The next day she did not go to the wood.She went instead with Clifford to Uthwaite.He could occasionally go out now in the car,and had got a strong young man as chauffeur,who could help him out of the car if need be.He particularly wanted to see his godfather,Leslie Winter,who lived at Shipley Hall,not far from Uthwaite.Winter was an elderly gentleman now,wealthy,one of the wealthy coal-owners who had had their hey-day in King Edward's time.King Edward had stayed more than once at Shipley,for the shooting.It was a handsome old stucco hall,very elegantly appointed,for Winter was a bachelor and prided himself on his style;but the place was beset by collieries.Leslie Winter was attached to Clifford,but personally did not entertain a great respect for him,because of the photographs in illustrated papers and the literature.The old man was a buck of the King Edward school,who thought life was life and the scribbling fellows were something else.Towards Connie the Squire was always rather gallant;he thought her an attractive demure maiden and rather wasted on Clifford,and it was a thousand pities she stood no chance of bringing forth an heir to Wragby.He himself had no heir.
Connie wondered what he would say if he knew that Clifford's game-keeper had been having intercourse with her,and saying to her 'tha mun come to th'cottage one time.'He would detest and despise her,for he had come almost to hate the shoving forward of the working classes.A man of her own class he would not mind,for Connie was gifted from nature with this appearance of demure,submissive maidenliness,and perhaps it was part of her nature.Winter called her 'dear child'and gave her a rather lovely miniature of an eighteenth-century lady,rather against her will.
But Connie was preoccupied with her affair with the keeper.After all,Mr Winter,who was really a gentleman and a man of the world,treated her as a person and a discriminating individual;he did not lump her together with all the rest of his female womanhood in his 'thee'and 'tha'.
She did not go to the wood that day nor the next,nor the day following.
She did not go so long as she felt,or imagined she felt,the man waiting for her,wanting her.But the fourth day she was terribly unsettled and uneasy.She still refused to go to the wood and open her thighs once more to the man.She thought of all the things she might do--drive to Sheffield,pay visits,and the thought of all these things was repellent.At last she decided to take a walk,not towards the wood,but in the opposite direction;she would go to Marehay,through the little iron gate in the other side of the park fence.It was a quiet grey day of spring,almost warm.She walked on unheeding,absorbed in thoughts she was not even conscious of She was not really aware of anything outside her,till she was startled by the loud barking of the dog at Marehay Farm.Marehay Farm!Its pastures ran up to Wragby park fence,so they were neighbours,but it was some time since Connie had called.
'Bell!'she said to the big white bull-terrier.'Bell!have you forgotten me?Don't you know me?'She was afraid of dogs,and Bell stood back and bellowed,and she wanted to pass through the farmyard on to the warren path.
Mrs Flint appeared.She was a woman of Constance's own age,had been a school-teacher,but Connie suspected her of being rather a false little thing.
'Why,it's Lady Chatterley!Why!'And Mrs Flint's eyes glowed again,and she flushed like a young girl.'Bell,Bell.Why!barking at Lady Chatterley!
Bell!Be quiet!'She darted forward and slashed at the dog with a white cloth she held in her hand,then came forward to Connie.
'She used to know me,'said Connie,shaking hands.The Flints were Chatterley tenants.
'Of course she knows your Ladyship!She's just showing off,'said Mrs Flint,glowing and looking up with a sort of flushed confusion,'but it's so long since she's seen you.I do hope you are better.'
'Yes thanks,I'm all right.'
'We've hardly seen you all winter.Will you come in and look at the baby?'
'Well!'Connie hesitated.'Just for a minute.'
Mrs Flint flew wildly in to tidy up,and Connie came slowly after her,hesitating in the rather dark kitchen where the kettle was boiling by the fire.Back came Mrs Flint.
'I do hope you'll excuse me,'she said.'Will you come in here?'
They went into the living-room,where a baby was sitting on the rag hearth rug,and the table was roughly set for tea.A young servant-girl backed down the passage,shy and awkward.
The baby was a perky little thing of about a year,with red hair like its father,and cheeky pale-blue eyes.It was a girl,and not to be daunted.
It sat among cushions and was surrounded with rag dolls and other toys in modern excess.
'Why,what a dear she is!'said Connie,'and how she's grown!A big girl!A big girl!'
She had given it a shawl when it was born,and celluloid ducks for Christmas.
'There,Josephine!Who's that come to see you?Who's this,Josephine?
Lady Chatterley--you know Lady Chatterley,don't you?'
The queer pert little mite gazed cheekily at Connie.Ladyships were still all the same to her.
'Come!Will you come to me?'said Connie to the baby.
The baby didn't care one way or another,so Connie picked her up and held her in her lap.How warm and lovely it was to hold a child in one's lap,and the soft little arms,the unconscious cheeky little legs.
'I was just having a rough cup of tea all by myself.Luke's gone to market,so I can have it when I like.Would you care for a cup,Lady Chatterley?
I don't suppose it's what you're used to,but if you would...'
Connie would,though she didn't want to be reminded of what she was used to.There was a great relaying of the table,and the best cups brought and the best tea-pot.
'If only you wouldn't take any trouble,'said Connie.
