ACT IV

Scene: Harter kitchen as before. A year has passed and there are certain inevitable alterations in the arrangement of the furniture and minor details of the room. Different hams and herbs suspend from the ceiling. The grocer’s almanac has disappeared, and there are no plants in the recesses of the windows. A shawl hangs over the back of the settle by the fireplace. The time is night. Dark blinds are drawn. A candle burns on the mantelpiece, and a tall paraffin lamp with a white glass shade stands upon the table. Under the lamp is the work-box of Ann Redvers, open, with a litter of white work about it.

[Ann Redvers discovered, with Sarah Tapp, Nathaniel Tapp, and Michael. Ann is working; Sarah knits beside the fire, and Nathaniel is near her. Michael smokes, sitting near his mother.

Tapp. No, ma’am, you don’t judge the evil-doer so stern as you did use to do. But the times call for it. There’s a lot of wickedness about, and ’tis no good looking t’other way.

Ann. Let each begin at home, Nathaniel.

Tapp. So I say, and so I do. ’Tis a very good thing to sweep the Gospel broom round the dark corners of the heart.

Sarah. There be many that shake at the thought of not having a spring cleaning; yet they never think about a soul cleaning from one year’s end to another.

[Rises and gathers her knitting.

Michael. You ought to join the Methodies, Sarah.

Sarah. I call a spade a spade, and a sinner a sinner.

Ann. We must do good for evil, Sarah—and think good for evil.

Sarah. I never could do good for evil myself, and I won’t pretend it.

Tapp. More don’t the Law of the land. Justice for evil be the Law.

Michael. What is justice?

Tapp. ’Tis the best that man can do. Mercy be better left to God.

Ann. Maybe His mercy is the highest justice.

Michael. There; you’re answered, Nat. God’s all love, or else He’s nought.

Tapp. That ain’t my idea, Mister Michael, nor yet Jehovah’s—not if I know him.

Sarah. [Lights candle at little table beside the ‘Grandfather’ clock. To Tapp.] Come, master, ’tis bedtime for you and me. Good-night, missis; good-night, Michael.

Michael. Good-night, good-night. Pray for charity, Nat.

[Exeunt Nathaniel and Sarah Tapp.

Ann. Ban’t Jesse home yet?

Michael. Lord knows—I don’t.

Ann. I’m wishful to hear how it went at Westaway’s.

Michael. Be bright, be bright, for God’s sake, mother! Put your work by and talk.

Ann. [Puts down her work and leans forward, with her elbow on the table and her hand on her forehead.] Ah, Michael boy—I’d talk, if you’d but heed. If I could make you see—on this dark day——

Michael. Never—never! Don’t begin that no more for I won’t hear it.

Ann. Jesse understands.

Michael. Understands! ’Tis he, with his cursed sighing and groaning keeps the thing before you and serves it up red-hot on every morn. Haven’t you suffered enough? [Bitterly.] But well I know you’d give yourself up this very hour if I’d let you.

Ann. I’ve tried to punish myself, Michael—with secret rods.

Michael. [Starting up and walking about.] Curse Jesse for that! ’Tis him that’s the green wound—’tis him that won’t let the dead rest in his grave. Yet you blame me—not him—me—me, that would cut my throat to save you a pang. Ban’t I somebody, too? Ban’t my great fight to count, too? Do I look at you with eyes like a judge? Do I——?

Ann. He can’t help it; he’s built so.

Michael. God keep me from unbuilding him!

Ann. Don’t rage against Jesse. [Rises and puts her arms round him.] He loves me as well as you do in his own way. He wants my spirit to be in peace, Michael.

Michael. Then why for don’t he leave it in peace and look to his own? I wish he was dead and in his grave. That’s the only peace he’ll ever know.

[Breaks from her and strides up and down.

Ann. [Sighing deeply.] He tries to help me, too. You be both love mad for your mother. But ’tis blind love—cruel love—love that shuts the door of Heaven against me.

Michael. Hell’s my home for ever if ’tis yours. [Enter Jesse.] And Harter’s hell, so long as he be in it [points at Jesse]. But I’ll fight you and the devil both for mother—and beat you both.

Ann. Michael!

