Sir Tristram.
Good-night, George.
Georgiana.
Good-night, partner. Heaven bless the little innocent in his cot.
[Sir Tristramgoes out withBlore.
Georgiana.
[Calling after him.] Tris! You may take your pipe up with you. We smoke all over the Deanery.
The Dean.
[To himself.] I never smoke! Doesshe?
Georgiana.
[Closes the door, humming a tune merrily.] Tra la, tra la! Now, Mr. Tidd, we’ll toddle. Tra la! tra la! [She stops, looking atThe Dean,who is muttering to himself.] Gus, I don’t like your looks, Ishall let the Vet see you in the morning. What’s wrong with you?
[The Deanshakes his head mournfully, and sinks on the settee.
Georgiana.
Money?
The Dean.
Therearebills, which, at a more convenient time, it will be my grateful duty to discharge.
Georgiana.
And you’re short?
The Dean.
Short?
Georgiana.
Stumped—out of coin—run low. What’ll square the bills?
The Dean.
Very little would settle the bills—but—but——
Georgiana.
I know—the Spire. Why, Gus, you haven’t got that thousand.
The Dean.
There is a very large number of estimable worthy men who do not possess a thousand pounds. With that number I have the mournful pleasure of enrolling myself.
Georgiana.
When’s the settling day?
The Dean.
Eh?
Georgiana.
When will you have to fork out?
The Dean.
Unless the restoration is immediately commenced the spire will certainly crumble.
Georgiana.
Then it’s a match between you and the spire which parts first. Gus, will you let your little sister lend you a hand?
The Dean.
My dear Georgiana, impossible!
Georgiana.
No, no—not out of my own pocket. Come here. [She takes his arm and whispers in his ear.] Can you squeeze a pair of ponies?
The Dean.
Can I what?
Georgiana.
Can you raise fifty pounds?
The Dean.
Certainly. More than fifty pounds.
Georgiana.
No—no, don’t be rash! That’s the worst of you beginners. Only fifty by to-morrow morning.
The Dean.
Most assuredly.
Georgiana.
Very well then—clap it on to Dandy Dick!
The Dean.
[With horror.] What!
Georgiana.
He’s a certainty—if those two buckets of water haven’t put him off it! He’s a moral—if he doesn’t think of his tail coming down the hill. There’s nothing like him at the weight. Keep it dark, Gus—don’t breathe a word to any of your Canons or Archdeacons, or they’ll rush at it and shorten the price for us. Go in, Gus, my boy—take your poor widowed sister’s tip and sleep as peacefully as a blessed baby!
[She presses him warmly to her and kisses him.
The Dean.
[Extricating himself.] Oh! Mrs. Tidman! Go to your room!
Georgiana.
Augustin!
The Dean.
In the morning I will endeavor to frame some verbal expression of the horror with which I regard your proposal. For the present, you are my parents’ child and I trust your bed is well aired.
Georgiana.
Oh, very well, Augustin. I’ve done all I can for the Spire.Bon soir,old boy!
The Dean.
Good-night.
Georgiana.
If you’re wiser in the morning just send Blore on to the course and he’ll put the money on for you.
The Dean.
Blore! My poor devoted old servant would be lost on a race-course.
Georgiana.
Would he! He was quite at home in Tattersall’s Ring when I was at St. Marvells last summer.
The Dean.
Blore!
Georgiana.
Blore. I recognized the veteran sportsman the moment I came into the Deanery.
The Dean.
What was my butler doing at St. Marvells Races?
Bloreenters with his lantern.
Georgiana.
Investing the savings of your cook and housemaid, of course. You don’t think your servants are as narrow as you are!
The Dean.
Oh!
Blore.
I beg your pardon, sir, shall I go the rounds, sir?
[The Deangives Blore a fierce look, butBlorebeams sweetly.
Georgiana.
Blore!
Blore.
Mum?
Georgiana.
Breakfast at nine, sharp. And pack a hamper with a cold chicken, some French rolls, and two bottles of Heidsieck—label it “George Tidd,” and send it on to the Hill. I’ll stand the racket. Goodnight.
[She goes out.The Deansinks into a chair and clasps his forehead.
Blore.
A dear, ’igh-sperited lady. [Leaning overThe Dean.] Aren’t you well, sir?
The Dean.
Serpent!
Blore.
Meanin’me,sir?
The Dean
Lock up; I’ll speak to you in the morning. Lock up.
[Bloregoes into the Library, turns out the lamp there, and disappears.
