 Chapter 9 of Gone To Earth This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Gone To Earth by Mary Webb. Chapter 9 Hunter Spinney, a conical hill nearly as high as God's little mountain, lay between that range and Undern. It was deeply wooded. Only its top was bare and caught the light redly. It was a silent and deserted place, cowled in ancient legends. Here the black huntsman stalled his steed, and the death-pack coming to its precinct ceased into the hill. Here, in November twilight, when the dumb birds cowered in the dark pines, you might hear from the summit a horn, blown very clearly, with tuneful devilry, and a scattering sound of deep barking, like the noise of soaring timber, and then the blood-curdling tumult of the pack at feeding time. Today, as Hazel began her work, the radiant woods were full of pale colour, so delicate and lucent that beauty seemed a fugitive presence from some other world, trapped and panting to be free. The small patterns of the beaches shone like green glass, and the pale, spired chestnuts were candelabras on either side of the steep path. In the bright, breathless glades of larches the willow wrens sang softly, but with bangless vitality. On sunny slopes the hyacinths pushed out close-packed buds between their covering leaves. Soon they would spread their grave blue like a prayer carpet. Hazel, stooping in her old multi-coloured pinafore, her bare arms gleaming like the stripped trees seemed to Edward, as he came up the shady path, to be the spirit of beauty. He quite realised that her occupation was not suited to a minister's future wife, but she may never be that, he thought despairingly. Have you ever thought, Hazel? He said later, sitting down on a log, have you ever thought of the question of marriage? I now did till Foxy took the chicks. Edward looked dazed. It's like this, Hazel went on. Father, he's a Roman, is father. He says he'll drain Foxy if she takes another. Who is Foxy? Oh, fancy you not knowing Foxy. Here's my little cub, pretty. You never saw anything so pretty. Edward thought he had, but she kind of get used to folks' ways. This was a new point of view to Edward. She'm a fox, and she can't be no other, and I'd leave her, she'd be a fox. Foxes are very mischievous, Edward said mildly. Mischievous, Hazel flamed on him like a little thunderstorm. Mischievous, and who made him mischievous? I'd like to know, they didn't make themselves. God made them, Edward said simply. What for did he, if he didn't like them when they were done? We can't know all his reasons. He walks in darkness. Well, that's no manner of use to me and Foxy, said Hazel practically. So all I can see to do is to get married and take Foxy where there's no chicks. So you think of marrying? Ah, and I told father I'd marry the first as come. I swore it by the mountain. And who came? Edward had a kind of faintness in his heart. Never a one. Nobody at all, never a one. And if anyone came and asked for you, you'd take him? Well, I'm bound to, seemingly, but it doesn't matter, none will ever come. What for should they? She herself answered her own question fully as she stood ariold in dusky light. His eyes were eloquent, but she was too busy to notice them. And should you like to be married? He asked gently. He expected a shy affirmative. He received a flat negative. My mam didn't like it. And she said it'd be the end of going in the woods and all my games and days. And she said tears and torment. Tears and torment was the married lot. And she said, keep yourself to yourself. You wouldn't have made for Marion any more than me. Eating company but sleep alone. That's what she said, Mr. Marston. Edward was so startled at this unhesitating frankness that he said nothing, that he silently buried several sweet hopes that had been pushing up like folded hyacinths for a week. The old madness was upon him, but it was a larger, more spiritual madness than Reddins, as the sky is larger and more ethereal than the clouds that obscure it. He was always accustomed to think more of giving than receiving, so now he concentrated himself on what he could do for Hazel. He felt that her beauty would be an ample return for anything he could do as her husband to make her happy. If she would confide in him, demands on his time, run to him for refuge, he felt that he could ask no more of life. The strength of the ancient laws of earth was as yet hidden from him. He did not know the fierceness of the conflict in which he was engaging for Hazel's sake, the world-old conflict between sex and altruism. If he had known, he would still not have hesitated. Suddenly Hazel looked round with an affrighted air. It's late to be here, she said. Why? There's harm here if you bide late. The death-packs about here in the twilight, so they do say. They looked up into the dark steeps and the future seemed to lower on them. Maybe some-up-bad'll come to us in this spinny, she whispered. Nothing bad can come to you when you're in God's keeping. There cannot be many folk in his keeping, then. Do you say your prayers, Hazel? He asked rather sadly. Ah, I say, keep me one year, keep me seven, till the gold turns silver on my head. Bring me up the hill of heaven and leave me die quiet in my bed. That's what I always say. Who taught you? My mam. Ah, well, it must be a good prayer as she taught it to you, mustn't it? He said. Suddenly Hazel clutched his arm affrightedly. Hark! Galloping up yonder. Run! Run! It's the black huntsman. It was redden, skirting the wood on his way home from a search for Hazel. If he'd come into the spinny, he would have seen them, but he kept straight on. It's bringing harm, cried Hazel, pulling at Edward's arm. See the shiver on me. It's somebody galloping on my grave. Edward resolved to combat these superstitions and replace them by a sane religion. He had not yet fathomed the ancient, cruel and mighty power of these exhalations of the soil, nor did he see that Hazel was enchained by earth, prisoner to it, only a little less than the beach and the hyacinth, bond-surf of the sod. When Edward and Hazel burst into the parlour, like sunshine into an old garden, they were met by a powerful smell of burnt marino. Mrs. Marston had been for some hours as near paradise as we poor mortals can hope to be. Her elastic-sided cloth boots rested on the fender, and her skirt, carefully turned up, revealed a grey stuffed petticoat with a hint of white flannel beneath. The pink shawl was top, which meant optimism. With Mrs. Marston, optimism was the direct result of warmth. Her spectacles had crept up and round her head and had a rakishly benign appearance. On her comfortable lap lay the missionary word and a large roll of brown knitting which was intended to imitate fur. Edward noted hopefully that the pink shawl was top. Here's Hazel come to meet you, mother. Mrs. Marston straightened her spectacles, surveyed Hazel, and asked if she would like to do her hair. This ceremony over, they sat down to tea. And how many brothers and sisters have you, my dear? asked the old lady. Never a one, nobody but our foxy. Edward, too, has none. Who is foxy? My little cub. You speak as if the animals were a relation, dear. So all animals be my brothers and sisters. I know, dear, quite right. All animals in conversation should be so. But any single animal in reality is only an animal and can't be. Animals have no souls. Yes, they have, then. If they hannah, you hannah. Edward hastened to make peace. We don't know, do we, mother? He said, and now suppose we have tea. Mrs. Marston looked at Hazel suspiciously over the rim of her glasses. My dear, don't have ideas, she said. There, Hazel, Edward smiled. What about your ideas in the spinny? There's queer things doing in Hunter's spinny and what for, shouldn't you believe it, said Hazel? Sometimes more than other times and mid-summer, most of all. What sort of queer things, asked Edward in order to be able to watch her as she answered. Hazel shut her eyes and clasped her hands speaking in a soft monotone as if repeating a lesson. In Hunter's spinny on mid-summer night there's things moving as move no other time. Things free as was fast. Things crying out as have been along while hurted. She suddenly opened her eyes and went on dramatically. First comes the black huntsman crouching low on his horse and the horse going belly to earth. And John Mears of the public, he seeded the red froth from his nostrils on the breaks one morning when he was catching pheasants. And the Jess with him, great hound dogs, real as real, only no eyes but sockets with a light behind them. Narrow one knows what thereafter. If I see them, I die. She finished hastily, taking a large bite of cake. Myths are interesting, said Edward, especially nature myths. What's a myth, Mr. Marston? An untruth, my dear, said Mrs. Marston. This inner one then, I tell you, John seeded the blood. Tell us more. Edward would have drunk in nonsense rhymes from her lips. And there's never a one to gain say amid all the dark woods. Hazel went on, except on mid-summer eve. Mid-summer. Mrs. Marston's tone was gently whistful. It's the only time I'm really warm. That is if the weather's as it should be, but the weather's not what it was. Tell us more, Hazel, pleaded Edward. What for do you want to hear, my soul? Edward flushed at the caressing phrase, and Mrs. Marston looked as indignant as was possible to her physiognomy until she realised that it was a mere form of speech. Because I love old tales. Well, if so be as you go there then, Hazel lent forward earnest and mysterious. After the pack's gone, you'll hear soft feet running and you'll see faces looking out and hands waving and gangs of folks come galloping under the leaves. Not seen clear, hastening above a bit. And others come quick after all with trouble on them and the place is full of whispering and rustling and voices calling a long way off. And my mam said, the trees get free that night or else folk of the trees. Creeping and struggling out of the bowls like a chicken from an egg. Getting free like lads out of the school and they go after the jeff pack like birds after a cuckoo. And last comes the lady of undurned copy. Lagging and lonesome, riding in a troupe of shadows and sobbing. Lost, lost, oh my green garden. And they say the break flowers on the eve of that night and no bird sings and no star falls. What a pack of nonsense, murmured Mrs. Marston drowsily. What a inner, cried Hazel. It's the bloody truth. Mrs. Marston's drowsiness for succour. Hazel became conscious of tension. Mother, Edward's voice shook with suppressed laughter, although he was indignant for Hazel's father for such a mistaken upbringing. Mother, would you give Hazel the receipt for this splendid cake? And welcome, my dear. The old lady was safely launched on her favourite topic. And if you'd like a seed cake as well, you shall have it. Have you put down any butter yet? Hazel never put down or preserved or made anything. Her most ambitious cooking was a rasher and a saucepan of potatoes. I don't know what you mean, she said awkwardly. Edward was disappointed. He had thought her such a paragon. Well, well, cooking was after all a secondary thing, let it go. You mean to say you don't know what putting down butter is, my poor child, but perhaps you go in for higher branches. Lemon curd now and bottled fruit. I'm sure you can do those. Hazel felt blank. She thought it best to have things clear. I can do not, she said