Michael. Mind it, mind it; and you mind it, mother. So sure as you give yourself up, I’ll do for myself. And so sure as any other lays a finger on you, I’ll do for him. From the first I’ve said it and, by God, I mean it!

Jesse. If you weren’t a fool——

Ann. Don’t have no high words to-night, dear sons; don’t quarrel to-night. Words won’t change what lies between us three. I sinned—I took a man’s life—and there’s only Christ between me and eternal death now. And you hide me from Him—you shield me from the justice of this world, that might mean forgiveness in the next.

Michael. Trust your God then, through thick and thin. You’re His child; but you’re our mother.

Ann. Wrong—double wrong was done—by me—by you.

Michael. There was only one right for a son.

Ann. Truth was the only right.

Jesse. You won’t see truth, mother.

Ann. I shall feel it through eternity, Jesse.

Jesse. I’ll help you to win peace yet.

[Enter Bloom.

Michael. [To Jesse.] Who be you to croak of peace?

Bloom. Hast told ’em, Mister Jesse?

Jesse. I’ve told nothing.

Bloom. Then I’m full of news! Barbara Westaway have took the hoss-doctor. No doubt to save her father ’twas done. Arscott blazed it out afore the creditors.

[Ann returns to her work.

Michael. Old Joe’s weathered the storm again then.

Ann. Have you had your supper, Jesse?

Jesse. I want no supper. I want you.

Bloom. It spoilt the fun, because all ended in laughter and sherry wine. But nobody offered me a drop.

Michael. You shall drink yet.

[Gets his hat.

Ann. [To Jesse.] Did Barbara bear up pretty brave?

Bloom. She’s so proud as a peacock about it, ma’am.

Michael. We’ll pop across to Watchett Hill. Won’t take a minute. No talk of devils and hell there anyway. [To Jesse.] If I get drunky, ’tis your fault.

Ann. Michael!

Michael. Just to wish Barbara luck, mother. Old Joe will have his brandy bottle out to-night. Come on, Bloom—stir your stumps!

[Exeunt Michael and Bloom.

Jesse. He’s right there. Harter’s a dark hole nowadays.

Ann. Do others find it dark? Be there any darkness but mine?

Jesse. I’m trying hard to bring you light, mother.

Ann. Hope is the only light. Trouble be but froth on life’s flood, while there’s hope. ’Tis the horror of losing Heaven that makes all dark. For her that’s lost Heaven, the little trials of saints and martyrs be nought, Jesse. She envies them.

Jesse. If there’s a Heaven, none can lose it. A great thing’s happened to me to-day.

Ann. [Rising.] Eat first and talk afterwards. Get up to your chamber and tidy yourself. I’ll fetch you some supper.

Jesse. It happened all in a flash. I never meant it. Like enough you’ll say ’twas a miracle, mother. [Goes up stairs.] But I pray ’tis good.

[Exit up stairs.

Ann. Yes, yes—if you say so.

[Ann clears a part of the table. Then she goes off. After a brief pause Salome enters. She looks about her, marks the empty kitchen and notes Ann’s work on the table. She goes to door and listens. Then she comes back to the centre of the room. Jesse appears at top of stairs.

Jesse. You!

[Comes down quickly.

Salome. Do she know you’ve told me?

Jesse. Not yet.

Salome. Get you gone then. I see her alone.

Jesse. [Considers.] It might be best. I was just going to tell her; but——Come to it gently. She’s very sad. A woman’s pity—a godsend to her to-night.

Salome. Be Michael out o’ the way?

Jesse. [Picks up hat and prepares to go.] He’s gone to wish Barbara joy. I bless you for this, Sally. [Door opens slowly.] ’Twas good to come to her so quick.

[Exit Jesse as Ann enters. She carries a tray with some cold meat on a plate, bread and a heavy knife on a trencher, a jug of beer, and a mug. There are also a cruet and a knife and fork on the tray.

Ann. [Standing still at sight of Salome.] Why, my dear! What does this mean? [Looks upstairs.] Jesse! Here’s——

Salome. He’s gone out. I don’t want him.

Ann. [Puts down tray on the table.] He’s had no food since noon and be full of some great matter. So Barbara’s tokened to Arscott? I hope ’tis no ugly buying and selling?

