THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL[who is following last]. I like you in that frock.
FANNY[laughs]. So glad. It’s Ernest who attends to the fires, isn’t it?
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. Yes, dear.
FANNY. I wish you’d send him up. [At door—calls after them] Hope you’ll all enjoy yourselves!
VERNON[from the distance]. I shall put you on a fiver.
FANNY. Mind it wins. [She listens a moment—closes door,comes back to desk,and takes a Bradshaw.] Five-six-three—five-six-three. [Finds page.] St. Pancras, eight o’clock. Oh, Lord! Stamford, 10.45. Leave Stamford—[Ernest has entered.] Is that you, Ernest?
ERNEST. Yes.
FANNY. Shut the door. Sure it went off last night, that telegram?
ERNEST. Yes.
FANNY. If he doesn’t catch that eight o’clock, he can’t get here till nearly four. That will be awkward. [To Ernest] What time is it now?
ERNEST[looks at clock]. Twenty past eleven.
FANNY. If he does, he’ll be here about twelve—I believe I’ll go and meet him. Could I get out without being seen?
ERNEST. You’ll have to pass the lodge.
FANNY. Who’s at the lodge now?
ERNEST. Mother.
FANNY. Damn!
Bennet has entered unnoticed and drawn near.At this point from behind,he boxes Ernest’s ears.
ERNEST. Here, steady!
BENNET. On the occasions when your cousin forgets her position, you will remember it and remind her of it. Get out! [Ernest,clumsily as ever, “gets out.”] A sort of person has called who, according to his own account, “happened to be passing this way,” and would like to see you.
FANNY[who has been trying to hide the Bradshaw—with affected surprise.] To see me!
BENNET[drily]. Yes. I thought you would be surprised. He claims to be an old friend of yours—Mr. George Newte.
FANNY[still keeping it up]. George Newte! Of course—ah, yes. Do you mind showing him up?
BENNET. I thought I would let you know he had arrived, in case you might be getting anxious about him. I propose giving him a glass of beer and sending him away again.
FANNY[flares up]. Look here, uncle, you and I have got to understand one another. I may put up with being bullied myself—if I can’t see any help for it—but I’m not going to stand my friends being insulted. You show Mr. Newte up here.
A silence.
BENNET. I shall deem it my duty to inform his lordship of Mr. Newte’s visit.
FANNY. There will be no need to. Mr. Newte, if his arrangements permit, will be staying to dinner.
BENNET. That, we shall see about. [He goes out.]
FANNY[following him to door]. And tell them I shall want the best bedroom got ready in case Mr. Newte is able to stay the night. I’ve done it. [She goes to piano,dashes into the“Merry Widow Waltz,”or some other equally inappropriate but well-known melody,and then there enters Newte,shown in by Bennet.Newte is a cheerful person,attractively dressed in clothes suggestive of a successful bookmaker.He carries a white pot hat and tasselled cane.His gloves are large and bright.He is smoking an enormous cigar.]
BENNET. Mr. Newte.
FANNY[she springs up and greets him.They are evidently good friends]. Hulloa, George!
NEWTE. Hulloa, Fan—I beg your pardon, Lady Bantock. [Laughs.] Was just passing this way—
FANNY[cutting him short]. Yes. So nice of you to call.
NEWTE. I said to myself—[His eye catches Bennet;he stops.] Ah, thanks. [He gives Bennet his hat and stick,but Bennet does not seem satisfied.He has taken from the table a small china tray.This he is holding out to Newte,evidently for Newte to put something in it.But what?Newte is puzzled,he glances at Fanny.The idea strikes him that perhaps it is a tip Bennet is waiting for.It seems odd,but if it be the custom—he puts his hand to his trousers pocket.]
BENNET. The smoking-room is on the ground-floor.
NEWTE. Ah, my cigar. I beg your pardon. I couldn’t understand. [He puts it on the tray—breaks into a laugh.]
BENNET. Thank you. Her ladyship is suffering from a headache. If I might suggest—a little less boisterousness. [He goes out.]
NEWTE[he watches him out]. I say, your Lord Chamberlain’s a bit of a freezer!
FANNY. Yes. Wants hanging out in the sun. How did you manage to get here so early? [She sits.]
NEWTE. Well, your telegram rather upset me. I thought—correct etiquette for me to sit down here, do you think?
FANNY. Don’t ask me. Got enough new tricks of my own to learn. [Laughs.] Should chance it, if I were you.
NEWTE. Such a long time since I was at Court. [He sits.] Yes, I was up at five o’clock this morning.
FANNY[laughs]. Oh, you poor fellow!
NEWTE. Caught the first train to Melton, and came on by cart. What’s the trouble?
FANNY. A good deal. Why didn’t you tell me what I was marrying?
NEWTE. I did. I told you that he was a gentleman; that he—
FANNY. Why didn’t you tell me that he was Lord Bantock? You knew, didn’t you?
NEWTE[begins to see worries ahead]. Can’t object to my putting a cigar in my mouth if I don’t light it—can he?
FANNY. Oh, light it—anything you like that will help you to get along.
NEWTE[bites the end off the cigar and puts it between his teeth.This helps him]. No, I didn’t know—not officially.
FANNY. What do you mean—“not officially”?
NEWTE. He never told me.
FANNY. He never told youanything—for the matter of that. I understood you had found out everything for yourself.
NEWTE. Yes; and one of the things I found out was that he didn’twantyou to know. I could see his little game. Wanted to play the Lord Burleigh fake. Well, what was the harm? Didn’t make any difference to you!