defiantly. Now, mother, Edward came to the rescue again. See how right you are in saying that a girl's education is not what it used to be. See how Hazel's has been neglected. Think what a lot you could teach her. Suppose you were to begin quite soon. A batter began Mrs. Marston with the eagerness of a philosopher expanding her theory is a well-beaten mixture of eggs and flour. Repeat after me, my dear. What's the use? He didn't know what he eats, no more than a pig. I shall have cooked for him. Who's that, dear? Mrs. Marston inquired. My dad! Mrs. Marston held up her hands with the mock fur knitting in them and looked at Edward with round eyes. She says her father's a pig, my dear. She doesn't mean it, he said loyally. Do you, Hazel? Ah, and more. The host and hostess sighed. Then Edward said, Yes, but you won't always be keeping house for your father, you know, and found himself so confused that he had to go and fetch a pipe. Afterwards he walked partway home with Hazel and coming back under the driving sky that seemed to move all in a piece like a sliding window and showed the moon as a slim lady waiting for an unlooked-for happiness. He could have wept at the crude sweetness of Hazel. She was of so ruthless an honesty towards herself as well as to others. She had such strange lights and shadows in her eyes, her voice, her soul. She was so full of faults and so brimming with fascination. Oh God, if I may have her to keep and defend, to glow in my house like a rose, I'll ask no more, he murmured. The pine-tops bowed in as stately a manner as they had when Hazel cried, I'll never be a woman. They listened like grown-ups to the prattle of a child and the stars like gods in silver armour sitting afar in halls of black marble seemed to hear and disdain the little nap-like voice as they heard Vesen's defiant, never will I, and Mrs. Marston's woolly prayers and red-ins hoofbeats. All man's desires, predatory, fugitive or merely negative, wander away into those dark halls and are heard no more. Among the pillars of the night is there one who listens and remembers and judges the foolishness of man, not by effects, but by motives, and does that one in the majesty of everlasting vitality and relentless peace ever see how we run after the painted butterflies of our desires and fall down the dark precipice. And if he sees and hears the wavering, calamitous life of all creatures and especially of the most beautiful and the most helpless, does he ever sigh and weep, as we do when we see a dead child or a moth's wing impaled on a thorn. Our heavy burden is that we cannot know, for all our tears and prayers and weary dreaming we cannot know. Edward lay awake all night and heard the first blackbird begin tentatively his clear song, a song to bring tears to the golden security of joy in a world where nothing is secure. The old madness surged in upon Edward more strongly as the light grew and he tried to read the Gospel of Saint John, his favourite, but the words left no trace on his mind. Hazel was there and like a scarlet buried rowan on the sky she held the gaze by the perfection of the picture she made. The bent of Edward's mind and upbringing against the rush of his wishes and of circumstance she had said, the first that came and he was sure that in her state of dark superstition she would hold by her vow. Suppose some other, some farm hand who would never see the real Hazel should have been thinking over the matter and should go to day and should be the first. It was just how things happened. And then his flower would be gone and the other man would never know it was a flower. He worked himself into such a fever that he could not rest but got up and went out into the lively air and saw the sun come lingeringly through airy meadows of pale green and primrose. He saw the ice slip from the bright pointed lilac buds and sheep browsing the frosty grass going to and fro in the unreserved way that animals have in the early morning before the restraint of human society is imposed on them. He saw yet noticed nothing until a long scarlet bar of cloud reminded him of Hazel by its vividness and he found a violet by the graveyard gate. Little Hazel he whispered. He pondered on the future and tried to imagine such an early walk as this with Hazel by his side and could not for the glory of it. Then he reasoned with himself. This wild haste was not right perhaps. He ought to wait. But that vow, that foolish childish vow I could look after her. She could blossom here like a violet in a quiet garden. Giving was never too early. And I am asking nothing. Not for years. She shall live her own life and be mother's daughter and my little sister for as long as she likes. My little sister, he repeated aloud as if some voice had contradicted him. And indeed the whole wide morning seemed to contradict his scheme. The mating birds, the sheep suckling their lambs, the insistent neighing and bellowing that rose from the fields and farms, the very tombstones with their legends of multitudinous families and the voice that cried to man and woman not in words but in the zest of the earth and air. Beget, bring forth and then depart for I have done with you. A sharp cold shower stung his cheeks and he saw a slim rosebud beating itself helplessly against the wet earth, broken and muddy. He fetched a stake and tied it up. I think, he said to himself, that I was put into the world to tie up broken roses and one that is not broken yet, thank God. It is miraculous that she has never come to harm. For that great overgrown boy, her father, takes no care of her. Yes, I was meant for that. I can't preach. He smiled ruefully as he remembered how steadfastly the congregation slept through his best sermons. I can't say the right things at the right time. I'm not clever. But I can take care of Hazel and that is my life work, he added naively. Perhaps I better begin at once and go to see her today. Ah, the golden scarlet morning as he came home after finding that resolve, which as a matter of fact he had taken with him. How the roof of the parsonage shone like the new Jerusalem and how the fantail pigeons very rotund denizens of that city cooed as they walked gingerly, tiles being cold to pink feet on a frosty morning, up and down in the early sun. Edward so much wanted to keep the violet he had found that he decided he ought to give it to his mother. So he put it on her plate and looked for a suitable passage to read at prayers. The song of Solomon seemed the only thing really in tune with the morning that he decided rather sadly that something in Corinthians might please his mother better. So he read, the greatest of these is love and his voice was so husky and so unmanageable that Mrs. Marston who did not notice the golden undertones that matched their beauty with the Blackbird song went straight from the chair she knelt at in the prayers to her storeroom and produced lemon and honey which Edward loathed. You're very throaty my dear and you must take a level spoonful she said. It is only in poetry that all the world understands a lover. In real life he is called throaty and given a level spoonful of that nauseous compound known as common sense. End of Chapter 9 Recording by Rachel Linton, Bristol, UK Chapter 10 of Gone to Earth This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Gone to Earth by Mary Webb, Chapter 10. The garden at the Callow was full of old sad-coloured flowers that had lost all names but the country ones. Chief among them by reason of its hardy-hood was a small plant called Virgin's Pride. Its ephemeral petals, pale and bee-haunted fluttered like banners of some lost forgotten cause. The garden was hazy with their demure, faintly scented flowers and the voices of the bees came up in a soft roar triumphantly as the voices of victors returning with hard ones spoil. Abel had been putting some new sections on the hives and as usual after a long spell of listening to their low changeless music he rushed in for his harp. He sat down under the hawthorn by the gate and looked like a patriarch beneath a pale green tint. As day declined the music waxed and he played with a tenderness, a rage of delight that did not often come to him except on spring evenings. He almost touched genius. Hazel came out leaving the floor half scrubbed and began to dance on the potato flat. Dana stumped the taters to death. Hazel said, hey, they've been up. She replied continuing to dance. He never wasted words. He continued the air with one hand and threw a stone at her with the other. He hit her on the cheek. You won't beast. She screamed. Get off taters. He continued to play. She went hand to cheek and frowning off the potato patch but she did not stop dancing. Neither of them ever let such things as anger, business or cleanliness interfere with their pleasures. So Hazel danced on though on a smaller area among the Virgin's pride. The music, wild, crude and melancholy floated on the soft air to Edward as he approached. The sun slipped lower. Leaf shadows began to tremble on Hazel's pinafore which with its faded blue and its many stains was transmuted in the vivid light and looked like the flowers of Virgin's pride. The ash tree, said Abel who always announced his tunes in this way as singers do at a choir supper. The forlorn music met Edward at the gate. He stopped, startled at the sight of Hazel dancing in the shadowy garden with her hair loose and her abandoned tempered by weariness. He stood behind the hedge until Abel brought the tune to an early end with the laconic remark, supper, and went indoors with his harp. Edward opened the gate and went in. Hey, minister, what a start you gave me! said Hazel breathlessly. So this is your home. Ah! Edward found her more disturbing tonight than at the concert. The gulf between them was more obvious. She had been comparatively tidy before. Now her disreputableness contrasted strongly with his correct black coat and general air of civilized well-being. Hazel came nearer. He and Abad to live along of. She confided with a nod towards the cottage. A course. His crossways time in again and a devil's temper. You mustn't speak of your father like that, Hazel. What for not? He be like that. Are all these apple trees yours, he asked to change the subject? No, they are fathers. But I get the windfalls and the bruises. I always see, she smiled winningly, as there's plenty of them. Foxy likes them. He found me at it once, bruising of them. Card almighty! What a hiding he gave me! Edward felt depressed. He could not harmonize Hazel's personality with his mother's. He was shocked at her expressions. He was sufficiently fastidious to recoil from dirt. The thought of Abel as a father-in-law was little short of appalling. Yet in spite of all these things he felt such elation, such spring rapture when Hazel danced. The world took on such strange new colours when she looked at him that he knew he must love her forever. He felt that as his emotions grew stronger and they were becoming more and more like a herd of young calves out at grass, his ways of expression must increase in correctness. Hazel, he began. I like the way you say it, she interrupted. I like it right well, breathing strong like folk coming up the monkey's ladder. Whatever is that? Don't you know monkey's ladder? It's that road there! Somebody's coming up it now on a horse! They both looked down at Redden, climbing slowly and still some way off. They did not know who it was, nor