Salome. [Suddenly.] Ban’t there bloodstains on the linen when you sew? [Ann drops her work and stares at Salome.] I’ve come knowing the black truth of you, Ann Redvers.

Ann. [A great breath escapes her.] Poor Jesse—’twas that! I prayed he’d be led to it—the last hope for me.

Salome. Killed him—killed Anthony Redvers.

[They stand with the table between them.

Ann. To hear it in another mouth—and that mouth a woman’s. ’Tis like a dream! I——Be merciful, Salome. Be just. True mercy—not false.

Salome. I’d put the rope round your neck with my own hands!

Ann. Then go to them that will. For a soul’s sake—to save a soul! Do it quickly—this night—while you can.

Salome. Who was she?

Ann. I asked him and he wouldn’t tell! “Thank God you don’t know,” he said.

Salome. Know now then, you cold-blooded, man-killing fiend! I—I was his secret woman—I that stand here! I loved every breath of his voice, every hair of his head. His good was mine—and his evil. I blessed my lot that I could kiss away a little of his troubles. I worshipped him; I prayed to him. He was my sun, and air, and food. I only nursed my flesh to keep it plump and sweet for him. His very, very own I was—a part of himself; and all my light and joy you killed when you killed him—all—all. I’m his widow—not you. ’Tis I that suffered till my bones very near came through my skin—not you. ’Tis I that roamed the hills and cursed God—not you. To the light you wear your black—mine’s hid against my bosom! [She tears open her cotton frock and reveals black beneath it.] ’Tis out now—’tis ended—I’ve revenged him. [Ann’s intense spiritual excitement and hope give place to mere interest and astonishment during this speech. She gazes almost stupidly at Salome. When the speech is spoken, Ann broods in silence. Her eyes traverse Salome darkly and curiously. They look through her and ravish her.] Be you dumb? Be you frozen, you murderess?

Ann. [Displaying no emotion and no spark of anger.] You—you at the very gates of Harter! Be what the men like never known to us? Poor girl! And you hid it after. What is there we can’t hide?

Salome. Nought beyond the time. ’Tis you shall suffer now, you flint-hearted wretch. They’ll put you away if there’s justice in the world. I’ve given you up. Your time’s short. They’ll tear you out of this to-night. [Ann lifts her hands to Heaven and forgets Salome.] For hate—for everlasting hate I done it.

Ann. Not the hate of women nor the hands of men can hurt me, Salome. What be the hate of this world to her that has lost the next? Do you know what it is to let the devil slip into your heart to steal your soul? You poor, broken thing, I’ve prayed for this to happen night and day. And now ’tis come. Dark are the Lord’s ways and wonderful.

Salome. Never name your Lord to me—for hate, I say.

Ann. Your woman’s hate do stand for God’s love.

Salome. What love should you have that killed Anthony? Be your bloody soul worth saving?

[Enter Jesse in haste and fear.

Jesse. Police have driven up from Okehampton——

Ann. The messengers

Jesse. Mother, you haven’t——?

Salome. ’Twas I. Get her bonnet and shawl. They won’t let her out of their sight no more.

Ann. The Lord have used my son to save me.

[Enter the police; an Inspector and two constables.

Jesse. Yonder woman’s daft.

[Points at Salome.

Ann. God called: she was bound to hear.

Inspector. I have a warrant to——

Ann. I know it, neighbour.

Jesse. It shan’t be, mother!

Ann. Thank God it shall be, Jesse.

Jesse. Michael! Michael!

Ann. [To Inspector.] Come, friend. Hate have done what love could not. So God works. [To Salome.] If a sinful woman’s prayer can reach the Throne for you—— [Kisses Jesse.] Tell Michael that his mother be in peace at last.

[Takes shawl from settle and puts it over her head. The Inspector goes out. The two policemen walk one on each side of Ann and she goes out in obvious joy between them.

Jesse. Mother—mother!

[Hastens out. Salome buttons her dress and stands and listens. She picks up her sunbonnet and is about to go when Jesse returns.

Jesse. Tell me!

Salome. They wouldn’t believe it, but I made ’em. I hope they’ll kill her.