FANNY. Didn’t make any difference to me! [Jumps up.] Do you know what I’ve done? Married into a family that keeps twenty-three servants, every blessed one of whom is a near relation of my own. [He sits paralysed.She goes on.] That bald-headed old owl—[with a wave towards the door]—that wanted to send you off with a glass of beer and a flea in your ear—that’s my uncle. The woman that opened the lodge gate for you is my Aunt Amelia. The carroty-headed young man that answered the door to you is my cousin Simeon. He always used to insist on kissing me. I’m expecting him to begin again. My “lady’s” maid is my cousin Jane. That’s why I’m dressed like this! My own clothes have been packed off to the local dressmaker to be made “decent.” Meanwhile, they’ve dug up the family vault to find something for me to go on with. [He has been fumbling in all his pockets for matches.She snatches a box from somewhere and flings it to him.] For Heaven’s sake light it! Then, perhaps, you’ll be able to do something else than stare. I have claret and water—mixed—with my dinner. Uncle pours it out for me. They’ve locked up my cigarettes. Aunt Susannah is coming in to-morrow morning to hear me say my prayers. Doesn’t trust me by myself. Thinks I’ll skip them. She’s the housekeeper here. I’ve got to know them by heart before I go to bed to-night, and now I’ve mislaid them. [She goes to the desk—hunts for them.]
NEWTE[having lighted his eternal cigar,he can begin to think]. But why shouldthey—
FANNY[still at desk]. Because they’re that sort. They honestly think they are doing the right and proper thing—that Providence has put it into their hands to turn me out a passable substitute for all a Lady Bantock should be; which, so far as I can understand, is something between the late lamented Queen Victoria and Goody-Two-Shoes. They are the people that I ran away from, the people I’ve told you about, the people I’ve always said I’d rather starve than ever go back to. And here I am, plumped down in the midst of them again—for life! [Honoria Bennet,the“still-room”maid,has entered.She is a pert young minx of about Fanny’s own age.] What is is? What is it?
HONORIA. Merely passing through. Sorry to have excited your ladyship. [Goes into dressing-room.]
FANNY. My cousin Honoria. They’ve sent her up to keep an eye upon me. Little cat! [She takes her handkerchief,drapes it over the keyhole of the dressing-room door.]
NEWTE[at sight of Honoria he has jumped up and hastily hidden his cigar behind him]. What are you going to do?
FANNY[she seats herself and suggests to him the writing-chair]. Hear from you—first of all—exactly what you told Vernon.
NEWTE[sitting]. About you?
FANNY[nods]. About me—and my family.
NEWTE. Well—couldn’t tell him much, of course. Wasn’t much to tell.
FANNY. I want what you did tell.
NEWTE. I told him that your late father was a musician.
FANNY. Yes.
NEWTE. Had been unfortunate. Didn’t go into particulars. Didn’t seem to be any need for it. That your mother had died when you were still only a girl and that you had gone to live with relatives. [He looks for approval.]
FANNY. Yes.
NEWTE. That you hadn’t got on well with them—artistic temperament, all that sort of thing—that, in consequence, you had appealed to your father’s old theatrical friends; and that they—that they, having regard to your talent—and beauty—
FANNY. Thank you.
NEWTE. Had decided that the best thing you could do was to go upon the stage. [He finishes,tolerably well pleased with himself.]
FANNY. That’s all right. Very good indeed. What else?
NEWTE[after an uncomfortable pause]. Well, that’s about all I knew.
FANNY. Yes, but what did youtellhim?
NEWTE. Well, of course, I had to tell him something. A man doesn’t marry without knowing just a little about his wife’s connections. Wouldn’t be reasonable to expect him. You’d never told me anything—never would; except that you’d liked to have boiled the lot. What was I to do? [He is playing with a quill pen he has picked up.]
FANNY[she takes it from him]. Whatdidyou do?
NEWTE[with fine frankness]. I did the best I could for you, old girl, and he was very nice about it. Said it was better than he’d expected, and that I’d made him very happy—very happy indeed.
FANNY[she leans across,puts her hand on his]. You’re a dear, good fellow, George—always have been. I wouldn’t plague you only it is absolutely necessary I should know—exactly what you did tell him.
NEWTE[a little sulkily]. I told him that your uncle was a bishop.
FANNY[sits back—staring at him]. A what?
NEWTE. A bishop. Bishop of Waiapu, New Zealand.
FANNY. Why New Zealand?
NEWTE. Why not? Had to be somewhere. Didn’t want him Archbishop of Canterbury, did you?
FANNY. Did he believe it?
NEWTE. Shouldn’t have told him had there been any fear that he wouldn’t.
FANNY. I see. Any other swell relations of mine knocking about?
NEWTE. One—a judge of the Supreme Court in Ohio. Same name, anyhow, O’Gorman. Thought I’d make him a cousin of yours. I’ve always remembered him. Met him when I was over there in ninety-eight—damn him!
A silence.
FANNY[she rises]. Well, nothing else for it! Got to tell him it was all a pack of lies. Not blaming you, old boy—my fault. Didn’t know he was going to ask any questions, or I’d have told him myself. Bit of bad luck, that’s all.
NEWTE. Why must you tell him? Only upset him.
FANNY. It’s either my telling him or leaving it for them to do. You know me, George. How long do you see me being bossed and bullied by my own servants? Besides, it’s bound to come out in any case.
NEWTE[he rises.Kindly but firmly he puts her back into her chair.Then pacing to and fro with his hands mostly in his trousers pockets,he talks]. Now, you listen to me, old girl. I’ve been your business manager ever since you started in. I’ve never made a mistake before—[he turns and faces her]—and I haven’t made one this time.
FANNY. I don’t really see the smartness, George, stuffing him up with a lot of lies he can find out for himself.