What dreadful wave threatens to engulf the Deanery? What has come to us in a few fatal hours? A horse of sporting tendencies contaminating my stables, his equally vicious owner nestling in the nursery, and my own widowed sister, in all probability, smoking a cigarette at her bedroom window with her feet on the window-ledge! [Listening.] What’s that? [He peers through the window curtains.] I thought I heard footsteps in the garden. I can see nothing—only the old spire standing out against the threatening sky. [Leaving the window shudderingly.] The Spire! My principal creditor!My principal creditor, the most conspicuous object in the city!
Blorere-enters with his lantern, carrying some bank-notes in his hand.
Blore.
[Laying the notes on the table.] I found these, sir, on your dressing-table—they’re bank-notes, sir.
The Dean.
[Taking the notes.] Thank you. I placed them there to be sent to the Bank to-morrow. [Counting the notes.] Ten—ten—twenty—five—five, fifty. Fifty pounds! The very sum Georgiana urged me to—oh! [ToBlore,waving him away.] Leave me—go to bed—go to bed—go to bed! [Bloreis going.] Blore!
Blore.
Sir?
The Dean.
What made you tempt me with these at such a moment?
Blore.
Temp’ you, sir! The window was hopen, and I feared they might blow away.
The Dean.
[Catching him by the coat collar.] Man, what were you doing at St. Marvells Races last summer?
Blore.
[With a cry, falling on his knees.] Oh, sir! Oh, sir! I knew that ’igh-sperited lady would bring grief and sorrow to the peaceful, ’appy Deanery! Oh, sir, I’avedone a little on my hown account from time to time on the ’ill, halso hon commission for the kitchen!
The Dean.
I knew it—I knew it!
Blore.
Oh, sir, you are a old gentleman—turn a charitable ’art to the Races! It’s a wicious institution what spends more ready money in St. Marvells than us good people do in a year.
The Dean.
Get up, Blore—get up. Oh, Edward Blore, Edward Blore, what weak creatures we are!
Blore.
We are, sir—we are—’specially when we’ve got a tip, sir. Think of the temptation of a tip, sir.
The Dean.
I do, Blore—I do.
Blore.
I confess heverything, sir. Bonny Betsy’s bound for to win the ’andicap.
The Dean.
No, no—she isn’t.
Blore.
She is, sir.
The Dean.
I know better; she can never get down the hill with those legs of hers.
Blore.
She can, sir—what’s to beat her?
The Dean.
The horse in my stable—Dandy Dick!
Blore.
Dandy Dick! That old bit of ma’ogany, sir. They’re layin’ ten to one against him.
The Dean.
[With hysterical eagerness.] Are they? I’ll take it! I’ll take it!
Blore.
Lord love you, sir—fur how much?
The Dean.
Fifty! There’s the money. [Impulsively he crams the notes intoBlore’shand and then recoils in horror.] Oh!
[Sinks into a chair with a groan.
Blore.
[In a whisper.] Lor’, who’d ’ave thought the Dean was such a ardent sportsman at ’art? He dursn’t give me my notice after this. [ToThe Dean.] Of course it’s understood, sir, that we keep our little weaknesses dark. Houtwardly, sir, we remain respectable, and, I ’ope, respected. [Putting the notes into his pocket.] I wish you good-night, sir. [He walks to the door.The Deanmakes an effort to recall him but fails.] And that old man ’as been my pattern and example for years and years! Oh, Edward Blore, your hidol is shattered! [Turning toThe Dean.] Good-night, sir. May your dreams be calm and ’appy, and may you have a good run for your money!
[Bloregoes out—The Deangradually recovers his self-possession.
The Dean.
I—I am upset to-night, Blore. Of course you leave this day month. I—I [looking round.] Blore! He’sgone! If I don’t call him back the Spire may be richer to-morrow by five hundred pounds. I won’t dwell on it. I’ll read—I’ll read. [Snatches a book at haphazard from the bookshelf. There is the sound of falling rain and distant thunder.] Rain, thunder. How it assimilates with the tempest of my mind! I’ll read. Bless me! This is very strange. [Reading.] “The Horse and its Ailments, by John Cox, M. R. C. V. S.” It was with the aid of this volume that I used to doctor my old mare at Oxford. A leaf turned down. [Reading.] “Simple remedies for chills—the Bolus.” The helpless beast in my stable is suffering from a chill. Good gracious! If I allow Blore to risk my fifty pounds on Dandy Dick, surely it would be advisable to administer this Bolus to the poor animal without delay. [Referring to the book hastily.] I have these drugs in my chest. There’s not a moment to be lost! [Going to the bell and ringing.] I shall want help. I’ll fetch my medicine chest.