what destiny was pacing silently towards them with his advancing figure. Nor why he rode up and down this road and other roads every day. But an inexplicable sense of urgency came upon Edward. To his own surprise, he said suddenly, I came to ask if you'd marry me, Hazel would us. Eh? said she, dazed with surprise. Will you marry me Hazel? I can give you a good home and I will try to be a good husband and I love you Hazel dear. Hazel put her head on one side like a Willow Wren singing. She liked to be called dear. Do you like me as much as I like foxy? Far more. You've been very quick about it. I'm afraid I have. Will you buy me a green gang with yellow roses on it? If you like, he spoke doubtfully wondering what his mother would think of it. And shall we sit down to our dinners at a table with a cloth on, like it she stopped. She could not tell him about undone. Like the gentry, she finished. Yes dear, and will you tell that sleepy old lady as lives along of you? Oh poor mother, thought Edward, not to stare and stare at me over the top of her spectacles like a cow at a cornfield over the fence. Yes, yes, said Edward hastily, feeling that his mother must wait to be reinstated until he'd made sure of Hazel. All right then, I'll come. Edward took her hand, then he kissed her cheek gently. She accepted the kiss placidly. There was nothing in it to remind her of Reddins. And you'll do always as you like, Edward went on, and be my little sister. Then to make matters clearer, he added, and you shall have a room papered with buttercups and daisies for your very own. Hey, how grand! You'll like that. His voice was wistful in its eagerness for a denial. Ah, I shall like it right well. Edward made no reply. He was never any good at putting in a word for himself. He was usually left out of things and stood contentedly in the background while inferior men pushed in front of him. And now he said, I'll give you a token till I can get you a ring. He picked a spray of the faint pink and blue flowers. What's its name, he asked? Virgin's Pride. Edward gave her a quick look. Then he realized that she was as innocent as her little fox and as free from artifice. That was its name. So she told it to him. A very pretty little flower and a very sweet name, he said. And now, where's your father? Guzzling is supper. Edward frowned. Then the humour of the situation he laughed. Able rose as they came to the door. Well, mister, he inquired glumly. What are you after? Money for them missions to buy clothes for savages at a leaper-go-bear or money for them poor clergy? I'm poor another clergy. I want to marry Hazel. Able flung back his head and roared. Then he jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards Hazel. Er, he queried in ecstasies of mirth. Er, look at the floor, man. Look at the apron she's got on. Laws, man. You surely don't want our eyes over your misses. Yes. Edward was a nettle than embarrassed. Well, there's only 18. He looked Hazel over appraisingly as he would have looked at a heifer. Still, I suppose she's an almond groad. Well, you can take her, I don't mind. When do you want her? I shall ask her when she will wish to marry me. Able laughed again. Lord love us, he said. You want to take an axer? Tell her that's what. Just tell her what to do and she'll do it. If you give her one for herself now and again. So, you mean marrying, do you? Edward was angry. Able's outlook and manner of expression roared his nerves. I leave all the arrangements to her, he said stiffly. And the devil aid you, said Able, for I canna. Hazel stood with downcast face, submissive but ill at ease. She wanted to spring at her father and scream, Hold your row! For she hated him for talking so to Edward. Somehow it made her flushed and ashamed for Edward to be told to give her one for herself. She looked at him under her lashes and wondered if he would. There was something not altogether unpleasant in the idea. She felt that to be ordered about by young lips and struck by a young man's hand would be, as businessmen say, quite in order. She appraised Edward and decided that he would not. Had she been able to decide in the affirmative, she would probably have fallen in love with him there and then. Edward came over to her and took her hand. When will you be my wife, Hazel, he said? I don't know, not for above a bit. Ho, ho! laughed Able. Harker-er! Throw some at her, man. I should prefer your absence, said Edward, stung to expression at last. Eh? Go away, said Edward rudely. He was surprised at himself afterwards. Able withdrew, opened mouthed. Hazel laughed with delight. But why didn't you hit him? She asked wistfully. My dear girl, what a thing to say. Be it? Yes. But now, when shall we be married? Not for years and years, said Hazel, pleased at the dismay on his face and enjoying her new power. Then she reflected on the many untried delights of the new life. Niste ways, not for days and days, she amended. Will you give me pear drops every day? Pear drops, my dear Hazel, you must think of better things than pear drops. There's not better, she said, without its bullseyes. But dear Edward, reason gently, don't you want to think of helping me and going with me to chapel? Hazel considered. Do you preach long and solemn? She asked. No, said Edward rather curtly. But if I did, you ought to like it. Hazel took his measure again. Then she said, naughtily, tell you what I'll do if you preach long and solemn, mister. I'll put me tongue out. Edward laughed in spite of himself and thought for the twentieth time, poor mother. But that did not prevent his being anxious to have Hazel safely at the mountain. It seemed to him that every man in the county must want to marry her. What would you say to May Hazel, early May, lilac time? I'd like it right well. And suppose we fix it the day after the spring flower show at Evenwood and go to it together. I'm going with father to sing. Well, when you've sung, you can have tea with me. Thank you kindly, Mr. Marston. Edward, Edward. Abel came round the house. You can come and see the bees if you've a mind, he said, forgiving thee. In his angers and his joys, he was like a child. He was, in fact, what he looked, a barbaric child prematurely aged. He was aged and had lines on his face because he enjoyed life so much for joy bites as deep as sickness or grief or any other physical strain. Hazel would age soon, for she lived in an intensive world than most people, as if she saw everything through magnifying glass and coloured glass. He would have gone to the bees as he would have gone to the dogs, sadly. He disliked the bees even more than he disliked Abel, who, in his expansive mood, was much less attractive than in his natural soul-kiness. Abel did not know how near he came once or twice to frustrating an end that he thought very desirable. A less steadfast man than Edward, with a less altruistic object in view, frightened away from Hazel by Abel's crudeness. What about the bitch, he asked Edward when they'd seen the bees. Will you take her or shall I drown her? Rage flamed in Hazel's face. Rage all the more destructive because it was caused by pity. Her father's calm taking for granted that Foxy's fate and her own depended on his whim and Edward's. The picture of Foxy tied up in a bag seemed to be drowned. Foxy, who had all her love, infuriated her. Edward was troubled at the look in her eyes. He'd not yet had much opportunity for seeing those wild red lights that burn in the eye of the hunter and are reflected in those of the hunted and make life a lurid nightmare. The scene set his teeth on edge. Of course, he said, with the recklessness of it quite clear to him when he thought of his mother, the little fox shall come. And the one-eyed cat and the blind bird and the old ancient rabbit-all wager, queried Abel, well, minister, you can set up a menagerie and make money. They could go in bits of holes and corners, Hazel put it anxiously, and nobody had ever know they were there. And the bird chirrups lovely fine days. Abel shouted with laughter. Two, three feathers and a beak, he said, and the rabbit had become a blur of muff. Edward hastily ended the discussion. Of course, they shall all come, he said. Somehow Hazel made the sheltering of these poor creatures a matter of religion. He found himself connecting them with a great in as much as you have done it unto these. He had never seen the text in that light before, but he was dubious about the possibility of making his mother see it thus. They'll be much obliged, Hazel said, come and see him. She spoke as one conferring the freedom of the city. Foxy, very clean in her straw, smoothly white and brown, dignified and golden of eye, looked mistrustfully at Edward and showed her baby white teeth. She'll liven the old lady up, said Hazel. I'm afraid, began Edward, and then she shows her teeth a good deal. Only along with being fret, she needn't be frightened. I'll take care of her and of you and see that no harm comes to you. The statement was received by the night, critical attempt, in a silence so deep that it seemed quizzical. On his way home he felt rather dismayed at his task, because he saw that in making Hazel happy he must make his mother unhappy. Ah well, it'll all come right, he thought, for he is love and he will help me. The sharp staccato sound of a horse cantering came up behind him. It was Redden returning from a wide detour. He pulled up short. Is there a fiddler in your parish person? He inquired. Edward considered. There is one man on the far side of the mountain. Pretty daughter. No, he is only twenty. Damn! He was gone. Hazel in the untidy room at the callow fed her pets and had supper in a dream of coming peace for them all. She would not have been peaceful if she had seen the meeting of the two men in the dusk, both wanting her with a passion equal in suddenness and force but different in quality. She wanted neither. Her passion, no less intense, was for freedom, for the wood track, for green places where soft feet scuttered and eager eyes peered out and adventurous lives were lived up in the treetops down in the moss. She was fascinated by Redden. She was drawn to confide in Edward but she wanted neither of them. Whether or not in years to come she would find room in her heart for human passion. She had no room for it now. She had only room for the little creature she befriended and for her eager, quickly growing self. For like her mother she had the egoism that is more selfless than most people's altruism. The divine egoism that is genius. When Edward got home his mother was asleep in the chair. Her whole person rose and fell like a tropical sea. Her shut eyes were like those of a statue behind the lids of which one knows there are no pupils. Her eyebrows were slightly raised as if in expostulation of being obliged to breathe. Her figure expressed the dignity of old age which may or may not be due to reason. When Edward got home his mother was asleep in the chair. Her whole person rose and fell like a tropical sea. Her whole person rose and fell like a tropical sea. Her whole person rose and fell like a tropical sea. Her whole person rose and fell like a tropical sea. Her whole person rose and fell like a tropical sea. Her whole person rose and fell like a tropical sea. Her whole person rose and fell like a tropical sea. Her whole person rose and fell like a tropical sea. Her whole person rose and fell like a tropical sea. Her whole person rose and