NEWTE.If he wants to. A couple of telegrams, one to His Grace the Bishop of Waiapu, the other to Judge Denis O’Gorman, Columbus, Ohio, would have brought him back the information that neither gentlemen had ever heard of you.If he hadn’t been careful not to send them. He wasn’t marrying you with the idea of strengthening his family connections. He was marrying you because he was just gone on you. Couldn’t help himself.
FANNY. In that case, you might just as well have told him the truth.
NEWTE.Which he would then have had to pass on to everyone entitled to ask questions. Can’t you understand? Somebody, in the interest of everybody, had to tell a lie. Well, what’s a business manager for?
FANNY. But I can’t do it, George. You don’t know them. The longer I give in to them the worse they’ll get.
NEWTE. Can’t you square them?
FANNY. No, that’s the trouble. Theyarehonest. They’re the “faithful retainers” out of a melodrama. They are working eighteen hours a day on me not for any advantage to themselves, but because they think it their “duty” to the family. They don’t seem to have any use for themselves at all.
NEWTE. Well, what about the boy? Can’thetalk to them?
FANNY. Vernon! They’ve brought him up from a baby—spanked him all round, I expect. Might as well ask a boy to talk to his old schoolmaster. Besides, if he did talk, then it would all come out. As I tell you, it’s bound to come out—and the sooner the better.
NEWTE. It mustnotcome out! It’s too late. If we had told him at the beginning that he was proposing to marry into his own butler’s family—well, it’s an awkward situation—he might have decided to risk it. Or he might have cried off.
FANNY. And a good job if he had.
NEWTE. Now talk sense. You wanted him—you took a fancy to him from the beginning. He’s a nice boy, and there’s something owing to him. [It is his trump card,and he knows it.] Don’t forget that. He’s been busy, explaining to all his friends and relations why they should receive you with open arms: really nice girl, born gentlewoman, good old Church of England family—no objection possible. For you to spring the truth upon himnow—well, it doesn’t seem to me quite fair tohim.
FANNY. Then am I to live all my life dressed as a charity girl?
NEWTE. You keep your head and things will gradually right themselves. This family of yours—they’ve gotsomesense, I suppose?
FANNY. Never noticed any sign of it myself.
NEWTE. Maybe you’re not a judge. [Laughs.] They’ll listen to reason. You letmehave a talk to them, one of these days; see if I can’t show them—first one and then the other—the advantage of leaving to “better” themselves—with the help of a little ready money. Later on—choosing your proper time—you can break it to him that you have discovered they’re distant connections of yours, a younger branch of the family that you’d forgotten. Give the show time to settle down into a run. Then you can begin to make changes.
FANNY. You’ve a wonderful way with you, George. It always sounds right as you put it—even when one jolly well knows that it isn’t.
NEWTE. Well, it’s always been right for you, old girl, ain’t it?
FANNY. Yes. You’ve been a rattling good friend. [She takes his hands.] Almost wish I’d married you instead. We’d have been more suited to one another.
NEWTE[shakes his head]. Nothing like having your fancy. You’d never have been happy without him. [He releases her.] ’Twas a good engagement, or I’d never have sanctioned it.
FANNY. I suppose it will be the last one you will ever get me. [She has dropped for a moment into a brown study.]
NEWTE[he turns]. I hope so.
FANNY[she throws off her momentary mood with a laugh]. Poor fellow! You never even got your commission.
NEWTE. I’ll take ten per cent. of all your happiness, old girl. So make it as much as you can for my benefit. Good-bye. [He holds out hand.]
FANNY. You’re not going? You’ll stop to lunch?
NEWTE. Not to-day.
FANNY. Do. If you don’t, they’ll think it’s because I was frightened to ask you.
NEWTE. All the better. The more the other party thinks he’s having his way, the easier always to get your own. Your trouble is, you know, that you never had any tact.
FANNY. I hate tact. [Newte laughs.] We could have had such a jolly little lunch together. I’m all alone till the evening. There were ever so many things I wanted to talk to you about.
NEWTE. What?
FANNY. Ah, how can one talk to a man with his watch in his hand? [He puts it away and stands waiting,but she is cross.] I think you’re very disagreeable.
NEWTE. I must really get back to town. I oughtn’t to be away now, only your telegram—
FANNY. I know. I’m an ungrateful little beast! [She crosses and rings bell.] You’ll have a glass of champagne before you go?
NEWTE. Well, I won’t say no to that.
FANNY. How are all the girls?
NEWTE. Oh, chirpy. I’m bringing them over to London. We open at the Palace next week.
FANNY. What did they think of my marriage? Gerty was a bit jealous, wasn’t she?
NEWTE. Well, would have been, if she’d known who he was. [Laughs.]
FANNY. Tell her. Tell her [she draws herself up] I’m Lady Bantock, of Bantock Hall, Rutlandshire. It will make her so mad. [Laughs.]
NEWTE[laughs]. I will.
FANNY. Give them all my love. [Ernest appears in answer to her bell.] Oh, Ernest, tell Bennet—[the eyes and mouth of Ernest open]—to see that Mr. Newte has some refreshment before he leaves. A glass of champagne and—and some caviare. Don’t forget. [Ernest goes out.] Good-bye. You’ll come again?
NEWTE. Whenever you want me—and remember—the watchword is “Tact”!
FANNY. Yes, I’ve got thewordall right. [Laughs.] Don’t forget to give my love to the girls.
NEWTE. I won’t. So long! [He goes out.]
Fanny closes the door.Honoria has re-entered from the dressing-room.She looks from the handkerchief still hanging over the keyhole to Fanny.
HONORIA. Your ladyship’s handkerchief?
FANNY. Yes. Such a draught through that keyhole.
HONORIA[takes the handkerchief,hands it to Fanny]. I will tell the housekeeper.