[He lays the book upon the table and goes into the Library.
Bloreenters.
Blore.
[Looking round.] Where is he? The bell rang. The Dean’s puzzling me with his uncommon behavior, that he is.
[The Deancomes from the Library, carrying a large medicine chest. On encounteringBlorehe starts and turns away his head, the picture of guilt.
The Dean.
Blore, I feel it would be a humane act to administer to the poor ignorant animal in my stable a simple Bolus as a precaution against chill. I relyupon your aid and discretion in ministering to any guest in the Deanery.
Blore.
[In a whisper.] I see, sir—you ain’t going to lose half a chance for to-morrow, sir—you’re a knowin’ one, sir, as the sayin’ goes!
The Dean.
[Shrinking fromBlorewith a groan.] Oh! [He places the medicine chest on the table and takes up the book. Handing the book toBlorewith his finger on a page.] Fetch these humble but necessary articles from the kitchen—quick. I’ll mix the Bolus here. [Bloregoes out quickly.] It is exactly seven and twenty years since I last approached a horse medically. [He takes off his coat and lays it on a chair, then rolls his shirt-sleeves up above his elbows and puts on his glasses.] I trust that this Bolus will not give the animal an unfair advantage over his competitors. I don’t desire that! I don’t desire that! [Blorere-enters carrying a tray, on which are a small flour-barrel and rolling-pin, a white china basin, a carafe of water, a napkin, and the book.The Deanrecoils, then guiltily takes the tray fromBloreand puts it on the table.] Thank you.
Blore.
[Holding on to the window curtain and watchingThe Dean.] His eyes is awful; I don’t seem to know the ’appy Deanery when I see such proceedings a’goin’ on at the dead of night.
[There is a heavy roll of thunder—The Deanmixes a pudding and stirs it with the rolling-pin.
The Dean.
The old half-forgotten time returns to me. I am once again a promising youth at college.
Blore.
[To himself.] One would think by his looks that he was goin’ to poison his family instead of—Poison! Poison! Oh, if hanything serious ’appened to the hanimal in our stable there would be nothing in the way of Bonny-Betsy, the deservin’ ’orse I’ve trusted with my ’ard-earned savings!
The Dean.
I am walking once again in the old streets at Oxford, avoiding the shops where I owe my youthful bills. Bills!
[He pounds away vigorously with the rolling-pin.
Blore.
[To himself.] Where’s the stuff I got a month ago to destroy the hold black retriever that fell hill?
The Dean.
Bills!
Blore.
The dog died—the poison’s in my pantry—it couldn’t have got used for cooking purposes.
The Dean.
I see the broad meadows and the tall Spire of the college—the Spire! Oh, my whole life seems made up of Bills and Spires!
Blore.
[To himself.] I’ll do it! I’ll do it!
[Unseen by The Dean he quickly and quietly steals out by the door.
The Dean.
Where are the drugs—the drugs? [Opening the medicine chest and bending down over the bottles he pours some drops from a bottle into the basin.] [Counting.] Three—four—five—six. [He replaces the bottle and takes another.] How fortunate some animals are! [Counting.] One—two—three, four. It’s done!
[Taking up the medicine chest he goes with it into the Library.
As he disappearsBlorere-enters stealthily fingering a small paper packet.
Blore.
[In a whisper.] Strychnine! [There is a heavy roll of thunder—Bloredarts to the table, empties the contents of the packet into the basin, and stirs vigorously with the rolling-pin.] I’ve cooked Dandy Dick! I’ve cooked Dandy Dick! [He moves from the table in horror.] Oh! I’m only a hamatoor sportsman and I can’t afford a uncertainty. [AsThe Deanreturns,Blorestarts up guiltily.] Can I help you any more, Sir?
The Dean.
No, remove these dreadful things, and don’t let me see you again to-night!
[Sits with the basin on his knees, and proceeds to roll the paste.
Blore.
[Removing the tray.] It’s only an ’orse—it’s only an ’orse! But after to-morrow I’ll retire from the Turf, if only to reclaim ’im.
[He goes out.
The Dean.
[Putting on his coat.] I don’t contemplate my humane task with resignation. The stable is small, and if the animal is restive we shall be cramped for room. [The rain is heard.] I shall get a chill too. [SeeingSir Tristram’scoat and cap lying upon the settee.] I am sure Mardon will lend me this gladly. [Putting on the coat, which completely envelops him.] The animal may recognize the garment, and receive me with kindly feeling. [Putting on the sealskin cap, which almost conceals his face.] Ugh! why do I feel this dreadful sinking at the heart? [Taking the basin and turning out the lamp.] Oh! if all followers of the veterinary science are as truly wretched as I am, what a noble band they must be!