fell like a tropical sea. Her whole person rose and fell like a tropical sea. makes me very happy. The good are always happy," replied Mrs. Maston securely. Before the bland passivity of this remark it seemed that irony itself must soften. I am engaged, mother. What in, dear? I am going to bring home a wife. She was deaf and very sleepy. What kind of a knife, dear? she asked. I am going to marry Hazel Woodus. You can't do that, dear. She spoke with unruffled calm as if Edward were three years old. I can and shall, mother. Ah well, it won't be for a long, long time, she said, thinking aloud as she often did, and adding with the callousness that sometimes comes with age, arising not from hardness but from the atrophy of the emotions, and of course she may die before then. Die, Edward's voice surprised himself and it made his mother jump. The young do die, she went on. We all have to go. Your poor father fell asleep. I shall fall asleep. She began to do so, but his next words made her wide awake again. I'm going to be married in May next month. Her whole weight of passive resistance was set against his purpose. Such unseemly haste, she murmured, so inordinate, such a hurried marriage. But Edward's motives, being what they were, he was proof against this. What will the congregation think? Bother the congregation. That's the second time you've said that, Edward. I'm afraid you are going from bad to worse. No, only going to be married, mother. But a year's engagement is the least, the very least I could countenance, she pleaded, and a year is so soon gone. One eats and sleeps and Lord's Day breaks the week and time soon passes. Oh, can't you understand, mother? He tried illustration. Suppose you saw a beautiful shawl out on a hedge in the rain. Shouldn't you want to bring it in? Certainly not. It would be most unwise. Besides, I have seven. Well, anyway, I can't put it off. Even now, something may have happened to her. He spoke with the sense of the inimical in life that all lovers feel. But things will have to be bought, she said helplessly, and things will have to be made. There is plenty of time several weeks yet. Won't you, he suggested tactfully, see after Hazel's clothes for her. She is too poor to buy them herself. Won't you lay out a sum of money for me, mother? Yes, I think, she said, beginning to recover her benignty. I think I could lay out a sum of money. Mrs. Marston had what she called not a wink of sleep. That is to say, she kept awake for half an hour after getting into bed. The idea of a wedding, although it was offensive by reason of being different from every day, was still quite pleasant. It would be an opportunity for using the multitude of things that were stored in every cupboard and never used, being thought too good for every day. Mrs. Marston was one of those that, having great possessions, go sadly all their days. It is strange how generation after generation spends its fleeting years in this fetish worship, never daring to make life beautiful by the daily use of things lovely, but forever being busy about them. Mrs. Marston's china glowed so, and was so stainless and uncracked, that it seemed as if the lives of all the beautiful young women in her family must have been sacrificed in its behalf. They had all drunk of the cup of death long ago, and their beauty had long ago been broken and defaced, but the beautiful old china remained. There were still the two dozen cups and saucers, the cream jug, sugar basin, and large plates of the feather cups, just as when they were first bought. Their rich gilding, which completely covered them outside, was hardly worn at all, nor were the bright birds feathers and raised pink flowers. It would be very pleasant, Mrs. Marston reflected wistfully, to use it again. There were all the bottled fruits, too, and lemon curd and jellies, and a wedding would be very pleasant. Suitable opportunity for making one of her famous layer cakes, and for wearing her purple silk dress. Mingled with these ideas was the knowledge that Edward wanted it, and would be vexed if it had to be put off. I have never known him to be so reckless, she pondered, but still he'll settle down once he's married, and she'll sober down, too, when the little ones come. It will be pleasant when they come. A grandmother has all the pleasures of a mother and none of the pains, and she will not want to manage anything. Edward said so. I should not have liked a managing daughter-in-law. Edward was wise in his choice for, though noisy, she'll quiet down a little with each of the dear babies, and there will be plenty of them, I think, and hope. It was characteristic of Mrs. Marston's class and creed, united with the fact that she was Edward's mother, that she did not consider Hazel in the matter. Hazel's point of view, personality, hopes, and fears were nonexistent to her. Hazel would be absorbed into the Marston family like a new piece of furniture. She would be provided for without being consulted. It would be seen to that she did her duty, also without being consulted. She would become, as all the other women in this and the other families of the world had, the servant of the china and the electro plate and the furniture, and she would be the means by which Edward's children came into the world. She would, when not incapacitated, fetch shawls. At all times she would say, yes, dear, or as you wish, Edward. With all this before her, what did she want with personality and points of view? Obviously nothing. If she brought all the grand children safely into the world with their due compliment of legs and arms and noses, she would be a satisfactory asset. But Mrs. Marston forgot in this summing up to find out whether Hazel cared for Edward more than she cared for freedom. Mrs. Marston came down to breakfast with an air of resignation. I have decided to make the best of it, my dear Edward, she said. Of course I had hoped there would never be anyone, but it doesn't signify I will lay out the money and be as good a grandmother as I can. And now dear, she spoke passively, shifting the responsibility onto Edward's shoulders. And now, how will you get me to town? Here was a problem. The little country station was several miles away far beyond her walking limit. And no farmer in the neighborhood had a horse quiet enough to please her. In my day, dear, I can remember horses so quiet, so well bred, so beautifully trained, and above all so fat, that an accident was, apart from God's will, impossible. Now, my dear father, in the days when he traveled for Jeremy's green tea, and very good tea it was, and a very fine flavor and a picture of a black man on every canister. Where was I? Ah, yes, he always used to allow a day for a 10 mile round. Very pleasant it was. But the horses are not here, Edward cut in with a suggestion. Why shouldn't you go by the traction trailer? You enjoyed it that one time. The traction engine, belonging to a stone quarry, passed two or three times a week and was never the country being hilly, so full that it could not accommodate passenger. It was therefore arranged that Edward should go and see the driver and afterwards see Hazel and arrange for her to go to town also. He was to stay at home. Mrs. Marston would never leave the house, as she said, without breath in it. Though she could give no reason for this idea and prided herself on having no superstitions. She would not trust Martha by herself so Edward was ruefully obliged to undertake the office of breathing like a living bellows to blow away harm. It was settled that they would go on the day before the flower show and Hazel was to stay the night. It would be the last night but one before the wedding. Meanwhile, the bark stripping continued and fate went on leading Jack Redden's horse in every direction, but the right one. Edward went to Hunter Spinney every day. He began to find a new world among the budding hyacinths on the soft leafy soil, breaking up on every side with a push of eager lives coming through and full of those elusive, stimulating scents that only spring knows. When the day came for going to Silverton and Hazel arrived fresh and rosy from her early walk, he felt very rebellious. Still, it was ordained that someone must breathe and only his mother could choose the clothes. It took Mrs. Marston several hours to get ready and Edward and Martha would kept busy running up and down. Not that Mrs. Marston's clothes had to be hunted for or mended far from it, but there were so many cupboards to be locked. Their keys hidden in drawers, the keys of which in their turn went into more cupboards. When such an inexplicable tangler's no burglar could tackle had been woven, Mrs. Marston always wanted something out of the first cupboard and all had to be done over again. But at last she was achieved. Edward and Martha stood back and surveyed her with pride and looked to Hazel for admiration of their work, but Hazel was too young and too happy to see either the pathos or the humor of old ladies. She danced down the steep path with an armful of wraps at the idea of wearing which she made faces. The path led steeply in a zigzag down one side of the quarry cliff where Abel had told Hazel of the cow falling and where she had felt drodson. Once more she came down with a more and more lagging step, the same horror came over her. I'm fricked, she cried. Can we be quick? But speed was not in Mrs. Marston. She came clinging to Edward's arm very cautiously like a cat on ice. Martha, her stout red arms bare, her blue gingham dress and white apron flying in the wind, was directed to hold on to Mrs. Marston's mantle behind as one tightens the reins downhill to keep her on her feet. Edward was carrying a kitchen chair for his mother to sit on during the journey. Hazel felt that they were none of them any good. They none of them knew what it was like to be frit so she ran away and left the hot secretive omniscient place with its fierce white and its crafty shadows. She reached a tiny field that ran up to the woods and there among the brilliantly varnished buttercups the bees sounded like the tides coming in on the coasts of fairy. Hazel forgot her dread, an inexplicable sickening dread of the quarry. She chased a fat bumblebee all across the golden floor, one eager fluffy shining head after the other. They might have been in the all permeating glory on their hill terrace with the sapphire circle clean around. They might have been the two youngest citizens of paradise circled in forever from bleak honeyless winter bleak honeyless hearts. The slow cortege came down the path Martha being obliged as the descent brew steeper to fling herself back like a person in a tug of war for Mrs. Marston gathered way as she went and uttered little helpless cries I'm going Martha I'm losing control not by the bugles Martha not by the braid. When they reached the road the traction engine was not in sight so they sat in the bank and waited. Mrs. Marston regal in the chair and Hazel held a buttercup under Edward's chin to see if he liked butter. Very warm and pleasant murmured Mrs. Marston and dropped into a dose. Edward listened to the thrushes they were flinging their voices as jugglers fling golden balls against the stark sides of the quarry up went a rush of bright notes pattered on the gloomy wall and returned again defeated. To Edward as he watched Hazel they seemed like people thanking God for blessings and being heard and blessed again. To Hazel they