John Thomas & Lady Jane

feathers in his hair.’
    By return, he had her answer.
    ‘I’m so glad you are leaving Sheffield. I was so afraid you were just going to deteriorate into a socialist or fascist,
or something dreary like a duck. Shall we meet at Hucknall Church on Sunday?’
    They both had their letters on
Friday. He wrote:
    ‘I wanted not to say things in a
letter. But if you don’t feel certain, I’ll tell you. I really don’t know what
love is. I think it’s fucking. If a man starts thinking, the fat is in the
fire. Everything is a prison, I know that. You are home to me and I don’t care
about houses. Maybe because I haven’t got one. Everything is a prison. Yes, an
elephant is a prison if you are inside one. I’ll wait by Hucknall church out of
sight of Field so he shan’t see me. And tell him to meet you again at Annessley
lodge gates, by the hall. But if you change it, I shall bide by what you say.’
    She knew what it meant — it meant the
wood where she had been in stillness with Soames. It meant the fullness of life
that trees have, which never want to wander away to somewhere else. How did she
know? Many trees wanted to move but didn’t know how to do it.
    She walked into the dreary sort of
Square where the church of Hucknall stands so distinguished, holding the heart
of the seething Byron, who had no peace. ‘There’s not a joy the world can give
like that it takes away!’ Why do poets say these things, and then not be true
to the joy the world can only destroy, if you let it? They hoped to be a poet
rather like William McGonagall.
     
    Oh wonderful Hucknall
    Let us hope the steeple will never fall
    They say Byron’s heart is buried there
    But some people look and say where.
     
    Soames came forward to meet her,
taking off his hat. She looked at him almost in dread. His face was still pale
and pinched. Why did he keep on pinching it? It had been as if a wire net was
pulled over it making a series of squares on his face.
    They went into the dark church
together and looked at the little slab behind which rests the pinch of dust
which was Byron’s heart: in that thrice-dismal Hucknall Torkard. The sense of
the greatness of human mistakes made her want to cry.
    He was very still and she didn’t know
what he was thinking, but actually he was thinking of screwing her. She groped
for his hand, and it closed over hers. While she held it in both her hands,
clinging to it for safety, she fell off the pew.
    ‘You mustn’t go away from me!’
she whispered pathetically.
    At that very moment he was trying to
work out how he could get away from her without her noticing.
    She put both her hands over his hand,
and peace began to come into her again, in the dark church, where is the pinch
of dust that was Byron’s heart.
    Soames looked but couldn’t see
anything. ‘Where?’ he said echoing William McGonagall’s words.
    ‘You must help me to get out,’ she
said.
    ‘You’ll need a removal van,’ he said.
‘What would you like me to do?’
    He was perfectly still. She never
knew what he thought. Actually he wasn’t thinking of anything.
    ‘You don’t want to go to Canada, do you?’ he said. ‘Nor Australia, nor Africa?’
    She suddenly rose and undressed and
before they knew what they were doing, like Abelard and Héloïse they were
screwing in the aisle and worshippers had to step over them. The vicar tapped
him on the shoulder. ‘Do you mind?’
    ‘Take me somewhere where you can hold
me in your arms!’ she said.
    ‘How about Canada, Australia or Africa,’ he said.
    So he took a footpath towards Felley
Mill and in spite of the risk of gamekeepers sending them away, they went into
a little hollow of wood, hidden behind the great bramble and rose-bushes.
    ‘I must touch you! I must touch you,
or I shall die!’ she said.
    To save her from death, he let her
touch him.
    ‘Ay! Touch me then!’ he said quietly,
saving her from death, unfastening the front of his trousers and pulling away the
shirt from his body. She slipped her arms round his naked waist, curling her
face against his belly, and he put his hands under her, until he found her
naked body. All the time it had been inside the dress.
    ‘Oh, hold me! Hold me!’ she moaned.
And he drew her a little closer. Till his hands seemed to go to sleep on her
naked body, and she dozed in peace. It was some accomplishment to fall asleep
while you were being screwed. And once more her womb was soft with peace and
that queer, sap-like happiness over