[The thunder rolls as he goes through the window curtains.Sir Tristramthen enters quietly, smoking, and carrying a lighted candle.
Sir Tristram.
All right; fire still burning. [Blowing out the candle.] I shall doze here till daybreak. What a night! I never thought there was so much thunder in these small country places.
[Georgiana,looking pale and agitated, and wearing a dressing-gown, enters quickly, carrying an umbrella and a lighted candle.
Georgiana.
Which is the nearer way to the stable? I must satisfy myself—I must—I must! [Going to the door.]
Sir Tristram.
[Rising suddenly.] Hullo!
Georgiana.
[Shrieks with fright.] Ah!
Sir Tristram.
Hush!
Georgiana.
[Holding out her umbrella.] Stand where you are or I’ll fire! [RecognizingSir Tristram.] Tris!
Sir Tristram.
Why, George!
Georgiana.
Oh, Tris, I’ve been dreaming! [Falling helplessly against Sir Tristram, who deposits her in a chair.] Oh! oh! oh! Don’t look at me! I’m overtrained. I shall be on my legs again in a minute.
[She opens her umbrella and hides herself behind it, sobbing violently.
Sir Tristram.
[Standing over the umbrella in great concern.] My goodness! George, whatever shall I do? Shall I trot you up and down outside?
Georgiana.
Be quiet! [Sobbing.] What are you fooling about here for? Why can’t you lie quietly in your cot?
Sir Tristram.
Confound that cot! Why, it wouldn’t hold my photograph. Where are you going?
Georgiana.
Into the stable to sit with Dandy. The thunder’s awful in my room; when it gets tired it seems to sitdown on my particular bit of roof. I did doze once, and then I had a frightful dream. I dreamt that Dandy had sold himself to a circus, and that they were hooting him because he had lost his tail. There’s an omen!
Sir Tristram.
Don’t, don’t—be a man, George, be a man!
Georgiana.
[Shutting her umbrella.] I know I’m dreadfully effeminate. There—Tidd’s himself again!
Sir Tristram.
Bravo!
Georgiana.
Ah, Tris—don’t think me soft, old man. I’m a lonely, unlucky woman, and the tail end of this horse is all that’s left me in the world to love and to cling to!
Sir Tristram.
No, by Jove! I’m not such a mean cur as that! Swop halves and take his head, George, my boy.
Georgiana.
Not I! I’m like a doating mother to my share of Dandy, and it’s all the dearer because it’s an invalid. I’m off.
Sir Tristram.
Come along! [Turning towards the window, she following him, he suddenly stops and looks at her, and seizes her hand.] George, I never guessed that you were so tender-hearted.
Georgiana.
Well, I’m not.
Sir Tristram.
And you’ve robbed me to-night of an old friend—a pal.
Georgiana.
I—what d’ye mean?
Sir Tristram.
I mean that I seem to have dropped the acquaintance of George Tidd, Esquire, forever.
Georgiana.
Tris—no.
Sir Tristram.
I have—but I’ve got an introduction to his twin-sister, Georgiana!
Georgiana.
[Snatching her hand away angrily.] Stay where you are; I’ll nurse my half alone. [She goes towards the window, then starts back.] Hush!
Sir Tristram.
What’s the matter?
Georgiana.
Didn’t you hear something?
Sir Tristram.
Where?
Georgiana.
[Pointing to the window.] There.
Sir Tristram.
[Peeping through the curtains.] You’re right. Some people moving about the garden.
Georgiana.
Tris! The horse!
Sir Tristram.
They’re not near the stables. They’re coming in here. Hush! We’ll clear out and watch!
[Sir Tristramtakes the candlestick and they go out leaving the room in darkness. The curtains at the window are pushed aside, andSalomeandShebaenter; both in their fancy dresses.
Salome.
[In a rage, lighting the candles on the mantelpiece.] Oh! oh! oh!
Sheba.
Oh! oh! No ball after all!
Salome.
If we only had a brother to avenge us!
Sheba.
I shall try and borrow a brother to-morrow!
Salome.
Cold, wretched, splashed, in debt—for nothing!
Sheba.
To think that we’ve had all the inconvenience of being wicked and rebellious and have only half done it!
Salome.
This comes of stooping to the Military!
Sheba.
It serves us right—we’ve been trained for clergymen’s wives. I hate Nugent Darbey. I hope he may grow bald early!
Salome.