seemed so many other Hazels singing because it was a festival day. To Mrs. Marston they were noisy birds and very disturbing. Martha crocheted she was making edging hundreds of yards of it for wedding garments. This was all the more creditable as it was an act of faith for no young man had as yet seemed at all desirous of Martha. At last the traction engine appeared and Mrs. Marston was hoisted into the trailer a large truck with scarlet painted sides and about half full of stone. This had been shoveled away from the front to make room for Mrs. Marston and Hazel. A flap in the scarlet side was let down and with the help of one of the traction men Edward and Martha got her safely settled. She really was a very splendid old lady her hat a kind of spoon shape was trimmed lavishly with black glass grapes that clashed together softly when she moved. There was also a veil with white chenille spots. The hat was tied under her chin with black ribbons and her kind old face very pink and plump and charming looked out pleasantly upon the world. She wore her best mantle heavily trimmed with jet bugles and her alpaca skirt was looped up uncompromisingly with an old-fashioned skirt hook made like a butterfly. Hung on one arm was her umbrella and she carried her reticule in both hands for safety so with all her accoutrements on she sat pleasantly aware that she was at once self-respecting and adventurous. They started in a whirl of goodbyes shrieks of delight from Hazel and advice of Mrs. Marston to the driver to put the brake on and keep it on. Hazel was perched on the side of the truck near her they rounded a turn with great dignity the trailer with Mrs. Marston as its figurehead wearing an expression of pride fear and resignation swinging along majestically. Please Mrs. Marston can I buy a green silk gang with yellow roses on? Certainly not my dear it would be most unsuitable so very far from quiet. What's quiet matter? Quietness is the secret of good manos the quieter you are the more of a lady you'll be thought. All truly good people are quiet in manos dress and speech just as all the best horses are advertised as quiet to ride and drive but few are really so. Have you got to be ever and ever so quiet to be a lady? Yes. What for have you? Because dear it is the proper thing now my poor husband was quiet so quiet that you never knew if he was there or not and Edward is quiet too as quiet as oh Donna Donna! Whale Hazel is a pin sticking into you dear? No Donna say Edward's quiet. Mrs. Marston looked amicably over her spectacles my dear why not she asked I don't like that sort could you explain a little dear I don't like quiet men nor quiet horses my man was quiet when she was dead everybody's quiet when they're dead very very quiet crooned Mrs. Marston yes we all fall asleep in our turn I like went on Hazel in her rather crude voice harsh with youth like a young blackbirds I like things as go quick and men as talk loud and stare hard and drive like the devil she broke off flushing at Mrs. Marston's expression and at the sudden knowledge that she had been describing redden it doesn't signify very much said Mrs. Marston severely for her what you like dear but I suppose she softened that you do really like Edward since he has chosen you and you are pledged Hazel shook her shoulders as if she wanted to get rid of a yoke they fell into silence and as Mrs. Marston dosed Hazel was able to fulfill her desire that had sprung into being at the very moment of seeing Mrs. Marston's hat namely to squash one of those very round and brittle grapes her quick little hand gleaming in the sun hovered momentarily above the black hat like a darting dragonfly and the mischief was done bland respectability smashed and derided end of chapter 11 recording by Rachel Linton Bristol UK chapter 12 of Gone to Earth this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Gone to Earth by Mary Webb chapter 12 they went gallantly if slowly on through narrow ways lit on either side by the breathtaking freshness of new hawthorn leaves primrose is wet and tall crisply pink of stalk and huge of leaf eyed them as Madonna's knight from niches in the aisles of grass and weed carts had to back into gates to let them go by and when they came into the main road horses reared and had to be led past Hazel found it all delightful she liked when the driver pulled up outside little wayside inns to peer into the brand gloom where pewter pots and rows of china jugs shone and from which over newly washed floors of red tiles landlords advanced with foaming mugs. Mrs. Marston strongly disapproved of these proceedings but did not think it polite to expost late as she was receiving a favour. In Silverton Mrs. Marston lingered a long while before any shop where sacred pictures were displayed. The ones she looked at longest were those of that peculiarly seedy and emasculated type which modern religion seems to produce. Hazel all in a fidget to go and buy her clothes looked at them and wondered what they had to do with her there was one of an untidy woman sitting in a garden of lilies evidently forced talking to an anemic looking man with uncut hair and a phosphorescent head. Hazel did not know about phosphorus or halos but she remembered how she'd gone into the kitchen one night in the dark and screamed at sight of a sheep's head on the table shining with a strange greenish light. This picture reminded her of it. She hastily looked at the others she liked the one with sheep in it best only the artist had made them like bolsters and given the shepherd's saucer eyes. Then she came to one of the crucifixion a subject on which the artist had lavished all the slumbering instincts of torture that are in so many people. Oh what a drodserman I don't like this shop said Hazel tearfully what are they doing to him Oh they're great beasts! Perhaps she had seen in her dim and childish way the everlasting tyranny of the material over the abstract of bluster over nerves strength over beauty states over individuals churches over souls and fox hunting squires over the creatures they honor with their attention. What is it my dear? Mrs. Marston looked over her spectacles and her eyes were like half moons peering over full moons that their picture they've hurtened him so cruel and him fast and all oh said Mrs. Marston wonderingly that's nothing to get vexed about why don't you know that's Jesus Christ dying for us not for me flashed Hazel my dear no what for should he they shall none die along with me much less be tormented needs be that one man die for the people quoted Mrs. Marston easily only through blood can sin be washed white blood makes things rattled not white and if so be any's got to die I'll die for myself the old gabled houses dark and solemn with heavy carved oak the smart plate glass windows of the modern shops the square dogmatic church towers and the pointed insinuating spires all seem to listen in surprise to this being who was not content to let another suffer for her for civilization as it now stands is based solely on this one thing vicarious suffering from the central doctrine of its chief creed to the system of its trade from the vivisection table to the consumptive genius dying so that crowds of fat folk may get his soul in a cheap form it is all built up on sacrifice of other creatures what do you say if edward died for you queried hazel crudely my dear how unseemly in the street what did I do if foxy died for me well well foxy's only an animal so are you and me animals said hazel so loudly that poor mrs master flushed all over her gentle old face so indecent she murmured my dear she said when she'd steered hazel past the shop you want a nice cup of tea and I do hope she went on softly putting a great deal of cream in hazel's cup as she would have put lubricating oil on a stiff sewing machine I do hope my dear you'll become more christian as time goes on if foxy died along of me said hazel stubbornly for although grateful for the festive meal she could not let her basic rule of life slip if foxy died along of me I'd die too I could not do or else things are very different said mrs mastern flustered flushed and helpless very different from what they used to be what for are they mrs mastern but that question mrs mastern was quite unable to answer if she'd known the answer that the change was in itself and that the world was not different but still kept its ancient war between love and respectability beauty and mass she would not have liked it and so she would not have believed it it was seven o'clock when they were put down tired and laden with parcels at the quarry halfway up god's little mountain edward had been there for more than an hour tormented with fears for hazel's safety angry with himself for letting her go all afternoon he'd fidgeted worried martha with suggestions about tea finally gone to the shop several miles away for some of hazel's favorite cake quite forgetting that he ought to be in the house breathing it all resulted in a most beautiful tea as hazel thought when they pushed and pulled mrs mastern home what with the joy of staying the night and the wonder of her new clothes hazel was as radiant and talk so fast that edward could do nothing but watch her in her short life there had not been many moments of such rose and gold it was the happiest hour of edwards life also for she looked to him as flowers to warm heaven as winter birds to a fruited tree as he watched her opening parcel after parcel with frank innocence and little birdlike cries of rapture he knew the intolerable sweetness of bestowing delight on the beloved a sweetness only equaled by the intolerable agony of seeing helpless and incurable pain on the loved face and what's that one he asked like a mother helping in a child's game he pointed to a parcel which contains chemises and night dresses that said mrs mastern frowning portentiously at hazel who was tearing it open that is other useful garments what for can i i charm eddard i want to show all the money was hison it was a tribute to edward's self-control that she was so entirely lacking in shyness towards him my dear a young man whispered mrs mastern suddenly by some strange necromancy there was conjured in hazel's mind a picture of redden flushed hard-eyed with an expression that aroused in her a misgiving and even terror so she had seen him just before she fled to vizens at the remembrance she flushed so deeply that mrs mastern congratulated herself on the fact that her daughter nor had some modesty and right feeling if she had known who caused the flush who it was that had awakened the love of pretty clothes which edward was satisfying she would have thought very different thoughts and would have been utterly miserable for her love for edward was deep enough to make her wish him to have what he wanted and not what she thought he ought to want as long as he did not clash with her religion for edward to know it though so early in his love for hazel would have meant a rocking of heaven and earth around him even she with her childish egotism like a shell about her realized that this was a thing that could not be but it'd be all right she thought as she curled up luxuriously in the strangely clean and comfortable bed it'll be all right him above will see as mr redden now shows his face here for the old lady said him above looked after good folks and edwards good but i wish someone would look after the badden she thought looking across the