FANNY. Thanks. Maybe you will also mention it to the butler. Possibly also to the—[She suddenly changes.] Honoria. Suppose it had been you—you know, you’re awfully pretty—who had married Lord Bantock, and he had brought you back here, among them all—uncle, aunt, all the lot of them—what would you have done?
HONORIA[she draws herself up]. I should have made it quite plain from the first, that I was mistress, and that they were my servants.
FANNY. You would, you think—
HONORIA[checking her outburst]. But then, dear—you will excuse my speaking plainly—there is a slight difference between the two cases. [She seats herself on the settee.Fanny is standing near the desk.] You see, what we all feel about you, dear, is—that you are—well, hardly a fit wife for his lordship. [Fanny’s hands are itching to box the girl’s ears.To save herself,she grinds out through her teeth the word“Tack!”] Of course, dear, it isn’t altogether your fault.
FANNY. Thanks.
HONORIA. Your mother’s marriage was most unfortunate.
FANNY[her efforts to suppress her feelings are just—but only just—successful.] Need we discuss that?
HONORIA. Well, he was an Irishman, dear, there’s no denying it. [Fanny takes a cushion from a chair—with her back to Honoria,she strangles it.Jane has entered and is listening.] Still, perhaps it is a painful subject. And we hope—all of us—that, with time and patience, we may succeed in eradicating the natural results of your bringing-up.
JANE. Some families, finding themselves in our position, would seek to turn it to their own advantage.Wethink only of your good.
FANNY. Yes, that’s what I feel—that you are worrying yourselves too much about me. You’re too conscientious, all of you. You, in particular, Jane, because you know you’re not strong.You’llend up with a nervous breakdown. [Mrs. Bennet has entered.Honoria slips out.Fanny turns to her aunt.] I was just saying how anxious I’m getting about Jane. I don’t like the look of her at all. What she wants is a holiday. Don’t you agree with me?
MRS. BENNET. There will be no holiday, I fear, for any of us, for many a long day.
FANNY. But you must. You must think more of yourselves, you know.You’renot looking well, aunt, at all. What you both want is a month—at the seaside.
MRS. BENNET. Your object is too painfully apparent for the subject to need discussion. True solicitude for us would express itself better in greater watchfulness upon your own behaviour.
FANNY. Why, what have I done?
Bennet enters,followed,unwillingly,by Ernest.
MRS. BENNET. Your uncle will explain.
BENNET. Shut that door. [Ernest does so.They group round Bennet—Ernest a little behind.Fanny remains near the desk.] Sit down. [Fanny,bewildered,speechless,sits.] Carry your mind back, please, to the moment when, with the Bradshaw in front of you, you were considering, with the help of your cousin Ernest, the possibility of your slipping out unobserved, to meet and commune with a person you had surreptitiously summoned to visit you during your husband’s absence.
FANNY. While I think of it, did he have anything to eat before he went? I told Ernest to—ask you to see that he had a glass of champagne and a—
BENNET[waves her back into silence]. Mr. Newte was given refreshment suitable to his station. [She goes to interrupt.Again he waves her back.] We are speaking of more important matters. Your cousin reminded you that you would have to pass the lodge, occupied by your Aunt Amelia. I state the case correctly?
FANNY. Beautifully!
BENNET. I said nothing at the time, doubting the evidence of my own ears. The boy, however—where is the boy?—[Ernest is pushed forward]—has admitted—reluctantly—that he also heard it. [A pause.The solemnity deepens.] You made use of an expression—
FANNY. Oh, cut it short. I said “damn.” [A shudder passes.] I’m sorry to have frightened you, but if you knew a little more of really good society, you would know that ladies—quite slap-up ladies—when they’re excited, do—.
MRS. BENNET[interrupting with almost a scream]. She defends it!
BENNET. You will allowmeto be the judge of what aladysays, even when she is excited. As for this man, Newte—
FANNY. The best friend you ever had. [She is“up”again.] You thank your stars, all of you, and tell the others, too, the whole blessed twenty-three of you—you thank your stars that I did “surreptitiously” beg and pray him to run down by the first train and have a talk with me; and that Providence was kind enough toyouto enable him to come. It’s a very different tune you’d have been singing at this moment—all of you—if he hadn’t. I can tell you that.
MRS. BENNET. And pray, what tuneshouldwe have been singing if Providence hadn’t been so thoughtful of us?
FANNY[she is about to answer,then checks herself,and sits again]. You take care you don’t find out. There’s time yet.
MRS. BENNET. We had better leave her.
BENNET. Threats, my good girl, will not help you.
MRS. BENNET[with a laugh]. She’s in too tight a corner for that.
BENNET. A contrite heart is what your aunt and I desire to see. [He takes from his pocket a small book,places it open on the desk.] I have marked one or two passages, on pages 93–7. We will discuss them together—later in the day.
They troop out in silence,the key turns in the lock.
FANNY[takes up the book—turns to the cover,reads]. “The Sinner’s Manual.” [She turns to page93.]
[CURTAIN]
SCENE
The same.
Time.—A few days later.
A table is laid for tea.Ernest enters with the tea-urn.He leaves the door open;through it comes the sound of an harmonium,accompanying the singing of a hymn.Fanny comes from her dressing-room.She is dressed more cheerfully than when we last saw her,but still“seemly.”She has a book in her hand.She pauses,hearing the music,goes nearer to the open door,and listens;then crosses and takes her place at the table.The music ceases.
FANNY. Another prayer meeting? [Ernest nods.] I do keep ’em busy.
ERNEST. D’ye know what they call you downstairs?
FANNY. What?
ERNEST. The family cross.
FANNY. I’m afraid it’s about right.