Gerald Tarver’s nose is inclined to pink—may it deepen and deepen till it frightens cows!
[Voices are heard from the curtained window recess.
Darbey.
[Outside.] Miss Jedd—Sheba!
Tarver.
[Outside.] Pray hear two wretched men! Miss Jedd!
Salome.
[In a whisper.] There they are.
Sheba.
Shall we grant them a dignified interview?
Salome.
Yes. Curl your lip, Sheba.
Sheba.
You curl your lip better than I—I’ll dilate my nostrils.
[Salomedraws aside the curtain.TarverandDarbeyenter. They are both very badly and shabbily dressed as Cavaliers.
Tarver.
[A most miserable object, carrying a carriage umbrella.] Oh, don’t reproach us, Miss Jedd. It isn’t our fault that the Military were summoned to St. Marvells.
Darbey.
You don’t blame officers and gentlemen for responding to the sacred call of duty?
Sheba.
We blame officers for subjecting two motherless girls to the shock of alighting at the Durnstone Athenæum to find a notice on the front door: “Ball knocked on the head—Vivat Regina.”
Salome.
We blame gentlemen for inflicting upon us the unspeakable agony of being jeered at by boys.
Tarver.
I took the address of the boy who suggested that we should call again on the fifth of November. It is on the back of your admission card.
Darbey.
Everything will be done. We shall both wait on the boy’s mother for an explanation.
Tarver.
Oh, smile on us once again, Miss Jedd—a forced, hollow smile, if you will—only smile. Salome!
Georgianaenters.
Georgiana.
Salome! Sheba!
SalomeandSheba.
Aunt!
Georgiana.
You bad girls!
Salome.
[Weeping.] No, Aunt, no!
Sheba.
Not bad. Aunt—trustful and confiding.
Georgiana.
[Advancing toTarver.] How dare you encourage these two simple children to enjoy themselves! How dare you take them out—without their Aunt! Do you thinkIcan’t keep a thing quiet?
Sheba.
They didn’t even ask Papa’s permission!
Salome.
Poor Papa!
Sheba.
Poor, dear Papa!
Georgiana.
[ShakingTarver.] I’m speaking to you—Field-Marshal.
Tarver.
Madam, you are addressing an invalid.
Darbey.
We shall be happy to receive your representative in the morning. At present we are on duty.
Tarver.
On heavy duty.
Darbey.
Guarding the ruins of the “Swan” Inn. You mustn’t distract our attention.
Georgiana.
Guarding the ruins of the “Swan,” are you? [Calling.] Tris! Sir Tristram! [Sir Tristramappears.] Tris, I’m a feeble woman, but I hope I’ve a keen sense of right and wrong. Run theseoutsiders into the road, and let them guard their own ruins.
[SalomeandShebashriek, and throw themselves at the feet ofTarverandDarbey,clinging to their legs.
Salome.
No, no. Spare him!
Sheba.
You shall not harm a hair of their heads.
[Sir TristramtwistsTarver’swig round so that it covers his face. The gate bell is heard ringing violently.
Georgiana, Salome,andSheba.
What’s that?
Salome.
It will wake Papa!
Sheba.
Stop the bell!
[Georgianaruns to the door and opens it.
Salome.
[ToTarverandDarbey.] Fly!
[TarverandDarbeydisappear through the curtains at the window.
Sheba.
[Falling intoSalome’sarms.] We have saved them!
Georgiana.
Oh, Tris, your man from the stable!
Sir Tristram.
Hatcham!
Georgiana.
[Calling.] Hatcham!
[Hatcham,carrying the basin with the bolus, runs in breathlessly—followed byBlore.
Hatcham.
Oh, Sir Tristram!
GeorgianaandSir Tristram.
What is it?
Hatcham.
The villain that set fire to the “Swan,” sir—in the hact of administering a dose to the ’orse!
Georgiana.
Nobbling our Dandy?
Sir Tristram.
Where is the scoundrel?
Hatcham.
Topping the constable’s collared him, Sir—he’s taken him in a cart to the lock-up!
GeorgianaandSir Tristram.
Oh!
Blore.
[In agony.] They’ve got the Dean!
END OF THE SECOND ACT.
The first scene is the interior of a country Police Station, a quaint old room with plaster walls, oaken beams, and a gothic mullioned window looking on to the street. A massive door, with a small sliding wicket and an iron grating, opens to a prisoner’s cell. The room is partly furnished as a kitchen, partly as a police station, a copy of the Police Regulations and other official documents and implements hanging on the wall. It is the morning after the events of the previous act.