room to the north where under and lay my dear wait a moment said mrs mastern to edward downstairs as he was lighting her candle i have something to tell you i fear you must brace yourself well mother edward smiled hazel's not a christian she spoke in a suppocal whisper and looked at him afterwards as if to say there now i have surprised you and how do you make that out mother edward found in his heart this fact that it made no difference to his love whether hazel were a christian or not this troubled him no she's not a christian my dear said mrs mastern in a kind of gasp she refuses to be died for upstairs hazel was saying her orisons at the window if there's anybody there she murmured staring out into the consuming darkness that had absorbed every color every form except the looming outline of god's little mountain against a watery moonrise if there's anybody there i'd be obliged if you'd give a night to our foxy as his lonesome in tub it doesn't matter about me being under edwards roof hazel had never felt so like a child in its mother's lap her own mother had not made her feel so she'd been a vague abstracted woman with an air of be puzzlement and lostness she looked so long out of the door never shut except when abel insisted on it that there was no time for hazel only occasionally she would catch her by the shoulders and look into her eyes and tell her strange news of fairy but now she felt cared for as she looked around the low room with its chair bed and little dressing table hung with pink glazed calico there was a text over the fireplace not a hair of thy head shall perish it seemed particularly reassuring to hazel as she brushed her long shining coils before the hanging mirror there was a bowl of double primroses red mauve and white on the windowsill and a carb with edwards love flowers in a bedroom was something very new to her as to so many poor people a bedroom was a stuffy place to crawl into at night and get out of as quickly as possible in the morning it would be grand to live here she thought drowsily as she lay down in the cool clean sheets and heard the large clock on the wall of the landing ticking slumbrously in a measured activity that deepened the peace she heard mrs marston slide past in her soft slippers with her characteristic walk rather like skating then edward came up evidently in stocking feet for he was only heralded by creakings hazel never dreamt that he had taken his shoes off for her sake the moon riding clear of cloud flung the shadow of edwards primroses on the bed a large round posey like a christmas pudding with outstanding leaves and flowers clearly defined all very black on the counterpane undone seemed very far off i like this better than that old place green dress or no green dress she thought and on there go back there in a true what he said havery will for certain shore for i'm going to live along of edward and the old sleepy lady'll learn me to make batter forever and ever batters a well-beaten mixture of eggs and summer she fell asleep in his room edward walked up and down too happy to go to bed my little one my little one he whispered and he prayed that hazel might have rosy and immortal happiness guarded by strong angels along a path of flowers all her life long and at last running in through the celestial gates as a child runs home the spring wind rainy and mournful came groping out of the waste places and cried about the house like a man mourning for his love the cavern of night impenetrable and vast was full of echoes as if some voice terrible and violent had shouted there a long while since and might even before the age-long reverberations had died away the uplifted again if it was the will of the power invisible but so imminent that it pressed upon the brain that inhabited the obscure star-dropping cavern end of chapter 12 recording by rachel linton bristol uk chapter 13 of gone to earth this is a libra vox recording all libra vox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit libra vox.org gone to earth by mary webb chapter 13 next morning mrs mastin came in from the kitchen with the toast which she could not trust anyone but herself to make with a face pretending great happenings mind you see that they're all properly placed edward they should be all together in one part of the room who'd that be hazel inquired 1906 plums 1908 gooseberries 1909 cherries sugarless the sugared ones are older mrs mastin spoke so personally that hazel stared its mother's exhibits hazel explained edward yes they've been to shows year by year and very well they've stood it i only hope the constant traveling won't set up fermentation i should like these morellas to outlive me a receipt i had of jane thorn and she died of dropsy porthing and bottled to the end denier ever eat them asked hazel this was blasphemy to eat 1909 morellas it was passed over intense silence allowances being made for a prospective bride poor thing she's upset the exhibits packed in a great bed of the vivid star moss that grew in the secret recesses of the woods were waiting on the front step in their usual box there were some wonderful new jellies that made hazel long to be mrs mastin and have control of the storeroom this was a dim place where ivy leaves scraped the cobwebby window and tall green canisters stood on shelves in company with glass jars neatly labeled and barrels of homemade wine where hams hung from the ceiling and herbs in bunches and on trays sent out a pungent sweetness in there the magic was now heightened by the presence dignified even in disability of a wedding cake which was being slowly but thoroughly iced people often wondered how mrs mastin did it no one ever saw her hurried or busy yet the proofs of her industry were here she worked like the coral insect in the dark as it were of instinct unlit by intellect and like the coral insect she raised a monumental structure that hemmed her in they had to start early driven by edwards one substantial parishioner who was principal judge chief exhibitor and organizer of the show the exhibits must be there by 10 but edward did not care in the least how many hours he spent there the day was only darkened for him by one thing when the trap came round and hazel climbed in joyously edward forgot the exhibits he would have gone off without them had not martha come flying down the path shouting mr edward mr edward 19 6 19 9 jam what's for martha cursing asked hazel edward looking round saw his mother's face in the doorway dismayed surprised wounded he jumped out and ran up the path oh mother how could i he said miserably mrs mastin looked up her mouth that had fallen in a little trembling pitifully and her eyes smarting with the thick painful tears of age it wasn't you my dear she said you never forget it was the young woman one's god mustered all hazards go clear of blame edward kissed her but with reserve and when he got into the trap he put an arm protecting the around hazel what a fool i am he thought now everything spoiled in the silent storeroom hour by hour mrs mastin propelled the mixture of sugar and egg through her icing syringe building complex designs of frosty whiteness her back ached and it seemed a long way around the cake but she went on until martha with a note of sympathetic understanding in her voice announced your dinner's in mum and a cup of tea along with it mrs mastin sighed gratefully how nice and pleasant she said but not as nice and pleasant as it was before not by a long mile said martha heartily for hazel had taken the eye of all the elegibles at the concert and was altogether disturbing perhaps martha said mrs mastin wistfully when she's been here a long while and we're used to her and she's part of the house perhaps it it would be as nice and pleasant as before when the yeasts in said martha pessimistically the dose leavened as edward and hazel drew near the showground they passed people walking and were overtaken by traps a man passed at full gallop and hazel was reminded of redden later she said how'd you like it edward if somebody was after you like a weasel after a rabbit or a terrier at a fox earth what'd you do what morbid things you think of dear what'd you do i don't know there's not to do edward remembered his creed i should pray hazel what good did that do god answers prayers that edunna aware the fox hunting gents be and who'd have rabbit pie i don't see as he can answer him little girls mustn't bother their pretty heads if you'd found as many creatures in traps as me and loosened them and see their broken legs and eyes as if they'd see ghosts and aunts a dog caught by the tongue ah you'd bother you would that and father killing the pigs good fridays why good fridays of all days that was the day ah every good friday i used to fight father my dear child you would if you'd see the pig that comfortable and contented and know what it looked like in a minute i'd have killed father if i could but why surely it was worse of you to want to kill your father than of him to want to kill the pig i didn't know but i couldn't bear it i bit him awful one time and he hit me on the head with a rake and i went to sleep edwards forehead was damp with sweat merciful god he thought that such things should be and when i've heard things screaming and crying to be loosed and them in traps and never a one coming to him but me it's come over me to wonder who'd lose me out if i was in a trap god would why don't i think so you know let's see others out edward was silent the radiant day had gone dark and he groped in it what for don't he my soul what for don't he give a mouth so they can holler and not listen to him i listen when foxy shouts out at this moment edwards saw abel approaching swaggering along with the harp he had never been glad to see him so far now he was almost affectionate laws eddard said abel straining the affection to a breaking point you maven a randy and no mistake dance and then all i suppose no i shall go before the dancing you won't get our aizel to go along of you then dancer will like a leaf in the fall you'd rather come home with me on your wedding eve hazel wouldn't you abel seeing hazel's dismayed face laughed loudly edward hated him as only sensitive temperaments can and was conscience-stricken when he realized the fact well hazel he asked gently and created a situation i don't know said hazel awkwardly a depressed silence fell between them both were so bitterly disappointed abel like an ancient mischievous gnome went off calling to hazel clear your throat again the judge's over the judges were locked into the barn where the exhibits were they took a long while over the judging presumably because they tasted everything even to the turnips mrs james was partial to early turnips edward and hazel passed a window and looked in look at him long enough the old lady's jam said hazel it's a mercy the covers are well stuck on or they'd be in like wasps look at mr frady with the eggs dear now he's sucking one like a lad at a throttle's nest oh father it ought to be there he nary a cooked egg oles raw oh mr james has unscrewed a bottle of father's honey and dip look at him sucking his fingers do people buy the remnants asked edward amused and disgusted ah what for not the judges are now making a hearty meal of some cheeses i wonder whose cheeses they are edward mused they were in fact vessens he always insisted on making cheeses for some obscure reason possibly it was the pride of the old fashion servant