wragby Hall!My word,that was a slap back at the high-and-mighty Chatterleys!
But he,the keeper,as the day grew,had realized:it's no good!It's no good trying to get rid of your own aloneness.You've got to stick to it all your life.Only at times,at times,the gap will be filled in.At times!But you have to wait for the times.Accept your own aloneness and stick to it,all your life.And then accept the times when the gap is filled in,when they come.But they've got to come.You can't force them.
With a sudden snap the bleeding desire that had drawn him after her broke.He had broken it,because it must be so.There must be a coming together on both sides.And if she wasn't coming to him,he wouldn't track her down.He mustn't.He must go away,till she came.
He turned slowly,ponderingly,accepting again the isolation.He knew it was better so.She must come to him:it was no use his trailing after her.No use!
Mrs Bolton saw him disappear,saw his dog run after him.
'Well,well!'she said.'He's the one man I never thought of;and the one man I might have thought of.He was nice to me when he was a lad,after I lost Ted.Well,well!Whatever would he say if he knew!'
And she glanced triumphantly at the already sleeping Clifford,as she stepped softly from the room.