Hannah,a buxom, fresh-looking young woman, in a print gown, has been engaged in cooking while singing gayly.
Hannah.
[Opening a door and calling with a slight dialect.] Noah darling!
Noah.
[From another room—in a rough, country voice.] Yaas!
Hannah.
You’ll have your dinner before you drive your prisoner over to Durnstone, won’t ye, darling?
Noah.
Yaas!
Hannah.
[Closing the door.] Yaas! Noah’s in a nice temper to-day over summat. Ah well, I suppose all public characters is liable to irritation. [There is a knock at the outer door.Hannahopening it, seesBlorewith a troubled look on his face.] Well I never! Mr. Blore from the Deanery! Come in! You might knock me down with a——!
Blore.
[Entering and shaking hands mournfully.] How do you do, Mrs. Topping?
Hannah.
And how is the dear Dean, bless him; the sweetest soul in the world?
Blore.
[To himself.] Good gracious! She doesn’t know of hour misfortune. [ToHannah.] I—I ’aven’t seen him this morning!
Hannah.
Well, this is real kind of you, calling on an old friend, Edward. When I think that I were cook at the Deanery seven years, and that since I left you, to get wedded, not a soul of you has been nigh me, it do seem hard.
Blore.
Well, you see, ’Annah, the kitchen took humbrage at your marryin’ a policeman at Durnstone. It was regarded as a messyliance.
Hannah.
Well, now Mr. Topping’s got the appointment of Head Constable at St. Marvells, what’s that regarded as?
Blore.
A rise on the scales, ’Annah, a decided rise—but still you’ve honly been a week in St. Marvells and you’ve got to fight your way hup.
Hannah.
I think I’m as hup as ever I’m like to be.
Blore.
’Owever, Jane and Sarah and Willis the stable boy ’ave hunbent so far as to hask me to leave their cards, knowin’ I was a callin’.
[He produces from an old leather pocket-book three very dirty pieces of paste-board, which he gives toHannah.
Hannah.
[Taking them in her apron with pride.] Thank ’em kindly. When’s their evening?
Blore.
We receive on Toosdays, at the side gate. And ’ow are you, my dear?
[Kissing her cheek.
Hannah.
Don’t, Edward Blore!
Blore.
Don’t! When you was Miss Hevans there wasn’t these social barriers, ’Annah!
Hannah.
Shut up! Noah’s jealous of the very apron-strings what go round my waist. I’m not so free and ’andy with my kisses now, I can tell you.
Blore.
Then “what is friendship but a name!” But Mr. Topping isn’t indoors now, surely!
Hannah.
[Nodding her head.] Um—um!
Blore.
Why, he took a man up last night!
Hannah.
What of it?
Blore.
Why, I thought that when hany harrest was made in St. Marvells, the prisoner was lodged here honly for the night and that the ’ead Constable ’ad to drive ’im over to Durnstone Police Station the first thing in the morning.
Hannah.
That’s the rule, but Noah’s behindhand to-day, and ain’t going into Durnstone till after dinner.
Blore.
Then the prisoner is now hon the premises!
Hannah.
Yes, he’s in our cell.
Blore.
Ah! And where is the hapartment in question?
Hannah.
The cell? That’s it!
Blore.
[Looking round in horror.] Oh!
Hannah.
The “Strong-box” they call it in St. Marvells.
Blore.
Oh, my goodness, honly fancy! [Whimpering tohimself.] And ’im accustomed to his shavin’ water at h’eight and my kindly hand to button his gaiters. Oh, here’s a warnin’!
Hannah.
Whatever is the matter with you, Edward?
Blore.
’Annah, ’Annah, my dear, it’s this very prisoner what I ’ave called on you respectin’.
Hannah.
Oh, then the honor ain’t a compliment to me, after all, Mr. Blore?
Blore.
I’m killing two birds with one stone, my dear.
Hannah.
[Throwing the cards intoBlore’shat.] You can take them back to the Deanery with Mrs. Topping’s comps.
Blore.
[Shaking the cards out of his hat and replacing them in his pocket-book.] I will leave them hon you again to-morrow, ’Annah. But, ’Annah deary, do you know that this hunfortunate man was took in our stables last night.
Hannah.
No, I never ask Noah nothing about Queen’s business. He don’t wanttwowomen over him!
Blore.
Then you ’aven’t seen the miserable culprit?
Hannah.
Lor’ no. I was in bed hours when Noah brought’im ’ome. I take no interest in it all. They tell us it’s only a wretched poacher or a petty larcery we’ll get in St. Marvells. My poor Noah ain’t never likely to have the chance of a horrid murder in a place what returns a Conservative. My joint’s burning.