and being worth more than his wages vessens certainly was he made stacks of cheeses and took them to fairs and shows without the slightest encouragement from his master who when vessens returned read with conflict and said plonking down the money with intense pride here it is i had to labor for threpances though would merely nod uninterestedly but still the undone cheeses went to shows labelled john redden a squire per a vessens at last the judges came out the mere judging did not take long for mr james usually considered his exhibit the best and said so the others being only small holders were generally too polite to gainsay him edward and hazel went into the barn where the exhibits were set out with stern simplicity looking brave and beautiful with their earthly glamour there were rolls of golden butter nut brown eggs snowy bouquets of broccoli daffodils with the sun striking through their airy petals masses of dark wallflower where astray be reveled there was ables honey with a large placard drawn by himself proclaiming in drunken capitals abel woodus b-man coffins honey wreaths open to engagements to play the harp at weddings wakes and club days the golden jars shone the sections in their lace edge boxes widely sealed were as provocative as the reserve of a fair woman edward bought one for hazel to open on your wedding day he said but the symbolism so apparent to him was lost on hazel between the judging and the tea hour was a dull time the races had not begun and though an ancient of benign aspect announced continually i'll take two to one no one responded the people stood about taking their pleasure like an anesthetic and looking like drugged bees now and then an old man from a far hillside would meet another old man from a father one and there would be handshaking lasting perhaps a quarter of an hour when abel played they remained stoical and silent however madly or mournfully the harp cried they took good music as they're right then hazel sang gazing up at the purple ramparts of the hills that hung up at the showground and edwards eyes were full of tears a very old man smooth faced and wondering as a baby came leaning on his stick and stood before hazel gazing into her mouth with the steadfast curiosity of a dog at a gramophone if she moved he moved absorbed his jaw dropped with interest hazel did not notice him she was free on the migratory wings of music she did not see vessens looking across the crowd with dismay nor know that he edged away muttering that gal again never will i edward was glad when the singing and collection were over and he could take hazel into the shilling tent where sat the elite and give her tea people remained in a sessile state over tea for a long time while the chief race of the afternoon was begun by the ringing of a dinner bell the race took so long the riders having to go around the course so many times that people went on complacently with their tea only looking out occasionally to see how things progressed watching the riders go by one with bright red braces one in a blue cotton coat two middle-aged men in their best bowlers and one obviously too well mounted for the rest in correct riding dress they came around each time in the same order the correct one red braces blue coat and the bowlers last evidently the foremost one knew it easily one and the others had decided that it was to be in the machine like regularity of their advent their unaltered positions and leisure pace they were like hobby horses how many times have they been round hazel asked the waitress who poured tea and made conversation in a sociable manner it'll be the seventh they might as well give over their only labouring to stay in the same place i want to see him come in said hazel they went out but abel waylaid them and took edward off to show him a queen being a box from italy edward loath bees in or out of boxes but he was too kind-hearted to refuse abel was so unperceptive that he touched pathos hazel found a place some distance down the course where she could look along the straight to the winning post she loved to hear them thunder past she leaned over the rail and watched them come still fatalistic but gallant bent on a dramatic finish stooping and cutting their horses the first man was on her side of the course she stared at him in amazed consternation as he came towards her his strong blue eyes caught by the fixity of her glance or by her bright hair saw her and became triumphant he pulled the horse in sharply and within a few yards of the winning post wheeled and went back amid the jeers and howls of the crowd who thought he must be drunk you've given me a long enough chase he said leaning towards her where the devil do you live oh don't stop he's coming who mr mastin the minister what do i care if he's a dozen ministers but he'll be angered i'll make his nose bleed if he's got such cheek oh he's coming mr redden i'm in go she turned away redden followed why should he be angry because we're going to be wed tomorrow redden whistled and foxy's coming and all of them and there's a clock as tiktok's ever so sleepy and a sleepy old lady and edwards brought me a box full of clothes i gave you a box full too he said with a note of pleading you little runaway hazel was annoyed because he disturbed her so she wanted to get rid of him and she desired to exercise her power so she looked up and said impishly yours were oldens he's been new knew his morning he was too angry to swear you've got to come and talk to me while they're dancing tonight he said i wanna you must if you don't i'll tell the person you stopped the night at undern surely you know that he wouldn't marry you then he was bluffing he knew vessens would tell mastin the truth if he spoke but it served his turn you would know she pleaded he laughed all right then she said if you wanna tell him will he stay for the dancing no i'm and go along with him you know better he turned away sharply as edward came up he knew him for the ministry had met near the callow edward was tying up some daffodils for hazel and did not see redden scarlet braces a fatalist no more came trotting up what went wrong he asked with a thinly veiled triumph everything snapped redden and calling vessens he went off to the beer tent to wait until the dancing began these are for your room hazel edward was saying because the time of the singing of birds is come he was thinking that god was indeed leading him forth by the waters of comfort hazel said nothing she was wondering what excuse she could make for staying don't frown little one there are no more worries for you now binna there no you are coming to god's little mountain what harm can come there now look up and smile hazel she met his gray eyes very tender and thoughtful what she saw however were blue eyes hard and not at all thoughtful end of chapter 13 recording by rachel linter in bristol uk chapter 14 of gone to earth this is a libra vox recording all libra vox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit libravox.org gone to earth by mary webb chapter 14 prize giving time came and the younger miss clomber who was to present them tried to persuade redden to go up on the platform a lorry with chairs on it there already were mr james and the secretary counting the prize money below stood the winners vizens conspicuous in his red waistcoat miss clomber felt that she looked well she was dressed in tweeds to show that this was not an occasion to her as to the country dansels no i shall stay here said redden answering her stare intended to be inviting with a harder stare of indifference as the last representative of such an old family oh damn family he said previously having lost sight of hazel as miss clomber still persisted he quenched the argument young families are more in my line than oldens she blushed unbecomingly and hastily got onto the lorry redden went in search of hazel while mr james began to read the names mr thomas mr james mrs marston mr james he handed the pile of shillings to miss clomber who presented them with the usual fatuous remarks when he'd won the prize he received it back from her with a bow taking off his hat as his own name occurred more frequently than usual he began to get rather self-conscious he looked around the ring of faces and translated their stodginess as self-consciousness dictated perhaps it would be as well to carry it off as a jest so his hat came off with a flourish and he said jacuzzi as he took the next heap keeping apples mr james i'll put it in my pocket this attitude wearing thin he took refuge in that of unimpeachable honesty fair and square the best man wins this lasted for some time but was not proof against swedes mr james mangolds mr james stewing pears mr james he began to get in a panic his bow was cursory he pocketed the money furtively and read his name in a low apologetic tone but this would never do he must pull himself together he tried bravado mr vessens mr james vessens stood immovable within arms reach of miss clomber when he got a prize which he did three times as no one else sent any cheeses he extended his arm like one side of a pair of compasses and vouchsafe neither bow nor smile he disliked miss clomber because he knew that she meant to be mistress of undone mr james was getting on well with the bravado what do i care what people think dear me all the world may say me get my prize then he caught able satiric eye and went all to pieces he clutched at his first attitude the business like and so began all over again and managed to get through by not looking in ables direction being upheld by the knowledge that his pockets were getting very full when he read out cherry's bottled mrs marston and edward went to receive the prize redden shouldered up to hazel and asked what times he going i don't know don't forget mind oh mr rednime and go what for one of you let me be but redden finding miss clombers eye on him was gone mr james had come to the end of the list he read out ables name and that of an old bent man with gray elf locks a famous beekeeper mr james looked at able as much as to say you've got your prize you see it's quite fair thank you said able to miss clomber and then to james with fine irony you're gonna keep bees do you mr james the hills loomed in the dusk over the showground they were of a cold and terrific color neither purple nor black nor gray but partaking of all kingly mournful threatening they dominated the life below as the race dominates the individual hazel gazed up at them she stood in the attitude of one listening for in her ears was a voice that she'd never heard before a deep inflexible voice that urged her to do she knew not what she looked up at the round wooded hill that hid god's little mountain so high so cold for a poor child to climb she felt that the life there would be too righteous too well mannered the thought of it suddenly made her homesick for dirt and the callow she thought of undone crouched under its hill like a toad she remembered its echoing rooms and the sound as of dresses rustling that came along the passages while she put on the green gown undone made her more homesick than the parsonage edward had gone she'd said she wanted to stay with her father and edward had thought her a sweet daughter and it acquiesced though sadly now she was awaiting redden the dancing had not begun though the tent was ready yellow light flowed from every gap in the canvas and hazel felt very forlorn out in the dark