Jesse. Are you mad?

Salome. [Shakes her head.] Only cursed tired. ’Tis funny—I can scarce keep my eyes open.

Jesse. You traitor!

Salome. Not I. Faithful—faithful to him always. Would that I’d let her be.

Jesse. Speak clear if you know how.

Salome. I’ve let her out of hell and Ann Redvers be going to pray to her brave God to forgive me! Better she prayed for you, you poor slack-twisted shadow. [Jesse makes frantic questioning gesture.] You, that can’t keep red secrets—you, that don’t believe in souls! Here’s a better tale than yours. Meat for your master was I—your ‘nameless harlot’—your father’s jewel—his joy—his own. Ah! Now ’tis your turn, you poor wretch.

Jesse. Unsay it!

Salome. She went like a girl to her lover. Did you see the light on her face? Did you see her eyes?

Jesse. ’Tis death, Salome.

Salome. I meant it so. But ’tis life—life for her—dust and ashes for me.

Jesse. ’Tis death, I tell you. What’s there left now? ’Tis I that have given her up, not you. ’Tis I have put her away. You hid from me; you lied to me—you’ve done for me—I that loved you so true. All gone—all—every hope—every straw to catch it.

Salome. Think of yourself—always yourself. The way of your folk. The way of your mother and her soul. But it wasn’t his way—not my Anthony’s.

Jesse. ’Twas for mother I fought, for mother I came to you—that you might make her burden lighter.

Salome. Be glad then. For I’ve took her burden off. Her God was on her side, wasn’t He? I meant to break her. But she laughed at me—same as I laugh at you.

Jesse. I’ll fight no more.

Salome. Fight for your soul. Believe Ann Redvers. Souls be the only standby for the likes of you. [Michael and Bloom heard talking outside.] Here’s Michael!

Jesse. Oh, that I had been a steadfast fool like him.

Salome. Souls are more than sons, or mothers, or lovers. I said you and me might die together. We shall be dust afore his rage in a minute.

Jesse. Get gone then for God’s sake!

[Goes to door.

Salome. Be you afeared? Who shall be feared that have a soul? You’ll be in Heaven afore your mother yet! Let Michael put me to sleep—I’d thank him.

[Enter Bloom and Michael.

Michael. [Market merry.] Hullo Sally! More good luck—eh? But me and Bloom have had a skinful with your father to-night. And damned strong we had it too. Bloom’s a goner.

Bloom. [Fresh.] He—he—he! A ‘skinful’ be a very clever word! Brandy’s the boy for me! It goeth for ’e like a tiger!

Michael. Be it good luck, you two?

Salome. You can wish your mother good luck. She’s happy—she’s got her way.

Michael. Well done her. A brother must have a kiss, Sally!

[Approaches Salome to kiss her.

Salome. You’ll find your mother to Okehampton in the lock up. I’ve saved her soul. They’ve took her for the murder of her husband a year ago. All my brave work! Now kiss me!

[Michael regards Jesse, and his face changes from happiness to horror.

Jesse. ’Tis truth. I told her.

[Michael falls back a step to the table. His eyes are only on Jesse. Then he picks up the bread-knife from the trencher. Jesse crosses his arms and waits for his brother. Michael, with a loud and inarticulate sound, dashes at Jesse and catches him round the neck. But Bloom catches Michael round the waist and Salome seizes his right hand with the knife, as he swings it back to strike. The knife falls. Jesse gets clear of the others. Michael struggles. Salome helps Bloom to hold him back.

Bloom. Run—run for God’s sake—us weak worms can’t hold him!

Jesse. I’ll spare you that, Michael boy!

[Goes out, leaving the door open behind him. Michael throws Salome off. She falls and rises quickly. Then Michael, now beside himself, strikes Bloom in the face and brings him to his knees. He tears Bloom’s hands away from his legs and is free. He starts for door. At this moment a gun is heard to fire whence Jesse has gone. Michael stops his rush and stands motionless. The eyes of all three are turned to the open door. A whiff of smoke drifts through it.

Bloom. [On one knee.] He’s done you!

[He rises and hastens off. Michael follows Bloom quickly.

Curtain.