ERNEST. What have you been doingthistime? Swearing again?
FANNY. Worse. I’ve been lying. [Ernest gives vent to a low whistle.] Said I didn’t know what had become of that yellow poplin with the black lace flounces, that they’ve had altered for me. Found out that I’d given it to old Mother Potts for the rummage sale at the Vicarage. Jane was down there. Bought it in for half a crown.
ERNEST. You are risky. Why, you might have known—
Vernon comes in.He is in golfing get-up.He throws his cap on to the settee.
VERNON. Hello, got a cup of tea there?
Ernest goes out.
FANNY. Yes. Thought you were playing golf?
VERNON. Just had a telegram handed to me in the village—from your friend Newte. Wants me to meet him at Melton Station at five o’clock. [Looks at his watch.] Know what he wants?
FANNY. Haven’t the faintest idea. [She hands him his cup.] Is he cominghere? Or merely on his way somewhere?
VERNON. I don’t know; he doesn’t say.
FANNY. Don’t let him mix you up in any of his “ventures.” Dear old George, he’s as honest as the day, but if he gets hold of an “idea” there’s always thousands in it for everybody.
VERNON. I’ll be careful. [Ernest has left the door open.The harmonium breaks forth again,together with vocal accompaniment as before.] What’s on downstairs, then—a party?
FANNY. Bennet is holding a prayer meeting.
VERNON. A prayer meeting?
FANNY. One of the younger members of the family has been detected “telling a deliberate lie.” [Vernon is near the door listening,with his back towards her,or he would see that she is smiling.] Black sheep, I suppose, to be found in every flock. [Music ceases,Ernest having arrived with the news of his lordship’s return.]
VERNON[returning to the table,having closed the door]. Good old man, you know, Bennet. All of them! So high-principled! Don’t often get servants like that, nowadays.
FANNY. Seems almost selfish, keeping the whole collection to ourselves.
VERNON[laughs]. ’Pon my word it does. But what can we do? They’ll never leave us—not one of them.
FANNY. No, I don’t believe they ever will.
VERNON. Do you know, I sometimes think that you don’t like them. [Fanny makes a movement.] Of course, they are a bit bossy, I admit. But all that comes from their devotion, their—
FANNY. The wonder to me is that, brought up among them, admiring them as you do, you never thought of marrying one of them.
VERNON[staggered.] Marrying them?
FANNY. I didn’t say “them.” I said “oneof them.” There’s Honoria. She’s pretty enough, anyhow. So’s Alice, Charles Bennet’s daughter, and Bertha and Grace—all of them beautiful. And what’s even better still—good. [She says it viciously.] Didn’t you ever think of them?
VERNON. Well [laughs]—well, one hardly marries into one’s own kitchen.
FANNY. Isn’t that rather snobbish? You say they’re more like friends than servants. They’ve lived with your people, side by side, for three generations, doing their duty, honourably. There’s never been a slur upon their name. They’re “high-principled.” You know it. They’ve better manners than nine-tenths of your smart society, and they’re healthy. What’s wrong with them—even from a lord’s point of view?
VERNON[recovering himself]. Well, don’t pitch into me about it. It’s your fault if I didn’t marry them—I mean one of them. [He laughs,puts his empty cup back on the table.] Maybe I’d have thought about it—if I hadn’t met you.
FANNY[takes his hand in hers]. I wish you hadn’t asked Newte any questions about me. It would have been so nice to feel that you had married me—just because you couldn’t help it—just because I was I and nothing else mattered.
VERNON. Let’s forget I ever did. [He kneels beside her.] I didn’t do it for my own sake, as you know. Amanin my position has to think of other people. His wife has to take her place in society. People insist upon knowing something about her. It’s not enough for the stupid “County” that she’s the cleverest, most bewilderingly beautiful, bewitching lady in the land.
FANNY. And how long will you think all that?
VERNON. For ever, and ever, and ever.
FANNY. Oh, you dear boy. [She kisses him.] You don’t know how a woman loves the man she loves to love her. [Laughs.] Isn’t that complicated?
VERNON. Not at all. We’re just the same. We love to love the woman we love.
FANNY. Provided the “County” will let us. And the County has said: A man may not marry his butler’s niece.
VERNON[laughing]. You’ve got butlers on the brain. If ever I do run away with my own cook or under-housemaid, it will be your doing.
FANNY. You haven’t the pluck! The “County” would laugh at you. You men are so frightened of being laughed at.
VERNON[he rises]. Well, if it saves us from making asses of ourselves—
FANNY. Wasn’t there a niece of old Bennet’s, a girl who had been brought up abroad, and whowasn’ta domestic servant—never had been—who stayed with them here, at the gardener’s cottage, for a short time, some few years ago?
VERNON. You mean poor Rose Bennet’s daughter—the one who ran away and married an organ-grinder.
FANNY. An organ-grinder?
VERNON. Something of that sort—yes. They had her over; did all they could. A crazy sort of girl; used to sing French ballads on the village green to all the farm labourers she could collect. Shortened poor Bennet’s life by about ten years. [Laughs.] But why? Not going to bully me for not having fallen in love with her, are you? Because that reallywasn’tmy fault. I never even saw her. ’Twas the winter we spent in Rome. She bolted before we got back. Never gave me a chance.
FANNY. I accept the excuse. [Laughs.] No, I was merely wondering what the “County” would have done if by any chance you had marriedher. Couldn’t have said you were marrying into your own kitchen in her case, because she was neverinyour kitchen—absolutely refused to enter it, I’m told.
VERNON[laughs]. It would have been a “nice point,” as they say in legal circles. If people had liked her, they’d have tried to forget that her cousins had ever been scullery-maids. If not, they’d have taken good care that nobody did.