for light seemed her natural sphere as she stood there looking very small and slight she had a cowering air always when she stood under a tree or sheltered from the rain she had this look of a refugee furtive and browbeaten when she ran she seemed a fugitive fleeing across the world with no city or refuge to flee into miss clomber's approach made her start a word with you said miss clomber in her brisk unsympathetic voice i saw you with mr redden twice i just wanted to say in a cisterly and christian spirit she lowered her voice in a hollow whisper that he is not a good man well said hazel with a sigh of relief in the midst of her shyness and her oppression about the mountain that summer anyway miss clomber outraged and furious strode away hazel was again left to the hills the taciturnity of winter was upon them still and in the sky beyond was the cynical aloofness that comes with frost after sunset she turned from them to the lighted tent the golden glow was like some bright creature imprisoned abel had prorogued an interminable argument with the old man with the elf locks and now began thrumming inside the tent young men and women converged upon it at the sound of the music as flies flocked to the osia blossom they went in as the blessed to paradise the canvas began to sway and below in the wind of the dancing hazel felt that life was going on galey without her she shut away in the dark her feet began to dance i'll go in she said defiantly what for not but just as she was lifting the flap she heard redden's voice at her elbow hazel why did you run away i don't know why didn't you tell me your name here have i been going hell for leather up and down the country ah that's gospel that's righteous i seed you redden was speechless me and father was in the public and you came i thought it was the black huntsman thanks not a pin to choose i suppose not all that we're wasting time what's all this about the parson i told he that it isn't true you and the parson he laughed hazel looked at him with disfavour you're like a hangdog when you laugh like that she said and i don't like the hang dogs he stopped laughing ables harp beat upon them and the soft thudding of feet on the turf like sheep stamping had grown in volume as the shyest were gradually drawn into the revelry a rainstorm shaped like a pillar walked slowly along the valley skirting the base of the hills it was like a gray god with folded arms and head a loop in the sky as it drew slowly nearer to the two who stood there like lovers and were not lovers and as it lashed them across the eyes it might have been fate hazel can't you see i'm in love with you what for are you there was a wailing note in hazel's voice and the rain ran down her face like tears there's you and there's edward oh what for are you redin looked at her in astonishment a woman not to like a man to be in love with her it was uncanny he stood square set against the darkening sky his fine massive head slightly bent looking down at her i never thought he said helplessly i never thought when i'd come to 40 years without the need of women of love he corrected himself that i should be like this he looked at hazel accusingly then he gazed up at the coming night as a lion might at the sound of thunder v you 40 hazel's voice was on the top note of wonder laws what an age it's not really old he pleaded very humbly for him she laughed the parson now i suppose he's young his voice was wistful him the right age redin's temper flamed i'll show you if i'm old i'll show you who makes the best lover me or a silly lad hands off mr redin but her words went down the lonely wind that had begun to drag at the lighted tent there said redin pleased with his kisses now come and dance and you'll see if a chap of 40 can't tire you afterwards we'll settle the parson's hash he lifted the tent flap and they went in and were taken by the bright slow whirling life hazel was glad to dance with him or anyone so that she might dance redin held his head high for he was a lover tonight and he'd never been that before in any of his amores he was angry and enthralled with hazel and the two emotions together were intoxicating hazel was a flower in a gale when she danced a slim poplar tremulous and swaying in the dawn a young beach assenting to the wind's will abel watched her with pride she was turning out a credit to him after all it was astonishing it's worth playing for our hazel's feet the others just stomps he thought who's the fellow she's along with i best keep an eye a bargain's a bargain you'll catch your word said hazel suddenly to redin huh tired me out come outside then and i'll get you a cup of tea he fetched it and sat down by her on an orange box now look here he said fair and square will you marry me he was surprised at himself andrew vessens who had tipped toad after them from the tent spread out his hands and gazed at heaven with a look of supreme despair all the more intense because he could not speak he returned desolately to the tent where he stood with a cynical smile leaning a little forward with his arms behind him watching the dancing an apotheosis of sex to him not only silly and pitiful but disgusting now and then he shook his head went to the door to see if his master was coming and shook it again a friend came up why did the gaffer muck up the race he asked why asked vessens with a far off gaze did him has made the world put women in outside things were going more to his liking than he knew what's the good of keeping on mr redin i told it i was promised to eddard but you like me a bit better than the parson i don't know come off with me now i swear i'll play fair i swore she cried i swore by the mountains and that can never be broke what did you swear to marry the first has come that's eddard if i broke that oath when i was dead my cold soul had wandered and find there a bit of rest crying about the mountains and about knights and eddard thinking it was the wind if you chuck him he'll soon get over it if you chuck me i shan't he's never gone after the drinking women it was a curious plea for a lover miss clomber said you want a good man well i'm bloat but look here if he loses you he'll be off his feet for a bit but if i lose you there'll be the devil to play has he kissed you time and again i won't have it aizel called her father you won't go i man it's father and i shan't see you again till you're married oh marry me hazel marry me his voice shook at the mysterious grief in his face a grief that was half rage and the more pitiful for that she began to sob abel came up a morning party seemingly he said holding his lantern so as to light each face in turn i want to marry your daughter abel roared another first her bags of pasta and next a square farmer it'll be the king on his throne next law's girl you're like bir and treacle you've not answered me said redden she's set a set bespoke let she's a right to change her mind nay a bargain's a bargain why they've bought the clothes mister and the furniture and the cake if she comes with me you'll go home with a check for 50 pounds and that's all i've got said redden naively i tell you sir she's let abel repeated a bargain's a bargain it occurred to him that the color garden might with 50 pounds be filled with beehives from end to end mister he said almost in tears you didn't ought to go for to tice me ah dear heart the wood i could buy in the white paint and a separator and queens from foreign parts he made a gesture of despair in his face worked you could have a new harp if you wanted one redden suggested abel gulped a bargain's a bargain he repeated and i promised the person he turned away aizel he said over his shoulder you want to go along with this gent many's the time he added turning round and surveying her moodily as you've gone again me and done what i gained said with a long imploring look he hitched the harp on his back and trudged away aizel followed but redden stepped in front of her look here aizel you say you don't like hurting things you're hurting me looking at his haggard face she knew it was true she wiped her tears away with her sleeve in my fault i'm always hurting things i cannot set foot in the garden or cook a cabbage but i kill a lot of little pretty flies and things and when we take honey there's always bees hurted i'm bound to go again you or edward and i cannot go again eddard he set store by me does eddard you should have seen the primmy roses he put in my room last night i slept at the parsonage along of us being late redden frowned as if in physical pain and he bought me stockings all thin and a sky blue petticoat redden looked round he would have picked her up then in there and taken her to undone but the road was full of people i couldn't go again eddard in that kind foxy likes him too she'd never growl at him perhaps redden said hoarsely foxy'd like me if i gave her bones she would know you've got blood on you she drew away coldly at this remembrance which had been obliterated by redden's grief you've got the blood of many little foxes on you she said and her voice cut him like sharp sleet little foxes have met have died quick and easy with gunshot and you've watched them minced alive i'll give it up if you'll chuck the parson i wonder you'd done a sea of knights watching you out of the black dark with their gold eyes like king cups and the look in them of things dying hard i wonder you'd done a harem screaming his cause was lost and he knew it but he pleaded on no if i hadn't sworn by the mountain i would have come she said you've got blood on you at that moment a neighbour passed and offered hazel a lift now that she was marrying a minister she had become a personality hazel climbed in and drove off and redden's tragic moment died as great fires die into gray ash he went home heavily his way lay past the parsonage where edward and his mother slept peacefully the white calm of unselfish love wrapped edward but he felt he could make hazel happy as he fell asleep that night he thought she was made for a minister's wife redden leaning heavily on the low walls staring at the drunken tombstones and the quiet moon-silvered house thought she was made for me both men saw her as what they wanted her to be not as she was many thoughts darkened redden's face as he stood there hour after hour in the cold may night the rhyme whitened his broad shoulders as he leaned on the wall and in the moonlight the sprinkling of white hairs at his temple shone out from the black as if to mock his young passion that had possessed him god's little mountain lay shrugged in slumber the woods crouch like beaten creatures under the night the small soft leaves hung limply in the frost still redden stood there chilled through and through brooding upon the house not until dawn like a knife gashed the east with blood did he stir he sighed too late he said then he laughed beaten by the parson a demoniac rage surged in him he picked up a piece of rock and lifting it in both arms flung it at the house it smashed the kitchen window but before edward came to his window redden was out of sight in the batch my dear said mrs maston tremulously i always feared disaster from this strange match how can hazel have anything to do with it mother i think dear it is a sign from god on your wedding morning broken glass yes it is a sign from god i wish it need not have been quite so violent but of course he knows best end of chapter 14 recording by rachel linton bristol uk