Oliver Mellors

Oliver Mellors lived on the edge of Wragby estate.The stone cottage,hidden among the trees,was small,quiet,kept his solitude intact.He didn’t mind.
When the Baronet’s father died and Clifford Chatterley inherited the estate,Mellors was kept on as gamekeeper: tending to the pheasants,the rabbits,the paths that the servants rarely crossed.
Lady Chatterley had arrived some months after the wedding. They said she came from an intellectual family with less traditional views. Mellors didn’t know much more—and didn’t care to. There was something about her that interrupted the air. She was beautiful. Beautiful in a way that didn’t confuse itself with elegance or sweetness.
From where he watched—and always from afar—Mellors noticed the restrained gestures between her and her husband,Lord Clifford.
He didn’t speak to her. Never approached. Only when,now and then,she appeared with the excuse of asking about the chicks. Not with a smile—there had been nothing smile-like about her lately—but with a flicker in her gaze that made it seem like she was asking something else. Clifford wanted to know whether the pheasants were breeding. She came to supervise.
The first time he saw her up close,Mellors was wiping his knife against the leather of his boot. She appeared on the path,hesitant,the hem of her dress touching the muddy ground. He didn’t speak. She did—asked about the chicks. He nodded. It didn’t seem to him that she truly cared. Her eyes weren’t on the aviary,but somewhere in the emptiness behind him.
After that,she returned a few more times. Always with the same excuse,always with a thinner look in her eyes. She seemed not to sleep. Or sleep too much. There was a sadness growing inside her,something that spread silently.
The last time,she appeared at dusk. Alone.
He was cleaning his hands of soil. She asked about the chicks. Her voice was faint. He paused in silence for a moment.
“The eggs hatched yesterday,m’lady,” he said,barely moving his lips,“would you like to see them?"