Bennet enters.He brings some cut flowers,with the“placing”of which he occupies himself.
BENNET. I did not know your lordship had returned.
VERNON. Found a telegram waiting for me in the village. What’s become of that niece of yours, Bennet—your sister Rose’s daughter, who was here for a short time and ran away again? Ever hear anything about her?
BENNET[very quietly he turns,lets his eyes for a moment meet Fanny’s.Then answers as he crosses to the windows]. The last I heard about her was that she was married.
VERNON. Satisfactorily?
BENNET. Looking at it from her point of view—most satisfactorily.
VERNON[laughs]. But looking at it from his—more doubtful?
BENNET. She was not without her attractions. Her chief faults, I am inclined to think, were those arising from want of discipline in youth. I have hopes that it is not even yet too late to root out from her nature the weeds of indiscretion.
VERNON. And you think he is the man to do it?
BENNET. Perhaps not. But fortunately there are those about her fully alive to the duty devolving upon them.
VERNON. Um. Sounds a little bit like penal servitude for the poor girl, the way you put it, Bennet.
BENNET. Even penal servitude may be a blessing, if it serves to correct a stubborn spirit.
VERNON. We’ll have to make you a J.P., Bennet. Must be jolly careful I don’t ever get tried before you. [Laughs.] Is that the cart?
BENNET[he looks out through the window]. Yes, your lordship.
VERNON[he takes up his cap]. I may be bringing someone back with me. [To Fanny,who throughout has remained seated.] Why not put on your hat—come with me?
FANNY[she jumps up,delighted]. Shall I?
BENNET. Your ladyship is not forgetting that to-day is Wednesday?
FANNY. What’s the odds. There’s nobody to call. Everybody is still in town.
BENNET. It has always been the custom of the Lady Bantocks, when in residence, to be at home on Wednesdays.
VERNON. Perhaps better not. It may cause talk; if, by chance, anybody does come. I was forgetting it was Wednesday. [Fanny sits again.] I shan’t do anything without consulting you. Good-bye.
FANNY. Good-bye.
Vernon goes out.
BENNET. You think it wise, discussing with his lordship the secret history of the Bennet family?
FANNY. What do you mean by telling him my father was an organ-grinder? If the British public knew the difference between music and a hurdy-gurdy, he would have kept a butler of his own.
BENNET. I am not aware of having mentioned to his lordship that you ever to my knowledge even had a father. It is not my plan—for the present at all events—to inform his lordship anything about your family. Take care I am not forced to.
FANNY. Because my father, a composer who had his work performed at the Lamoureux Concerts—as I can prove, because I’ve got the programme—had the misfortune to marry into a family of lackeys—I’m not talking about my mother: she was never really one of you.Shehad the soul of an artist.
BENNET[white with suppressed fury;he is in front of her;his very look is enough to silence her]. Now you listen to me, my girl, once and for all. I told you the night of your arrival that whether this business was going to prove a pleasant or an unpleasant one depended upon you. You make it an easy one—for your own sake. With one word I can bring your house of cards about your ears. I’ve only to tell him the truth for him to know you as a cheat and liar. [She goes to speak;again he silences her.] You listen to me. You’ve seen fit to use strong language; now I’m using strong language. Thisboy, who has married you in a moment of impulse, what doesheknow about the sort of wife a man in his position needs? What doyou? made to sing for your living on the Paris boulevards—whose only acquaintance with the upper classes has been at shady restaurants.
FANNY. He didn’twanta woman of his own class. He told me so. It was because I wasn’t a colourless, conventional puppet with a book of etiquette in place of a soul that he was first drawn towards me.
BENNET. Yes. At twenty-two, boys like unconventionality. Men don’t: they’ve learnt its true name, vulgarity. Do you think I’ve stood behind English society for forty years without learning anything about it! What you call a colourless puppet is whatwecall an English lady. And that you’ve got to learn to be. You talk of “lackeys.” If your mother, my poor sister Rose, came from a family of “lackeys” there would be no hope for you. With her blood in your veins the thing can be done. We Bennets—[he draws himself up]—we serve. We are not lackeys.
FANNY. All right. Don’t you call my father an organ-grinder, and I won’t call you lackeys. Unfortunately that doesn’t end the trouble.
BENNET. The trouble can easily be ended.
FANNY. Yes. By my submitting to be ruled in all things for the remainder of my life by my own servants.
BENNET. Say “relations,” and it need not sound so unpleasant.
FANNY. Yes, it would. It would sound worse. One can get rid of one’s servants. [She has crossed towards the desk.Her cheque-book lies there half hidden under other papers.It catches her eye.Her hand steals unconsciously towards it.She taps it idly with her fingers.It is all the work of a moment.Nothing comes of it.Just the idea passes through her brain—not for the first time.She does nothing noticeable—merely stands listless while one might count half a dozen—then turns to him again.] Don’t you think you’re going it a bit too strong, all of you? I’m not a fool. I’ve got a lot to learn, I know. I’d be grateful for help. What you’re trying to do is to turn me into a new woman entirely.
BENNET. Because that is the onlywayto help you. Men do not put new wine into old bottles.
FANNY. Oh, don’t begin quoting Scripture. I want to discuss the thing sensibly. Don’t you see it can’t be done? I can’t be anybody else than myself. I don’t want to.
BENNET. My girl, you’vegotto be. Root and branch, inside and outside, before you’re fit to be Lady Bantock, mother of the Lord Bantocks that are to be, you’ve got to be a changed woman.
A pause.