[Kneeling to look into the oven.
Blore.
But, ’Annah, suppose this case you’ve got ’old of now is a case what’ll shake old England to its basis! Suppose it means columns in the paper with Topping’s name a-figurin’! Suppose as family readin’, it ’old its own with divorce cases!
Hannah.
Hullo! You know something about this arrest, you do!
Blore.
No, no, I don’t! I merely said suppose. I merely wish to encourage you, ’Annah; to implant an ’ope that crime may brighten your wedded life.
Hannah.
[Sitting at the table and referring to an official book.] The man was found trespassing in the Deanery Stables with intent—refuses to give his name or any account of ’isself.
Blore.
[To himself.] If I could honly find hout whether Dandy Dick had any of the medicine it would so guide me at the Races. What am I to do? It doesn’t appear that the ’orse in the stables—took it, does it?
Hannah.
[Looking up sharply.] Took what?
Blore.
Er—took fright. You’re sure there’s no confession of any sort, ’Annah dear?
[As he is bending overHannah, Noah Toppingappears.Noahis a dense-looking ugly countryman, with red hair, a bristling heard, and a vindictive leer. He is dressed in ill-fitting clothes, as a rural Police Constable.
Noah.
[Fiercely.] ’Annah!
Hannah.
[Starting and replacing the book.] Oh don’t! This is Mr. Blore from the Deanery come to see us—an old friend o’ mine!
[Bloreadvances toNoahwith a nervous smile, extending his hand.
Noah.
[TakingBlore’shand and holding it firmly.] A friend of hern is a friend o’ mian!
Blore.
I ’ope so, Mr. Topping. I thank you.
Noah.
She’s gettin’ me a lot o’ nice noo friends this week, since we coom to St. Marvells.
Blore.
Of course, dear ’Annah was a lovin’ favorite with heverybody.
Noah.
Ay. Well then, as her friends be mian, I’m takin’ the liberty, one by one, of gradually droppin’ on ’em all.
Blore.
[Getting his hand away.] Dear me!
Noah.
And if I catch any old fly a buzzin’ round my lady I’ll venture to break his ’ead in wi’ my staff!
Hannah.
Oh, Noah!
Blore.
[Preparing to depart.] I—I merely called to know if hanything had been found hout about the ruffian took in our stables last night!
Noah.
Is that your business?
Blore.
It—it’s my master’s business.
Noah.
He’s the De-an, ain’t he?
Hannah.
Yes, Noah, of course.
Noah.
[Fiercely.] Shut oop, darlin’. Very well, then—give Mr. Topping’s respects to the Dean, and say I’ll run up to the Deanery and see him after I’ve took my man over to Durnstone.
Blore.
Thank you—I ’ope the Dean will be at ’ome. Good-day, ’Annah! Good-day, Mr. Topping!
[Offering his hand, into whichNoahsignificantly places his truncheon.Bloregoes out quickly.
Hannah.
[Whimpering.] Oh, Noah, Noah, I don’t believe as we shall ever get a large circle of friends round us!
Noah.
Now then! [Selecting a pair of handcuffs and examining them critically.] Them’ll do. [Slipping them into his pocket, and turning uponHannahsuddenly.] ’Annah!
Hannah.
Yes, Noahry——
Noah.
Brighten oop, my darlin’, the little time you ’ave me at ’ome with you.
Hannah.
Yes, Noahry.
[She bustles about and begins to lay the cloth.
Noah.
I’m just a’ goin’ round to the stable to put old Nick in the cart.
Hannah.
Oh, dont’ee trust to Nick, Noah dear—he’s such a vicious brute. Kitty’s safer in the cart.
Noah.
Shut oop, darlin’. Nick can take me on to the edge o’ the hill in half the time.
Hannah.
The hill!
Noah.
Ah, what d’ye think I’ve put off taking my man to Durnstone to now for? Why, I’m a goin’ to get a glimpse of the racin’, on my way over. [Opening the wicket in the cell door and looking in.] There he is! Sulky! [ToHannah.] Hopen the hoven door, ’Annah, and let the smell of the cookin’ get into him.
Hannah.
Oh, no, Noah—it’s torture!
Noah.
Do as I tell’ee. [She opens the oven door.] Torture! Of course it’s torture! That’s my rule! Whenever I get a ’old of a darned obstinate creature wot won’t reveal his hindentity I hopens the hoven door.
[He goes out into the street, and as he departs, the woful face ofThe Deanappears at the wicket, his head being still enveloped in the fur cap.
Hannah.
[Shutting the oven door.] Not me! Torturing prisoners might a’ done for them Middling Ages what Noah’s always clattering about, but not for my time o’ life. I’ll shut that wicket. [Crossing close to the wicket, her face almost comes againstThe Dean’s.She gives a cry.] The Dean!
The Dean.
Oh!
[He disappears.
Hannah.
Oh, no! Not my old master! Never the master![Tottering to the wicket and looking in.] Master! Look at me! It’s ’Annah, your poor faithful servant, ’Annah!
[The face ofThe Deanre-appears.
The Dean.
[In a deep sad voice.] Hannah Evans.
Hannah.
It’s ’Annah Topping, Knee Evans, wife o’ the Constable what’s goin’ to take you to cruel Durnstone. [Sinking weeping upon the ground at the door.] Oh, Mr. Dean, sir, what have you been up to? What have you been up to? What have you been up to?
The Dean.
Woman, I am the victim of a misfortune only partially merited.
Hannah.
[On her knees, clasping her hands.] Tell me what you’ve done, Master dear; give it a name, for the love of goodness
The Dean.
My poor Hannah, I fear I have placed myself in an equivocal position.
Hannah.
[With a shriek of despair.] Ah!
The Dean.
Be quiet, woman!
Hannah.
Is it a change o’ cooking that’s brought you to such ways? I cooked for you for seven ’appy years!
The Dean.
[Sniffing.] Alas! you seem to have lost none of your culinary skill.
Hannah.
Master, are you hungry?
The Dean.
I am sorely tried by your domestic preparations.
Hannah.
[With clenched hands and a determined look.] Oh! [Quickly locking and bolting the street door.] Noah can’t put that brute of a horse to under ten minutes. The dupplikit key o’ the Strong Box! [Producing a large key, with which she unlocks the cell door.] Master, you’ll give me your patrol not to cut, won’t you?
The Dean.
Under any other circumstances, Hannah, I should resent that insinuation.
Hannah.
Don’t resent nothing! Shove! Shove your hardest, Dean dear!
[Pulling the door which opens sufficiently to let outThe Dean.
The Dean.
[As he enters the room.] Good day, Hannah; you have bettered yourself, I hope?
Hannah.
[Hysterically flinging herself uponThe Dean.] Oh, Master, Master!
The Dean.
[Putting her from him sternly.] Hannah! Mrs. Topping!
Hannah.
Oh, I know, I know, but crime levels all, dear sir!
The Dean.
You appear to misapprehend the precise degree of criminality which attaches to me, Mrs. Topping. In the eyes of that majestic, but imperfect instrument, the law, I am an innocent if not an injured man.
Hannah.
Ah, stick to that, sir! Stick to it, if you think it’s likely to serve your wicked ends!
[Placing bread with other things on the table.
The Dean.
My good woman, a single word from me to those at the Deanery, would instantly restore me to home, family, and accustomed diet.
Hannah.
Ah, they all tell that tale what comes here. Why don’t you send word, Dean dear?
The Dean.
Because it would involve revelations of my temporary moral aberration!
Hannah.
[Putting her apron to her eyes with a howl.] Owh!
The Dean.
Because I should return to the Deanery with my dignity—that priceless possession of man’s middle age!—with my dignity seriously impaired!
Hannah.
Oh, don’t, sir, don’t!
The Dean.
How could I face my simple children who have hitherto, not unreasonably, regarded me as faultless? How could I again walk erect in the streets of St.Marvells with my name blazoned on the Records of a Police Station of the very humblest description?
[Sinking into a chair and snatching up a piece of breads which he begins munching.
Hannah.
[Wiping her eyes.] Oh, sir, it’s a treat to hear you, compared with the hordinary criminal class. But, master, dear, though my Noah don’t recognize you—through his being a stranger to St. Marvells—how’ll you fare when you get to Durnstone?
The Dean.
I have one great buoyant hope—that a word in the ear of the Durnstone Superintendent will send me forth an unquestioned man. You and he will be the sole keepers of my precious secret. May its possession be a lasting comfort to you both.
Hannah.
Master, is what you’ve told me your only chance of getting off unknown?
The Dean.
It is the sole remaining chance of averting a calamity of almost national importance.
Hannah.
Then you’re as done as that joint in my oven!
The Dean.
Woman!
Hannah.
The Superintendent at Durnstone—John Ruggles—also the two Inspectors, Whitaker and Parker——
The Dean.
Well!
Hannah.
Them and their wives and families are chapel folk!
The Dean.
[Aghast.] No!
Hannah.