FANNY. And it’s going to be your job, from beginning to end—yours and the rest of you. What I wear and how I look is Jane’s affair. My prayers will be for what Aunt Susannah thinks I stand in need of. What I eat and drink and say and doyouwill arrange for me. And when you die, Cousin Simeon, I suppose, will take your place. And when Aunt Susannah dies, it will merely be a change to Aunt Amelia. And if Jane ever dies, Honoria will have the dressing and the lecturing of me. And so on and so on, world without end, for ever and ever, Amen.
BENNET. Before that time, you will, I shall hope, have learnt sufficient sense to be grateful to us. [He goes out.]
FANNY[she turns—walks slowly back towards the tea-table.Halfway she pauses,and leaning over the back of a chair regards in silence for a while the portrait of the first Lady Bantock]. I do wish I could tell what you were saying.
The door opens.The Misses Wetherell come in.They wear the same frocks that they wore in the first act.They pause.Fanny is still gazing at the portrait.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. Don’t you notice it, dear?
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Yes. There really is.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. It struck me the first day. [To Fanny,who has turned] Your likeness, dear, to Lady Constance. It’s really quite remarkable.
FANNY. You think so?
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. It’s your expression—when you are serious.
FANNY[laughs]. I must try to be more serious.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. It will come, dear.
They take their places side by side on the settee.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL[to her sister,with a pat of the hand]. In good time. It’s so nice to have her young. I wonder if anybody’ll come this afternoon.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL[to Fanny]. You see, dear, most of the county people are still in town.
FANNY[who is pouring out tea]. I’m not grumbling.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. Oh, you’ll like them, dear. The Cracklethorpes especially. [To her sister for confirmation] Bella Cracklethorpe is so clever.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. And the Engells. She’ll like the Engells. All the Engell girls are so pretty. [Fanny brings over two cups of tea.] Thank you, dear.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL[as she takes her cup—patting Fanny’s hand]. And they’ll like you, dear,allof them.
FANNY[returning to table]. I hope so.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. It’s wonderful, dear—you won’t mind my saying it?—how you’ve improved.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Of course it was such a change for you. And at first [turns to her sister] we were a little anxious about her, weren’t we?
Fanny has returned to them with the cake-basket.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL[as she takes a piece]. Bennet [she lingers on the name as that of an authority] was saying only yesterday that he had great hopes of you.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL[Fanny is handing the basket to her]. Thank you, dear.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. I told Vernon. He wassopleased.
FANNY.Vernonwas?
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. He attaches so much importance to Bennet’s opinion.
FANNY. Um. I’m glad I appear to be giving satisfaction. [She has returned to her seat at the table.] I suppose when you go to town, you take the Bennets with you?
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL[surprised at the question]. Of course, dear.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Vernon didn’t wish to go this year. He thought you would prefer—
FANNY. I was merely thinking of when he did. Do you ever go abroad for the winter? So many people do, nowadays.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. We tried it once. But there was nothing for dear Vernon to do. You see, he’s so fond of hunting.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL[to her sister]. And then there will be his Parliamentary duties that he will have to take up now.
Fanny rises,abruptly.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. You’re not ill, dear?
FANNY. No. Merely felt I wanted some air. You don’t mind, do you? [She flings a casement open.]
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Not at all, dear. [To her sister] Itisa bit close.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. One could really do without fires.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. If it wasn’t for the evenings.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. And then, of course, the cold weather might come again. One can never feel safe until—
The door opens.Dr. Freemantle enters,announced by Bennet.The old ladies go to rise.He stops them.
DR. FREEMANTLE. Don’t get up. [He shakes hands with them.] How are we this afternoon? [He shakes his head and clicks his tongue.] Really, I think I shall have to bring an action for damages against Lady Bantock. Ever since she—
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. Hush! [She points to the window.] Fanny.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Here’s Doctor Freemantle.
Fanny comes from the window.
DR. FREEMANTLE[he meets her and takes her hand]. Was just saying, I really think I shall have to claim damages against you, Lady Bantock. You’ve practically deprived me of two of my best paying patients. Used to be sending for me every other day before you came. Now look at them! [The two ladies laugh.] She’s not as bad as we expected. [He pats her hand.] Do you remember my description of what I thought she was going to be like?
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. She’s a dear girl.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. Bennet—
FANNY[she has crossed to table—is pouring out the Doctor’s tea]. Oh, mightn’t we have a holiday from Bennet?
DR. FREEMANTLE[laughs]. Seems to be having a holiday himself to-day.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. A holiday?
DR. FREEMANTLE. Didn’t you know? Oh, there’s an awfully swagger party on downstairs. They were all trooping in as I came.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. I’d no idea he was giving a party. [To Fanny] Did you, dear?
FANNY[she hands the Doctor his tea]. Yes. It’s a prayer meeting. The whole family, I expect, has been summoned.
DR. FREEMANTLE. A prayer meeting! Didn’t look like it.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. But why should he be holding a prayer meeting?
FANNY. Oh, one of the family—
DR. FREEMANTLE. And why twelve girls in a van?
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. In a van?
DR. FREEMANTLE. One of Hutton’s from the Station Hotel—with a big poster pinned on the door: “Our Empire.”
Fanny has risen.She crosses and rings the bell.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. What’s the matter, dear?
FANNY. I’m not quite sure yet. [Her whole manner is changed.A look has come into her eyes that has not been there before.She speaks in quiet,determined tones.She rings again.Then returning to table,hands the cake-basket to the Doctor.] Won’t you take one, Doctor? They’re not as indigestible as they look. [Laughs.]
DR. FREEMANTLE[he also is bewildered at the changed atmosphere]. Thank you. I hope I—
FANNY[she turns to Ernest,who has entered.Her tone,for the first time,is that of a mistress speaking to her servants]. Have any visitors called for me this afternoon?
ERNEST. Vi-visitors—?
FANNY. Some ladies.
ERNEST[he is in a slough of doubt and terror]. L—ladies?
FANNY. Yes. Please try to understand the English language. Has a party of ladies called here this afternoon?
ERNEST. There have been some ladies. They—we—
FANNY. Where are they?
ERNEST. They—I—
FANNY. Send Bennet up to me. Instantly, please.
Ernest,only too glad to be off,stumbles out.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. My dear—
FANNY. You’ll take some more tea, won’t you? Do you mind, Doctor, passing Miss Wetherell’s cup? And the other one. Thank you. And will you pass them the biscuits? You see, I am doing all I can on your behalf. [She is talking and laughing—a little hysterically—for the purpose of filling time.] Tea and hot cake—could anything be worse for them?
DR. FREEMANTLE. Well, tea, you know—
FANNY. I know. [Laughs.] You doctors are all alike. You all denounce it, but you all drink it. [She hands him the two cups.] That one is for Aunt Wetherell of the beautiful hair; and the other is for Aunt Wetherell of the beautiful eyes. [Laughs.] It’s the only way I can distinguish them.
Bennet enters.
Oh, Bennet!
BENNET. You sent for me?
FANNY. Yes. I understand some ladies have called.
BENNET. I think your ladyship must have been misinformed. I most certainly have seen none.
FANNY. I have to assume, Bennet, that either Dr. Freemantle or you are telling lies.
A silence.
BENNET. A party of over-dressed young women, claiming to be acquainted with your ladyship, have arrived in a van. I am giving them tea in the servants’ hall, and will see to it that they are sent back to the station in ample time to catch their train back to town.
FANNY. Please show them up. They will have their tea here.
BENNET[her very quietness is beginning to alarm him.It shakes him from his customary perfection of manners]. The Lady Bantocks do not as a rule receive circus girls in their boudoir.
FANNY[still with her alarming quietness]. Neither do they argue with their servants. Please show these ladies in.
BENNET. I warn you—
FANNY. You heard my orders. [Her tone has the right ring.The force of habit is too strong upon him.He yields—savagely—and goes out.She turns to the Doctor.] So sorry I had to drag you into it. I didn’t see how else I was going to floor him.
DR. FREEMANTLE. Splendid! [He grips her hand.]
FANNY[she goes to the old ladies who sit bewildered terrified.] They won’t be here for more than a few minutes—they can’t be. I want you to be nice to them—both of you. They are friends of mine. [She turns to the Doctor.] They’re the girls I used to act with. We went all over Europe—twelve of us—representing the British Empire. They are playing in London now.
DR. FREEMANTLE. To-night? [He looks at his watch.]
FANNY[she is busy at the tea-table]. Yes. They are on the stage at half past nine. You might look out their train for them. [She points to the Bradshaw on the desk.] I don’t suppose they’ve ever thought about how they’re going to get back. It’s Judy’s inspiration, this, the whole thing; I’d bet upon it. [With a laugh.] She always was as mad as a March hare.
DR. FREEMANTLE[busy with the Bradshaw]. They were nice-looking girls.
FANNY. Yes. I think we did the old man credit. [With a laugh.] John Bull’s daughters, they called us in Paris.
Bennet appears in doorway.
BENNET[announces]. “Our Empire.”
Headed by“England,”the twelve girls,laughing,crowding,jostling one another,talking all together,swoop in.
ENGLAND[a lady with a decided Cockney accent]. Oh, my dear, talk about an afternoon! We ’ave ’ad a treat getting ’ere.
Fanny kisses her.
SCOTLAND[they also kiss]. Your boss told us you’d gone out.
FANNY. It was a slight—misunderstanding. Bennet, take away these things, please. And let me have half a dozen bottles of champagne.
STRAITS SETTLEMENTS[a small girl at the back of the crowd—with a shrill voice]. Hooray!
BENNET[he is controlling himself with the supremest difficulty.Within he is a furnace]. I’m afraid I have mislaid the key of the cellar.
FANNY[she looks at him]. You will please find it—quickly. [Bennet,again from habit,yields.But his control almost fails him.He takes up the tray of unneeded tea-things from the table.] I shall want some more of all these [cakes,fruit,sandwiches,etc.]. And some people to wait. Tell Jane she must come and help.
Bennet goes out.During this passage of arms between mistress and man a momentary lull has taken place in the hubbub.As he goes out,it begins to grow again.
ENGLAND. ’E does tease yer, don’t ’e? Wanted us to ’ave tea in the kitchen.
FANNY. Yes. These old family servants—
AFRICA[she prides herself on being“quite the lady”]. Don’t talk about ’em, dear. We had just such another. [She turns to a girl near her.] Oh, they’ll run the whole show for you if you let ’em.
ENGLAND. It was Judy’s idea, our giving you this little treat. Don’t you blime me for it.
WALES[a small,sprightly girl with a childish,laughing voice]. Well, we were all together with nothing better to do. They’d called a rehearsal and then found they didn’t want us—silly fools. I told ’em you’d just be tickled to death.
FANNY[laughing—kisses her]. So I am. It was a brilliant idea. [By this time she has kissed or shaken hands with the whole dozen.] I can’t introduce you all singly; it would take too long. [She makes a wholesale affair of it.] My aunts, the Misses Wetherell—Dr. Freemantle.
The Misses Wetherell,suggesting two mice being introduced to a party of friendly kittens,standing,clinging to one another,murmur something inaudible.
DR. FREEMANTLE[who is with them to comfort them—he has got rid of the time-table,discreetly—smiles]. Delighted.
ENGLAND. Charmed. [The others join in,turning it into a chorus.To Fanny] Glad we didn’t strike one of your busy days. I say, you’re not as dressy as you used to be. ’Ow are they doing you?—all right?